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Presented  to  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
LIBRARY 

by  the 

ONTARIO  LEGISLATIVE 
LIBRARY 

1980 


THE    CARSWELL    COMPANY    LIMITE 


B  L  A  C  K  W  0  0  D '  S^  &  VH 

.A.  "1        i.  >V  MT 


MAGAZINE. 

VOL.  XCVIL 
v^vn  JANUARY— JUNE,    1865. 

^>^VV.    gpf^ 


WILLIAM   BLACKWOOD  &  SONS,  EDINBUEGH ; 

AND 

37  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON. 


1865. 


p 


\o 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBUEGH     MAGAZINE, 


No.  DXCI. 


JANUARY  1865. 


VOL.  XCVIL 


TONY    BUTLEK. 


CHAPTER   LIX.  —  AX   AWKWARD    MOMENT. 


ALICE  started  as  she  heard  the 
name  Tony  Butler,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment neither  spoke.  There  was 
confusion  and  awkwardness  on 
cither  side — all  the  greater  that 
each  saw  it  in  the  other.  She,  how- 
ever, was  the  first  to  rally  ;  and, 
with  a  semblance  of  old  friendship, 
held  out  her  hand,  and  said,  "I  am 
so  glad  to  see  you,  Tony,  and  to 
see  you  safe." 

"  I'd  not  have  dared  to  present 
myself  in  such  a  dress,"  stammered 
he  out ;  "  but  that  scamp  SketFy 
gave  me  no  choice  :  he  opened  the 
door  and  pushed  me  in." 

"  Your  dress  is  quite  good  enough 
to  visit  an  old  friend  in.  Won't 
you  sit  down  ? — sit  here."  As  she 
spoke,  she  seated  herself  on  an  otto- 
man, and  pointed  to  a  place  at  her 
side.  "  I  am  longing  to  hear  some- 
thing about  your  campaigns.  Skeff 
was  so  provoking — he  only  told  us 
about  what  he  saw  at  Cava,  and  his 
own  adventures  on  the  road." 

"  I  have  very  little  to  tell,  and 
less  time  to  tell  it.  I  must  embark 
in  about  half  an  hour." 

VOL,  XCVII.— NO.  DXCI. 


"And  where  for?" 

"  For  home." 

"  So  that  if  it  had  not  been  for 
SkefFs  indiscretion,  I  should  not 
have  seen  you  1 "  said  she,  coldly. 

"Not  at  this  moment — not  in  this 
guise." 

"  Indeed  !  "  And  there  was  an- 
other pause. 

"  I  hope  Bella  is  better.  Has 
she  quite  recovered  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  She  is  quite  well  again  ;  she'll 
be  sorry  to  have  missed  you,  Tony. 
She  wanted,  besides,  to  tell  you  how 
happy  it  made  her  to  hear  of  all 
your  good  fortune." 

"  My  good  fortune  !  Oh,  yes  ! — 
to  be  sure.  It  was  so  unlocked 
for,"  added  he,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  that  I  have  hardly  been  able  to 
realise  it  yet — that  is,  I  find  my- 
self planning  half-a-dozen  ways  to 
earn  my  bread,  when  I  suddenly 
remember  that  I  shall  not  need 
them." 

"And  I  hope  it  makes  you  happy, 
Tony]" 

"  Of  course  it  does.  It  enables 
me  to  make  my  mother  happy,  and 

A 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion, 


[Jan. 


to  secure  that  we  shall  not  be  sepa- 
rated. As  for  myself  alone,  my 
habits  are  simple  enough,  and  my 
tastes  also.  My  difficulty  will  be, 
I  suppose,  to  acquire  more  expen- 
sive ones." 

"It  is  not  a  very  hard  task,  I 
believe,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"  Not  for  others,  perhaps  ;  but  I 
was  reared  in  narrow  fortune,  Alice, 
trained  to  submit  to  many  a  pri- 
vation, and  told  too — I'm  not  sure 
very  wisely — that  such  hardships 
are  all  the  more  easily  borne  by  a 
man  of  good  blood  and  lineage. 
Perhaps  I  did  not  read  my  lesson 
right.  At  all  events,  I  thought  a 
deal  more  of  my  good  blood  than 
other  people  were  willing  to  accord 
it ;  and  the  result  was,  it  misled 
me." 

"  Misled  you  !  and  how — in  what 
way]" 

"  Is  it  you  who  ask  me  this  ? — 
you,  Alice,  who  have  read  me 
such  Avise  lessons  on  self-depen- 
dence, while  Lady  Lyle  tried  to 
finish  my  education  by  showing  the 
evils  of  over-presumption  ;  and  you 
were  both  right,  though  I  didn't 
see  it  at  the  time." 

"  I  declare  I  do  not  understand 
you,  Tony!"  said  she. 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  be  clearer," 
said  he,  \vith  more  animation. 
"  From  the  first  day  I  knew  you, 
Alice,  I  loved  you.  I  need  not  say 
that  all  the  difference  in  station 
between  us  never  affected  my  love. 
You  were  too  far  above  me  in  every 
gift  and  grace  to  make  rank,  mere 
rank,  ever  occur  to  my  mind,  though 
•others  were  good  enough  to  jog  my 
memory  on  the  subject." 

"  Others  !  of  whom  are  you  speak- 
ing?" 

"  Your  brother  Mark  for  one;  but 
I  don't  want  to  think  of  these 
things.  I  loved  you,  I  say ;  and  to 
that  degree,  that  every  change  of 
your  manner  towards  me  made  the 
joy  or  the  misery  of  my  life.  This 
was  when  I  was  an  idle  youth, 
lounging  about  in  that  condition 
of  half  dependence  that,  as  I  look 
back  on,  I  blush  to  think  I  ever 


could  have  endured.  My  only  ex- 
cuse is,  however,  that  I  knew  no 
better." 

"There  was  nothing imbecom ing 
in  what  you  did." 

"Yes,  there  was  though.  There 
was  this :  I  was  satisfied  to  hold 
an  ambiguous  position  —  to  be  a 
something,  neither  master  nor  ser- 
vant, in  another  man's  house,  all 
because  it  gave  me  the  daily  happi- 
ness to  be  near  you,  and  to  see  you, 
and  to  hear  your  voice.  That  was 
unbecoming,  and  the  best  proof  of 
it  was,  that,  with  all  my  love  and 
all  my  devotion,  you  could  not  care 
for  me." 

"Oh,  Tony!  do  not  say  that." 

"When  I  say  care,  you  could  not 
do  more  than  care  ;  you  couldn't 
love  me." 

"  Were  you  not  always  as  a  dear 
brother  to  me?" 

"  I  wanted  to  be  more  than  bro- 
ther, and  when  I  found  that  this 
could  not  be,  I  grew  very  careless, 
almost  reckless,  of  life ;  not  but  that 
it  took  a  long  time  to  teach  me  the 
full  lesson.  I  had  to  think  over, 
not  only  all  that  separated  us  in 
station,  but  all  that  estranged  us  in 
tone  of  mind ;  and  I  saw  that  your 
superiority  to  me  chafed  me,  and 
that  if  you  should  ever  come  to 
feel  for  me,  it  •would  be  through 
some  sense  of  pity." 

"Oh,  Tony!" 

"  Yes,  Alice,  you  know  it  better 
than  I  can  say  it;  and  so  I  set  my 
pride  to  fight  against  my  love,  with, 
no  great  success  at  first.  But  as  I 
lay  wounded  in  the  orchard  at  Me- 
lazzo,  and  thought  of  my  poor 
mother  and  her  sorrow,  if  she  Avere 
to  hear  of  my  death,  and  compared 
her  grief  with  what  yours  would  be, 
I  saw  what  was  real  in  love,  and 
what  was  mere  interest ;  and  I  re- 
member I  took  out  my  two  relics — 
the  dearest  objects  I  had  in  the  world 
— a  lock  of  iny  mother's  hair  and  a 
certain  glove  —  a  white  glove  you 
may  have  seen  once  on  a  time ; 
and  it  was  over  the  little  braid  of 
brown  hair  I  let  fall  the  last  tears 
I  thought  ever  to  shed  in  life ;  and 


18G5.] 


Tun//  It  idler. — Conclusion. 


licre  is  the  glove — T  give  it  back  to 
you.  Will  you  have  it  (  " 

She  took  it  with  a  trembling 
hand ;  and  in  a  voice  of  weak  but 
.steady  utterance  said,  "  I  told  you 
that  this  time  would  come/'' 

"  You  did  so,"  said  he,  gloomily. 

Alice  rose  and  walked  out  upon 
the  balcony  ;  and  after  a  moment 
Tony  followed  her.  They  leaned 
on  the  balustrade  side  by  side,  but 
neither  spoke. 

"  But  we  shall  always  be  dear 
friends,  Tony,  shan't  we '? ;!  said 
she,  while  she  laid  her  hand  gently 
over  his. 

"  Oh.  Alice  ! "  said  he,  plaintively, 
"  do  not — do  not,  I  beseech  you — 
lead  me  back  again  into  that  land 
of  delusion  I  have  just  tried  to 
escape  from.  If  you  knew  how  I 
loved  you — if  you  knew  what  it 
costs  me  to  tear  that  love  out  of 
my  heart  —  you'd  never  wish  to 
make  the  agony  greater  to  me." 

"  Dear  Tony,  it  was  a  mere  boy- 
ish passion,  llemcmber  for  a  mo- 
ment how  it  began.  I  was  older 
than  you — much  older  as  regards 
life  and  the  world — and  even  older 
by  more  than  a  year.  You  were  so 
proud  to  attach  yourself  to  a  grown 
woman — you  a  mere  lad  ;  and  then 
your  love — for  I  will  grant  it  was 
love — dignified  you  to  yourself.  It 
made  you  more  daring  where  there 
was  danger,  and  it  taught  you  to  be 
gentler  and  kinder  and  more  consi- 
derate to  every  one.  All  your  good 
and  great  qualities  grew  the  faster 
that  they  had  those  little  vicissi- 
tudes of  joy  and  sorrow,  the  sun 
and  rain  of  our  daily  lives  ;  but 
all  that  is  not  love." 

"  You  mean  there  is  no  love 
where  there  is  no  return  of  love  '?  " 

She  was  silent. 

"  If  so,  I  deny  it.  The  faintest 
flicker  of  a  hope  was  enough  for 
me — the  merest  shadow — a  smile, 
a  passing  word — your  mere  'Thank 
you,  Tony,'  as  I  held  your  stirrup — 
the  little  word  of  recognition  you 
would  give  when  I  had  done  some- 
thing that  pleased  you, — these — 
any  of  them — would  send  me  home 


happy — happier,  perhaps,  than  I 
ever  shall  be  again." 

"  No,  Tony,  do  not  believe  that," 
said  she,  calmly;  "  not,"  added  she, 
hastily,  ''  that  I  can  acquit  myself 
of  all  wrong  to  you.  No  ;  I  was  in 
fault — gravely  in  fault.  I  ought  to 
have  seen  what  would  have  come  of 
all  our  intimacy — I  ought  to  have 
known  that  I  could  not  develop 
all  that  was  best  in  your  nature 
without  making  you  turn  in  grati- 
tude— well,  in  love — to  myself  ;  but 
shall  I  tell  you  the  truth  i  I  over- 
estimated my  power  over  you.  I 
not  only  thought  I  could  make 
you  love,  but  unlove  me  ;  and  I 
never  thought  what  pain  that  lesson 
might  cost — each  of  us." 

"  It  would  have  been  fairer  to 
have  cast  me  adrift  at  first,"  said 
he,  fiercely. 

"And  yet,  Tony,  you  will  be 
generous  enough  one  of  these  days 
to  think  differently  !  " 

"  I  certainly  feel  no  touch  of  that 
generosity  now." 

"  Because  you  are  angry  with  me, 
Tony — because  you  will  not  be  just 
to  me  ;  but  when  you  have  learned 
to  think  of  me  as  your  sister,  and 
can  come  and  say,  Dear  Alice,  coun- 
sel me  as  to  this,  advise  me  as  to 
that — then,  there  will  be  no  ill-will 
towards  me  for  all  I  have  done  to 
teach  you  the  great  stores  that  were 
in  your  own  nature." 

"  Such  a  day  as  that  is  distant," 
said  he,  gloomily. 

"Who  knows?  The  changes  which 
work  within  us  are  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  time  ;  a  day  of  sorrow  will 
do  the  work  of  years." 

"  There !  that  lantern  at  the  peak 
is  the  signal  for  me  to  be  off.  The 
skipper  promised  to  give  me  no- 
tice ;  but  if  you  will  say  '  stay ! '  be 
it  so.  No,  no,  Alice,  do  not  lay 
your  hand  on  my  arm  if  you  would 
not  have  me  again  deceive  myself." 

"  You  will  write  to  me,  Tony  2 " 

He  shook  his  head  to  imply  the 
negative. 

"Well,  to  Bella,  at  least?" 

"  I  think  not.  I  will  not  pro- 
mise. Why  should  I  ]  Is  it  to 


Tony  Sutler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan, 


try  and  knot  together  the  cords  we 
have  just  torn,  that  you  may  break 
them  again  at  your  pleasure  1 " 

"  How  ungenerous  you  are  !  " 

"  You  reminded  me  a  while  ago 
it  was  my  devotion  to  you  that 
civilised  me ;  h  it  not  natural  I 
should  go  back  to  savagery  as  my 
allegiance  was  rejected  ? " 

"  You  want  to  be  Garibaldinn  in 
love  as  in  war,"  said  she,  smiling. 

The  deep  boom  of  a  gun  floated 
over  the  bay,  and  Tony  started. 

"  That's  the  last  signal — good- 
bye." He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Tony,"  said 
she.  She  held  her  cheek  towards 
him.  He  hesitated,  blushed  till 
his  face  was  in  a  flame,  then 


stooped  and  kissed  her.  Skeff's 
voice  was  heard  at  the  instant  at 
the  door,  and  Tony  rushed  past 
him  and  down  the  stairs,  and  then, 
with  mad  speed,  dashed  along  to 
the  jetty,  leaped  into  the  boat,  and, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
never  raised  his  head  till  they  were 
alongside. 

"  You  were  within  an  inch  of 
being  late,  Tony,"  cried  M'Gruder, 
as  he  came  up  the  side.  "  What 
detained  you  'I  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  another  time — 
let  me  go  below  now ;"  and  he  disap- 
peared down  the  ladder.  The  heavy 
paddles  napped  slowly,  then  faster, 
and  the  great  mass  moved  on,  and 
made  for  the  open  sea. 


CHAI'TF.U    LX. —  A   DKl'K    WALK'. 


The  steamer  was  well  out  to  sea 
when  Tony  appeared  on  deck.  It 
was  a  calm  starlight  night — fresh, 
but  not  cold.  The  few  passengers, 
however,  had  sought  their  berths 
below,  and  the  only  one  who  linger- 
ed on  deck  was  M'Gruder  and  one 
other,  who,  wrapped  in  a  large  boat- 
cloak,  lay  fast  asleep  beside  the  bin- 
nacle. 

"  I  was  thinking  you  had  turned 
in,"  said  M'Gruder  to  Tony,  "  as 
you  had  not  come  up." 

"  Give  me  a  light  —  I  want  a 
smoke  badly.  I  felt  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  with  me,  though 
I  didn't  know  what  it  was.  Is  this 
Rory  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  sound  asleep,  poor  fel- 
low." 

"  I'll  wager  a  trifle  he  has  a 
lighter  heart  than  either  of  us, 
Sam." 

"  It  might  easy  be  lighter  than 
mine,"  sighed  M'Gruder,  heavily. 

Tony  sighed  too,  but  said  no- 
thing, and  they  walked  along  side 
by  side,  with  that  short  jerking 
stride  men  pace  a  deck  with,  feeling 
some  sort  of  companionship,  al- 
though no  words  were  exchanged 
between  them. 

"You  were    nigh    being   late," 


said  M'Gruder,  at  last.  "What  de- 
tained you  on  shore?" 

"I  saw  her!"  said  Tony,  in  a 
low  muffled  voice. 

"  You  saw  her !  Why,  you  told 
me  you  were  determined  not  to  sec 
her." 

"  So  I  was,  and  so  I  intended. 
It  came  about  by  mere  accident. 
That  strange  fellow  Skeffy,  you've 
heard  me  speak  of — he  pushed  me 
plump  into  the  room  where  she 
was,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  speak  to  her." 

"Well?" 

"  Well !  I  spoke,"  said  he,  half- 
gruffly  ;  and  then,  as  if  correcting 
the  roughness  of  his  tone,  added, 
"  It  was  just  as  I  said  it  would  be ; 
just  as  I  told  you.  She  liked  me 
well  enough  as  a  brother,  but  never 
thought  of  me  as  anything  else. 
All  the  interest  she  had  taken  in 
me  was  out  of  friendship.  She 
didn't  say  this  haughtily,  not  a 
bit  ;  she  felt  herself  much  older 
than  me,  she  said ;  that  she  felt 
herself  better  was  like  enough,  but 
she  never  hinted  it,  but  she  let  me 
feel  pretty  plainly  that  we  were  not 
made  for  each  other;  and  though 
the  lesson  wasn't  much  to  my  lik- 
ing, I  began  to  see  it  was  true." 


1865.] 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


"  Did  you  really  T 

"  I  did,"  said  lie,  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "  1  saw  that  all  the  love  I 
had  borne  her  was  only  paid  back 
in  a  sort  of  feeling  half-compassion- 
ate, half-kindly — that  her  interest 
in  me  was  out  of  some  desire  to 
make  something  out  of  me  ;  L  mean, 
to  force  me  to  exert  myself  and  do 
something  —  anything  besides  liv- 
ing a  hanger-on  at  a  great  house.  I 
have  a  notion,  too — heaven  knows  if 
there's  anything  in  it — but  I've  a 
notion,  Sam,  if  she  had  never  known 
me  till  now  —  if  she  had  never 
seen  me  idling  and  lounging  about 
in  that  ambiguous  position  I  held 
— something  between  gamekeeper 
and  reduced  gentleman  —  that  I 
might  have  had  a  better  chance." 

M'Gruder  nodded  a  half  assent, 
and  Tony  continued,  "  I'll  tell  you 
why  I  think  so.  Whenever  she 
asked  me  about  the  campaign  and 
the  way  I  was  wounded,  and  what 
I  had  seen,  there  was  quite  a 
change  in  her  voice,  and  she  listened 
to  what  I  said  very  differently  from 
the  way  she  heard  me  when  I  talked 
to  her  of  my  affection  for  her.''' 

"  There's  no  knowing  them  ! 
there's  no  knowing  them!"  said 
M'Gruder,  drearily  ;  "  and  how  did 
it  end  I" 

"  It  ended  that  way." 

"What  way?" 

"Just  as  I  told  you.  She  said 
.she'd  always  be  the  same  as  a  sister 
to  me,  and  that  when  I  grew  older 
and  wiser  i'd  see  that  there  should 
never  have  been  any  closer  tie  be- 
tween us.  I  can't  repeat  the  words 
she  used,  but  it  was  something  to 
this  purport, — that  when  a  woman 
has  been  lecturing  a  man  about  his 
line  of  life,  and  trying  'to  make 
something  out  of  him,  against  the 
grain  of  his  own  indolence,  she 
can't  turn  suddenly  round  and  fall 
in  love,  even  though  he  was  in  love 
with  //<-/•." 

"  She  has  a  good  head  on  her 
shoulders,  she  has,"  muttered 
M'Gruder. 

"  I'd  rather  she  had  a  little  more 
heart,"  said  Tony,  peevishly. 


"  That  may  be,  but  she's  right, 
after  all." 

"  And  why  is  she  right  ?  why 
shouldn't  she  see  me  as  I  am  now, 
and  not  persist  in  looking  at  me  as 
I  used  to  be  ]" 

"Just  because  it's  not  her  hum- 
our, I  suppose  ;  at  least,  I  don't 
know  any  better  reason." 

Tony  wheeled  suddenly  away 
from  his  companion,  and  took  two 
or  three  turns  alone.  At  la.st  he 
said,  "  She  never  told  me  so,  but  I 
suppose  the  truth  was.  all  this  time 
she  if ul  think  me  very  presump- 
tuous; and  that  what  her  mother 
did  not  scruple  to  say  to  me  in 
words,  Alice  had  often  said  to  her 
own  heart." 

"  You  are  rich  enough  now  to 
make  you  her  equal." 

"  And  I'd  rather  bu  as  poor  as  I 
used  to  be  and  have  the  hopes  that 
have  left  me." 

M'Gruder  gave  a  heavy  sigh,  and, 
turning  aAvay,  leaned  on  the  bul- 
wark and  hid  his  face.  "I'm  a  bad 
comforter,  Tony,"  said  he  at  last, 
and  speaking  with  dilliculty.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  have  told  you,  for 
you  have  cares  enough  of  your  own, 
but  I  may  as  well  tell  you — read 
that."  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  out  a 
letter  and  handed  it  to  him ;  and 
Tony,  stooping  down  beside  the 
binnacle  light,  read  it  over  twice. 

"  This  is  clear  and  clean  beyond 
me,"  exclaimed  he,  as  he  stood  up. 
"  From  any  other  girl  I  could  under- 
stand it ;  but  Dolly — I  >olly  Stewart, 
who  never  broke  her  word  in  her 
life — I  never  knew  her  tell  a  lie  as 
a  little  child.  What  can  she  mean 
by  it  >'' 

''  Just  what  she  says  there — she 
thought  she  could  marry  me,  and 
she  finds  she  cannot." 

"But  why?" 

"  Ah  !  that's  more  than  she  likes 
to  tell  me — more,  mayhap,  than 
she'd  tell  any  one." 

"  Have  you  any  clue  to  it  ?" 

"  None — not  the  slightest." 

"  Is  your  sister-in-law  in  it  I  Has 
she  said  or  written  anything  that 
Dolly  could  resent  ?" 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusic 


[Jan, 


"  No ;  don't  you  mark  what  she 
says  at  the  end  ?  '  You  must  not 
try  to  lighten  any  blame  you  would 
lay  on  me  by  thinking  that  any  one 
has  influenced  me.  The  fault  is  all 
my  own.  It  is  I  myself  have  to  ask 
your  forgiveness.'  " 

"  Was  there  any  coldness  in  your 
late  letters'?  was  there  anything 
that  she  could  construe  into  change 
of  affection  ]" 

"  Nothing — nothing." 

"  What  will  her  father  say  to  it  V 
said  Tony,  after  a  pause. 

"  She's  afraid  of  that  herself. 
You  mind  the  words?  'If  I  meet 
forgiveness  from  you  I  shall  not 
from  others,  and  my  fault  will  bear 
its  heavy  punishment  on  a  heart 
that  is  not  too  happy.'  Poor  thing  ! 
I  do  forgive  her — forgive  her  with 
all  my  heart;  but  it's  a  great  blow, 
Tony." 

"  If  she  was  a  capricious  girl,  I 
could  understand  it,  but  that's  what 
she  never  was." 

"  ISTo,no;  she  was  true  and  honest 
in  all  things." 

"  It  may  be  something  about  her 
father  ;  he's  an  old  man,  and  fail- 
ing. She  cannot  bear  to  leave  him, 
perhaps,  and  it's  just  possible  she 
couldn't  bring  herself  to  say  it. 
Don't  you  think  it  might  be  that  V 

"  Don't  give  me  a  hope,  Tony. 
Don't  let  me  see  a  glimpse  of  light, 
my  dear  friend,  if  there's  to  be  no 
fulfilment  after." 

The  tone  of  emotion  he  spoke 
in  made  Tony  unable  to  reply  for 
some  minutes.  "  I  Lave  no  right  to 
say  this,  it  is  true,"  said  he,  kindly; 
"  but  it's  the  nearest  guess  I  can 
make :  I  know,  for  she  told  me  so 
herself,  she'd  not  go  and  be  a  gov- 
erness again  if  she  could  help  it." 

"  Oh,  if  you  were  to  be  right, 
Tony  !  Oh,  if  it  was  to  be  as  you 
suspect,  for  we  could  make  him 
come  out  and  live  with  us  here ! 
We've  plenty  of  room,  and  it  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  see  him  happy,  and 
at  rest,  after  his  long  life  of  labour. 
Let  us  read  the  letter  over  together, 
Tony,  and  see  how  it  agrees  with 
that  thought :"  and  now  they  both 


crouched  down  beside  the  light  and 
read  it  over  from  end  to  end.  Here 
and  there  were  passages  that  they 
pondered  over  seriously,  and  some 
they  read  twice  and  even  thrice  ; 
and  although  they  brought  to  this 
task  the  desire  to  confirm  a  specu- 
lation, there  was  that  in  the  tone  of 
the  letter  that  gave  little  ground 
for  their  hope.  It  was  so  self- 
accusing  throughout,  that  it  was 
plain  she  herself  laid  no  comfort 
to  her  own  heart  in  the  thought  of 
a  high  duty  fulfilled. 

"Are  you  of  the  same  mind  still  V 
asked  M'Gruder,  sadly,  and  with 
little  of  hopefulness  in  his  voice ; 
and  Tony  was  silent. 

"  I  see  you  are  not.  I  see  that 
you  cannot  give  me  such  a  hope." 

"  Have  you  answered  this  yet '?  " 

''  Yes,  I  have  written  it ;  but  it's 
not  sent  off.  I  kept  it  by  me  to 
read  over,  and  see  that  there  was 
nothing  harsh  or  cruel — nothing  I 
would  not  say  in  cold  blood  ;  for 
oh,  Tony!  I  will  avow  it  was  hard  to 
forgive  her  ;  no,  I  don't  mean  that, 
but  it  was  hard  to  bring  myself  to 
believe  I  had  lost  her  for  ever.  For 
a  while  I  thought  the  best  thing  I 
could  do,  was  to  comfort  myself  by 
thinking  how  false  she  was,  and 
I  took  out  all  her  letters,  to  con- 
vince me  of  her  duplicity;  but  what 
do  you  think  I  found  ?  They  all 
showed  me,  what  I  never  saw  till 
then,  that  she  was  only  going  to  be 
my  wife  out  of  a  sort  of  resignation; 
that  the  grief  and  fretting  of  her 
poor  father  at  leaving  her  penniless 
in  the  world,  was  more  than  she 
could  bear;  and  that  to  give  him  the 
comfort  of  his  last  few  days  in 
peace,  she'd  make  any  sacrifice;  and 
through  all  the  letters,  though  I 
never  saw  it  before,  she  laid  stress 
on  what  she  called  doing  her  best 
to  make  me  happy,  but  there  was 
no  word  of  being  happy  herself." 

Perhaps  Tony  did  not  lay  the 
same  stress  on  this  that  his  friend 
did  ;  perhaps  no  explanation  of  it 
came  readily  to  his  mind ;  at  all 
events  he  made  no  attempt  at  com- 
ment, and  only  said, 


Tuny  Jiutfer. — Conclusion. 


"  And  what  will  your  answer  be  C' 

'•  What  can  it  be  I  to  release  her, 
of  (•< uir.se." 

"  Ay,  but  how  will  you  say  it  T' 

"  Here's  what  I  have  written;  it 
is  the  fourth  attempt,  and  I  don't 
much  like  it  yet,  but  i  can't  do  it 
better.''  And  once  more  they  turn- 
ed to  the  light  while  "M'Gruder  read 
out  his  letter,  it  was  a  kind  and 
feeling  letter;  it  contained  not  one- 
word  of  reproach,  but  it  said  that, 
into  the  home  he  had  taken,  and 
where  lie  meant  to  be  so  happy,  he'd 
never  put  foot  again.  i;  You  ought 
to  have  seen  it,  Tony,  '  said  he,  with 
a  quiver  in  his  voice.  "It  was  all 
so  neat  and  comfortable  ;  and  the 
little  room  that  I  meant  to  be 
Dolly's  own,  was  hung  round  with 
prints,  and  there  was  a  little  terrace, 
with  some  orange-trees  and  myrtles, 
that  would  grow  there  all  through 
the  winter — for  it  was  a  sheltered 
spot  under  the  Monte  Xero  ;  but 
it's  all  over  now.'' 

"  Don't  send  off  that  letter.  I 
mean,  let  me  see  her  and  speak  to 
her  before  you  write.  I  shall  be  at 
home,  I  hope,  by  Wednesday,  and 
I'll  go  over  to  the  Burnside — or, 
better  still,  I'll  make  my  mother 
ask  Dolly  to  come  over  to  us. 
Dolly  loves  her  as  if  she  were  her 
own  mother,  and  if  any  one  can  in- 
fluence her  she  will  be  that  one." 

"  But  I'd  not  wish  her  to  come 
round  by  persuasion,  Tony.  Dolly's 
a  girl  to  have  a  will  of  her  own,  and 
she's  never  made  up  her  mind  to 
write  me  that  letter  without  think- 
ing well  over  it." 

"  Perhaps  she'll  tell  my  mother 
her  reasons.  Perhaps  she'll  say  why 
she  draws  back  from  her  promise." 

"  I.  don't  even  know  that  I'd  like 
to  drive  her  to  that;  it  mightn't  be 
quite  fair." 

Tony  Hung  away  his  cigar  with 
impatience;  he  was  irritated,  for  he 
bethought  him  of  his  own  case,  and 
how  it  was  quite  possible  no  such 
scruples  of  delicacy  would  have  in- 
terfered with  him  if  he  could  only 
have  managed  to  find  out  what  was 
passing  in  Alice's  mind. 


"  I'm  sure,"  said  M'duder,  "  you 
agree  with  me.  Tony;  and  if  she 
says,  Don't  hold  me  to  my  pledge, 
I  have  no  right  to  ask,  Why  (  " 

A  short  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
was  all  Tony's  answer. 

''  Not  that  I'd  object  to  your  say- 
ing a  word  for  me,  Tony,  if  there 
was  to  be  any  hope  from  it — saying 
what  a  warm  friend  could  say  of 
one  he  thought  well  of.  You've 
been  living  under  the  same  roof 
with  me,  and  you  know  more  of  my 
nature,  and  my  ways  and  my  tem- 
per, than  most  men,  and  mayhap 
what  you  could  tell  her  might  have 
its  weight." 

"  That  I  know  and  believe." 

"But  don't  think  only  of  me,  Tony. 
X/ies  more  to  be  considered  than  1 
am  ;  and  if  this  bargain  was  to  be 
unhappy  for  her,  it  would  only  be 
misery  for  both  of  us.  You'd  not 
marry  your  own  sweetheart  against 
her  own  will  ?" 

Tony  neither  agreed  to  nor  dis- 
sented from  this  remark.  The 
chances  were  that  it  was  a  pro- 
position not  so  readily  solved,  and 
that  he'd  like  to  have  thought  over 
it. 

"  Xo  ;  I  know  you  better  than 
that,"  said  M'Gruder  once  more. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  remarked  Tony  ; 
but  the  tone  certainly  gave  no  posi- 
tive assurance  of  a  settled  determi- 
nation. "At  all  events,  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  If  it  was  that  she  cares  for 
somebody  else  that  she  couldn't 
marry — that  her  father  disliked,  or 
that  he  was  too  poor — I'd  never  say 
one  word  ;  because  who  can  tell 
what  changes  may  come  in  life,  and 
the  man  that  couldn't  support  a 
wife  now,  in  a  year  or  two  may  be 
well  off  and  thriving  .'  And  if  it  was 
that  she  really  liked  another — you 
don't  think  that  likely  I  Well,  nei- 
ther do  I  ;  but  I  say  it  here,  because 
I  want  to  take  in  every  considera- 
tion of  the  question  ;  but  I  repeat, 
if  it  were  so,  I'd  never  utter  one 
word  against  it.  Your  mother, 
Tony,  is  more  likely  to  find  (hat 
out  than  any  of  us  ;  and  if  she  says 


Tony  Sutler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


Dolly's  heart  is  given  away  already, 
that  will  be  enough.  I'll  not 
trouble  nor  torment  her  more." 

Tony  grasped  his  friend's  hand, 
and  shook  it  warmly,  some  vague 
suspicion  darting  through  him  at 
the  time  that  this  rag-merchant  was 
more  generous  in  his  dealing  with 
the  woman  he  loved  than  he,  Tony, 
would  have  been.  Was  it  that  he 
loved  less,  or  was  it  that  his  love 
was  more  1  Tony  couldn't  tell ; 
nor  was  it  so  very  easy  to  resolve 
it  either  way. 

As  day  broke,  the  steamer  ran 
into  Leghorn  to  land  some  pas- 
sengers and  take  in  others ;  and 
M'Gruder,  while  he  took  leave  of 
Tony,  pointed  to  a  reel-tiled  roof 
rising  amongst  some  olive-trees — 
the  quaint  little  pigeon-house  on 


top  surmounted  with  a  weather- 
vane  fashioned  into  an  enormous 
letter  S. 

"There  it  is,"  saidhe,  withashake 
in  his  voice ;  "  that  was  to  have 
been  her  home.  I'll  not  go  near 
it  till  I  hear  from  you,  and  you  may 
tell  her  so.  Tell  her  you  saw  it, 
Tony,  and  that  it  was  a  sweet  little 
spot,  where  one  might  look  for 
happiness  if  they  could  only  bring 
a  quiet  heart  to  it.  And  above  all, 
Tony,  write  to  me  frankly  and 
openly,  and  don't  give  me  any 
hopes  if  your  own  conscience  tells 
you  I  have  no  right  to  them." 

With  a  strong  grasp  of  the  hand, 
and  a  long  full  look  at  each  other 
in  silence,  M'Gruder  went  over  the 
side  to  his  boat,  and  the  steamer 
ploughed  on  her  way  to  Marseilles. 


CIIAPTEU    LXI. — TONY   AT   HOME   AUAIX. 


Though  Tony  was  eager  to  per- 
suade liory  to  accompany  him 
home,  the  poor  fellow  longed  so 
ardently  to  see  his  friends  and  rela- 
tions, to  tell  all  that  he  had  done 
and  suffered  for  "  the  cause,"  and 
to  show  the  rank  he  had  won,  that 
Tony  yielded  at  last,  and  only 
bound  him  by  a  promise  to  come 
and  pass  his  Christmas  at  the 
Causeway ;  and  now  he  hastened 
on  night  and  day,  feverishly  impa- 
tient to  see  his  mother,  and  yearn- 
ing for  that  affection  which  his 
heart  had  never  before  so  thirsted 
after. 

There  were  times  when  he  felt 
that,  without  Alice,  all  his  good 
fortune  in  life  was  valueless  ;  and  it 
was  a  matter  of  utter  indifference 
whether  he  was  to  see  himself  sur- 
rounded with  every  means  of  enjoy- 
ment, or  rise  each  morning  to  meet 
some  call  of  labour.  And  then 
there  were  times  when  he  thought 
of  the  great  space  that  separated 
them — not  in  condition,  but  in 
tastes  and  habits  and  requirements. 
She  was  of  that  gay  and  fashion- 
able world  that  she  adorned — made 
for  it,  and  made  to  like  it ;  its 


admiration  and  its  homage  were 
things  she  looked  for.  What  would 
he  have  done  if  obliged  to  live  in 
such  a  society?  His  delight  was 
the  freedom  of  an  out-of-door  exist- 
ence— the  hard  work  of  field-sports, 
dashed  with  a  certain  danger  that 
gave  them  their  zest.  In  these  he 
admitted  no  man  to  be  his  supe- 
rior ;  and  in  this  very  conscious 
strength  lay  the  pride  that  sustain- 
ed him.  Compel  him,  however, 
to  live  in  another  fashion  —  sur- 
round him  with  the  responsibili- 
ties of  station,  and  the  demands 
of  certain  ceremonies  —  and  he 
would  be  wretched.  "Perhaps  she 
saw  all  that,"  muttered  he  to  him- 
self. "With  that  marvellous  quick- 
ness of  hers,  who  knows  if  she 
might  not  have  foreseen  how  un- 
suited  I  was  to  all  habits  but  my 
own  wayward,  careless  ones  1  And 
though  I  hope  I  shall  always  be  a 
gentleman,  in  truth  there  are  some 
forms  of  the  condition  that  puzzle 
me  sorely. 

"And,  after  all,  have  I  not  my 
dear  mother  to  look  after  and  make 
happy  ?  and  what  a  charm  it  will 
give  to  life  to  see  her  surrounded 


1^63.] 


Butler. — Conclusion. 


9 


with  tlic  little  objects  she  loved  and 
cared  for!  What  a  garden  she 
shall  have  !  "  Climate  and  soil,  to 
be  sure,  were  still'  adversaries  to 
conquer,  but  money  and  skill  could 
fight  them  ;  and  that  school  for 
the  little  girls  —  the  fishermen's 
daughters  —  that  she  was  always 
planning,  and  always  wondering 
Sir  Arthur  Lyle  had  never  thought 
of,  she  should  have  it  now,  and 
a  pretty  building,  too,  it  should 
be.  He  knew  the  very  spot 
to  suit  it,  and  how  beautiful  he 
would  make  their  own  little  cot- 
tage, if  hi.s  mother  should  still  de- 
sire to  live  there.  Not  that  he 
thought  of  this  positively  with  per- 
fect calm  and  indifference.  To  live 
so  near  the  Lyles,  and  live  es- 
tranged from  them,  would  be  a 
great  source  of  unpleasantness,  and 
yet  how  could  he  possibly  renew 
his  relations  there,  now  that  all  was 
over  between  Alice  and  himself  ? 
"  Ah,"  thought  he  at  last, "  the  world 
would  stand  still  if  it  had  to  wait 
for  stupid  fellows  like  me  to  solve 
its  difficulties.  I  must  just  let 
events  happen,  and  do  the  best  I 
can  when  they  confront  me :"  and 
then  mother  would  be  there;  mo- 
ther would  counsel  and  advise  him  ; 
mother  would  warn  him  of  this, 
and  reconcile  him  to  that  ;  and 
so  he  was  of  good  cheer  as  to  the 
future,  though  there  were  things 
in  the  present  that  pressed  him 
sorely. 

It  was  about  an  hour  after  dark 
of  a  starry,  sharp  October  evening, 
that  the  jaunting-car  on  which  he 
travelled  drove  up  to  the  spot  where 
the  little  pathway  turned  off  to 
the  cottage,  and  Jeanie  was  there 
with  her  lantern  waiting  for  him. 

"  You've  no  a'  that  luggage, 
Maister  Tony  \ "  cried  she,  as  the 
man  deposited  the  fourth  trunk  on 
the  road. 

"  How's  iny  mother  ?  "  asked  he, 
impatiently — "  is  she  well  I  " 

"  Why  wouldn't  she  be  weel.  and 
hearty  too?"  said  the  girl,  who 
rather  felt  the  question  as  savour- 
ing of  ingratitude,  seeing  what 


blessings  of  fortune  had  been  show- 
ered upon  them. 

As  lie  walked  hurriedly  along, 
Jcanie  trotted  at  his  side,  telling 
him,  in  broken  and  disjointed  sen- 
tences, the  events  of  the  place — 
the  joy  of  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood on  hearing  of  his  new  wealth; 
their  hopes  that  he  might  not  leave 
that  part  of  tin:  country  ;  what 
Mrs  P.lackie  of  C'raigs  Mills  said  at 
Mrs  Dumphy's  christening,  when 
she  gave  the  name  of  Tony  to  the 
baby,  and  wouldn't  say  Anthony; 
and  how  Dr  M'(  'andlish  improved 
the  occasion  for  "  twa  good  hours, 
Avi'  mair  text  o'  Scripture  than 
wad  make  a  Sabbath-day's  dis- 
course;" and  cell,  Maistcr  Tony, 
it's  a  glad  heart  I'll  hae  o'  it  all,  if 
I  could  only  think  that  you'll  no 
be  going  to  keep  a  man  creature — 
a  sort  of  a  butler  like — there's  no 
such  wastefu'  bodies  in  the  world 
as  they,  and  wanting  mair  cere- 
monies than  the  best  gentlemen  in 
the  land.''  Uefore  Tony  had  finish- 
ed assuring  her  that  no  change  in 
the  household  should  displace  her- 
self, they  had  reached  the  little 
wicket  :  his  mother,  as  she  stood  at 
the  door,  caught  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  rushed  out  to  meet  him,  and 
was  soon  clasped  in  his  arms. 

"  It's  more  happiness  than  I 
hoped  for — more,  far  more,"  was  all 
she  could  say,  as  she  clung  to  him. 
Her  next  words  were  uttered  in  a 
cry  of  joy,  when  the  light  fell  full 
upon  him  in  the  doorway  — 
"  you're  just  your  father,  Tony ;  it's 
your  own  father's  self  I  see  stand- 
ing before  me,  if  you  had  not  so 
much  hair  over  your  face." 

"I'll  soon  get  rid  of  that,  mother, 
if  you  dislike  it." 

"  Let  it  be.  Master  Tony— let  it 
be,"  cried  Jeanie  ;  *'  though  it 
frightened  me  a  bit  at  first,  it's  no 
so  bad  when  one  gets  used  to  it." 

Though  Mrs  Butler  had  deter- 
mined to  make  Tony  relate  every 
event  that  took  place  from  the  day 
he  left  her,  in  regular  narrative 
order,  nothing  could  be  less  con- 
nected, nothing  less  consecutive, 


10 


Tony  Jhitler. — Conclusion. 


tlian  the  incidents  lie  recounted. 
Now  it  would  be  some  reminiscence 
of  Ms  messenger  days— of  his  meet- 
ing with  that  glorious  Sir  Joseph, 
who  treated  him  so  handsomely; 
then  of  that  villain  who  stole  his 
despatches ;  of  his  life  as  a  rag-mer- 
chant, or  his  days  with  Garibaldi, 
llory,  too,  was  remembered ;  and 
he  related  to  his  mother  the  pious 
fraud  by  which  he  had  transferred 
to  his  humble  follower  the  promo- 
tion Garibaldi  had  bestowed  upon 
himself. 

"  He  well  deserved  it,  and  more ; 
he  carried  me,  when  1  was  wounded, 
through  the  orchard  at  Melazzo  on 
his  back,  and  though  struck  with  a 
bullet  himself,  never  owned  he  was 
hit  till  he  fell  on  the  grass  beside 
me — a  grand  fellow  that,  mother, 
though  he  never  learned  to  rend." 
And  there  was  a  something  of 
irony  in  his  voice  as  he  said  this, 
that  showed  how  the  pains  of  learn- 
ing still  rankled  in  his  mind. 

"  And  you  never  met  the  Lyles  1 
how  strange  !"  exclaimed  she. 

"  Yes,  I  met  Alice ;  at  least,"  said 
he,  stooping  down  to  settle  the  log- 
on the  fire,  "  I  saw  her  the  last 
evening  I  was  at  Naples." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  There's  no  all.  I  met  her,  we 
talked  together  for  half  an  hour  or 
so,  and  we  parted ;  there's  the  whole 
of  it." 

"  >She  had  heard,  I  suppose,  of 
your  good  fortune  1 " 

"  Yes,  Skeft'  had  told  them  the 
story,  and,  I  take  it,  made  the  most 
of  our  wealth;  not  that  rich  peo- 
ple like  the  Lyles  would  be  much 
impressed  by  our  fortune." 

"  That  may  be  true,  Tony,  but 
rich  folk  have  a  sympathy  with 
other  rich  folk,  and  they're  not 
very  wrong  in  liking  those  whose 
condition  resembles  their  own. 
What  did  Alice  say  ]  Did  she  give 
you  some  good  advice  as  to  your 
mode  of  life  1 " 

"  Yes,  plenty  of  that ;  she  rather 
likes  advice-giving." 

"  She  was  always  a  good  friend  of 
yours,  Tony.  I  mind  well  when  she 


used  to  come  here  to  hear  your  let- 
ters read  to  her.  She  ever  made  the 
same  remark  :  Tony  is  a  fine  true- 
hearted  boy;  and  when  he's  moulded 
and  shaped  a  bit  by  the  pressure  of 
the  world,  he'll  grow  to  be  a  fine 
true-hearted  man." 

"  It  was  very  gracious  of  her, 
no  doubt,"  said  he,  with  a  sharp 
short  tone  ;  "  and  she  was  good 
enough  to  contribute  a  little  to  that 
selfsame  'pressure''  she  hoped  so 
much  from." 

His  mother  looked  at  him  to 
explain  his  words,  but  he  turned 
his  head  away  and  was  silent. 

"  Tell  me  something  about  home, 
mother.  How  are  the  Stewarts  i 
Where  is  Dolly?" 

"  They  are  well,  and  Dolly  is 
here  ;  and  a  dear  good  girl  she  i.s. 
Ah,  Tony !  if  you  knew  all  the 
comfort  she  has  been  to  me  in  your 
absence — coining  here  through  sleet 
and  snow  and  storm,  and  nursing 
me  like  a  daughter." 

"  I  liked  her  better  till  I  learned 
how  she  had  treated  that  good- 
hearted  fellow  Sam  M'G  ruder.  Do 
you  know  how  she  has  behaved  to 
him?" 

"  I  know  it  all.  I  read  her  let- 
ters, every  one  of  them." 

"  And  can  you  mean  that  you 
defend  her  conduct  2" 

"  I  mean  that  if  she  were  to 
marry  a  man  she  did  not  love, 
and  were  dishonest  enough  not  to 
tell  him  so,  I'd  not  attempt  to  de- 
fend her.  There's  what  I  mean, 
Tony/" 

"  Why  promise  him,  then — why 
accept  him  I " 

"  She  never  did." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  he,  holding 
up  both  his  hands. 

"  I  know  what  I  say,  Tony.  It 
\vas  the  Doctor  answered  the  letter 
in  which  Mr  M'Gruder  proposed 
for  Dolly.  He  said  that  he  could 
not,  would  not,  use  any  influence 
over  his  daughter;  but  that,  from 
all  he  had  learned  of  Mr  M'Gru- 
der's  character,  he  would  give  his 
free  consent  to  the  match." 

"  Well,  then,  Dolly  said " 


1865.] 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


11 


"  Wait  a  bit,  I  am  coming-  to 
Dolly.  »She  wrote  back  that  she 
was  sorry  he  had  not  first  written 
to  herself,  and  she  would  frankly 
have  declared  she  did  not  wish  to 
marry  ;  but  now,  as  he  had  ad- 
dressed her  father — an  old  man  in 
failing  health,  anxious  above  all 
things  about  what  was  to  become 
of  her  when  he  was  removed— the 
case  was  a  more  diiHcult  one,  since 
to  refuse  his  offer  was  to  place  her- 
self in  opposition  to  her  father's 
will — a  thing  that  in  all  her  life 
had  never  happened.  '  You  will 
see  from  this,'  said  she,  '  that  I 
could  not  bring  to  you  that  love 
and  affection  which  would  be  your 
right,  were  I  only  to  marry  you 
to  spare  my  father's  anxieties. 
You  ought  to  have  more  than  this 
in  your  wife,  and  I  cannot  give  you 
more  ;  therefore  do  not  persist  in 
this  suit,  or,  at  all  events,  do  not 
press  it.'" 

"  But  I  remember  your  writing 
me  word  that  Dolly  was  only  wait- 
ing till  I  left  M'G  ruder' s  house, 
or  quitted  the  neighbourhood,  to 
name  the  day  she  would  be  married. 
How  do  you  explain  that  ?" 

"  It  was  her  father  forced  her 
to  write  that  letter  :  his  health  was 
failing,  and  his  irritability  had 
increased  to  that  degree  that  at 
times  we  were  almost  afraid  of  his 
reason,  Tony ;  and  I  mind  well  the 
night  Dolly  came  over  to  show  me 
what  she  had  written.  She  read 
it  in  that  chair  where  you  are  sit- 
ting now,  and  when  she  finished 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  and,  hiding 
her  foce  in  my  lap,  she  sobbed  as  if 
her  poor  heart  was  breaking/' 

"  So,  in  fact,  she  was  always 
averse  to  this  match." 

"  Always.  She  never  got  a  letter 
from  abroad  that  I  couldn't  have 
told  it  by  her  red  eyes  and  swelled 
eyelids,  poor  lassie!  " 

"  I  say  '  poor  fellow  ! '  mother ;  for 
I  declare  that  the  man  who  marries 
a  woman  against  her  will  has  the 
worst  of  it." 

"  No,  no,  Tony  ;  all  sorrows  fall 
heaviest  on  the  helpless.  When  at 


last  the  time  came  that  she  could 
bear  no  more,  she  rallied  her  courage 
and  told  her  father  that  if  she  were 
to  marry  M'Gruder  it  would  be  the 
misery  of  her  whole  life,  He  took 
it  very  ill  at  first;  he  said  sonic 
very  cruel  things  to  her;  and,  in- 
deed, it  was  only  after  seeing  how  I 
took  the  lassie's  side,  and  approved 
of  all  she  had  done,  that  he  yield- 
ed and  gave  way.  But  he  isn't 
what  he  used  to  be,  Tony.  Old  age, 
they  say,  makes  people  sometimes 
sterner  and  harder.  A  grievoiis 
thing  to  think  of,  that  we'd  be 
more  worldly  just  when  the  world 
was  slipping  away  beneath  us  ;  and 
so  what  do  you  think  he  does  ? 
The  same  day  that  Dolly  writes 
that  letter  to  M'Gruder,  he  makes 
her  write  to  I)r  M'Candlish  to  say 
that  she'd  take  a  situation  as  a 
governess  with  a  family  going 
to  India,  which  the  Doctor  men- 
tioned was  open  to  any  well-qua- 
lified young  person  like  herself. 
'  Ye  canna  say  that  your  "  heart 
will  be  broke  wi'  treachery"  here, 
lassie,'  said  her  father,  .jeering  at 
what  she  said  in  her  tears  about 
the  marriage." 

"  You  oughtn't  to  suffer  this, 
mother ;  you  ought  to  offer  Dolly 
a  home  here  with  yourself." 

''  It  was  what  I  was  thinking 
of,  Tony ;  but  I  didn't  like  to 
take  any  step  in  it  till  I  saw  you 
and  spoke  to  you." 

"  Do  it,  by  all  means — do  it  to- 
morrow." 

"  Xot  to-morrow,  Tony,  nor  even 
the  next  clay ;  for  Dolly  and  the 
Doctor  left  this  to  pass, a  few  days 
with  the  M'Candlishes  at  Arti- 
clave,  and  they'll  not  be  back  be- 
fore Saturday  ;  but  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  like  the  plan — so  glad  that 
it  came  from  yourself,  too." 

"  It's  the  first  bit  of  pleasure 
our  new  wealth  has  given  us,  mo- 
ther ;  may  it  be  a  good  augury  !  " 

"  That's  a  heathenish  word, 
Tony,  and  most  unsuited  to  be 
used  in  thankfulness  for  God's 
blessings." 

Tony  took  the    rebuke  in  good 


12 


Towj  Butler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


part,  and,  to  change  the  topic, 
laughingly  asked  if  she  thought 
Garibaldians  never  were  hungry, 
for  she  had  said  nothing  of  sup- 
per since  he  came. 


"  Jeanie  has  been  in  three  times 
to  tell  you  it  was  ready,  and  the 
last  time  she  said  she'd  come  no 
more ;  but  come  and  we'll  see  what 
there's  for  us." 


After  some  four  or  five  "ays 
passed  almost  like  a  drean  .or 
while  he  stood  in  the  midst  ,1  old 
familiar  objects,  all  Tony's  thoughts 
as  to  the  future  were  new  and 
strange — there  came  a  long  letter 
from  Skeff  Darner,  announcing  his 
approaching  marriage  with  Bella — 
the  "  clear  old  woman  of  Tilncy  " 
having  behaved  "  beautifully." 
"  Short  as  the  time  has  been  since 
you  left  tliis,  my  brave  Tony,  great 
events  have  occurred.  The  King 
has  lost  his  throne,  and  Skeff 
Darner  has  gained  an  estate.  I 
would  have  saved  him,  for  I  really 
like  the  Queen  ;  but  that  his  obsti- 
nacy is  such,  the  rescue  would  have 
only  been  a  reprieve,  not  a  par- 
don. Sicily  I  meant  for  us — I 
mean  for  England — myself  to  be 
the  Viceroy.  The  silver  mines  at 
Stromboli  have  never  been  worked 
since  the  time  of  Tiberius  ;  they 
contain  untold  wealth  :  and  as  to 
coral  fishery,  I  have  obtained  sta- 
tistics will  make  your  teeth  water. 
I  can  show  you  my  calculations  in 
hard  figures,  that  in  eight  years 
and  four  months  I  should  be  the 
richest  man  in  Europe — able  to 
purchase  the  soil  of  the  island  out 
and  out,  if  the  British  Government 
were  stupid  enough  not  to  see  that 
they  ought  to  establish  me  and  my 
dynasty  there.  These  are  now  but 
visions — grand  and  glorious  visions, 
it  is  true — and  dearest  Bella  sheds 
tears  when  I  allude  to  them. 

"  I  have  had  a  row  with  '  the 
Office ; '  they  blame  me  for  the  down- 
fall of  the  monarchy,  but  they  never 
told  me  to  save  it.  To  you  I  may 
make  the  confession,  it  was  the  two 
days  I  passed  at  Cava  cost  this 
Bourbon  his  crown.  Not  that  I 
regret,  my  dear  Tony,  this  tribute 


to  friendship.  During  that  inter- 
val, as  Caratfa  expresses  it,  they 
were  paralysed.  'Where  is  Darner  C 
'Who  has  seen  Skeff  2 '  '  What  has 
become  of  him  ] '  'With  whom  is  he 
negotiating  ] '  were  the  questions  on 
every  side  ;  and  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  excitement,  back  comes  the 
fellow  M'Caskey,  the  little  fiery- 
faced  individual  you  insisted  in 
your  raving  ou  calling  'my  god- 
father.' and  declares  that  I  am  in 
the  camp  of  the  Garibaldians,  and 
making  terms  and  stipulations  with 
the  General  himself.  The  Queen- 
Mother  went  off  in  strong  hysterics 
when  she  heard  it ;  the  King  never 
uttered  a  word — has  never  spoken 
since — and  the  dear  Queen  merely 
said,  'Darner  will  never  betray  us/ 
These  particulars  I  learned  from 
Francardi.  Meanwhile  Garibaldi, 
seeing  the  immense  importance  of 
my  presence  at  his  headquarters, 
pushes  on  for  the  capital,  and 
enters  Naples,  as  he  gives  out, 
witli  the  concurrence  and  approval 
of  England  !  You  will,  I  have  no 
doubt,  hear  another  version  of  this 
event.  You  will  be  told  bushels 
of  lies  about  heroic  daring  and 
frantic  popular  enthusiasm.  To 
your  friendly  breast  I  commit  the 
truth,  never  to  be  revealed,  how- 
ever, except  to  a  remote  posterity. 
"One  other  confession,  and  I  have 
done — done  with  politics  for  ever. 
You  will  hear  of  Garibaldi  as  a  brave, 
straightforward, simple-minded,  un- 
suspectful  man,  hating  intrigues  of 
all  kinds.  This  is  totally  wrong. 
With  all  his  courage,  it  is  as  no- 
thing to  his  craft.  He  is  the  deep- 
est politician,  and  the  most  subtle 
statesman  in  Europe,  and,  to  my 
thinking — mind,  it  is  m>/  estimate 
I  give  you — more  of  Machiavelli 


18G5.1 


Tony  It  idler. — Conclusion. 


13 


than  any  man  of  his  day.  Bear 
this  in  mind,  and  keep  your  eye 
on  him  in  future.  We  had  not 
been  five  minutes  together  till  each 
of  us  read  the  other.  We  were  the 
two  '  Augurs '  of  the  Latin  satirist, 
and  if  we  didn't  laugh,  we  ex- 
changed a  recognition  just  as  sig- 
nificant. I  ought  to  tell  you  that 
he  is  quite  frantic  at  my  giving  up 
political  life,  and  he  says  that  my 
retirement  will  make  Cavour's  for- 
tune, for  there  is  no  other  man  left 
fit  to  meet  him.  There  was  not  a 
temptation,  not  a  bribe,  he  did  not 
throw  out  to  induce  me  to  with- 
hold my  resignation  ;  and  when  he 
found  that  personal  advantages  had 
no  weight  with  me,  he  said,  '  Mind 
my  words,  Monsieur  Darner ;  the 
day  will  come  when  you  will  regret 
this  retirement.  When  you  will 
see  the  great  continent  of  Europe 
convulsed  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  and  yourself  no  longer  in  a 
position  to  influence  the  course  of 
events,  and  guide  the  popular  will, 
you  will  bitterly  regret  this  step.' 
But  I  know  myself  better.  What 
could  the  Peerage,  what  could  the 
Garter,  what  could  a  seat  in  the 
Cabinet  do  for  me  I  I  have  been 
too  long  and  too  much  behind  the 
scenes,  to  be  dazzled  by  the  blaze 
of  the  '  spectacle/  I  want  repose, 
a  home,  the  charms  of  that  do- 
mestic life  which  are  denied  to  the 
mere  man  of  ambition.  Bella,  in- 
deed, has  her  misgivings,  that  to 
live  without  greatness — greatness 
in  action,  and  greatness  to  come — 
will  be  a  sore  trial  to  me  ;  but  I 
tell  her,  as  I  tell  you,  my  dear 
friend,  that  it  is  exactly  the  men 
who,  like  myself,  have  moved  events, 
and  given  the  spring  to  the  greatest 
casualties,  who  are  readiest  to  accept 
tranquillity  and  peace  as  the  first  of 
blessings.  Under  the  shade  of  my 
old  elms  at  Tilney  —  I  may  call 
them  mine  already,  as  Reeves  and 
Tucker  are  drawing  out  the  deeds — 
I  will  Avrite  my  memoirs, — one  of 
the  most  interesting  contributions, 
when  it  appears,  that  history 
has  received  for  the  last  century. 


I  can  afford  to  bo  fearless,  and 
I  will  be  ;  and  if  certain  noble 
lords  go  down  to  posterity  with 
tarnished  honour  and  diminished 
fame,  they  can  date  the  discovery 
to  the  day  when  they  disparaged 
a  Darner. 

"  Now  for  a  minor  key.  We  led 
a  very  jolly  life  on  board  the 
Talisman ;  only  needing  yourself 
to  make  it  perfect.  My  Lady  L. 
was  '  out  of  herself '  at  your  not 
coming  ;  indeed,  since  your  acces- 
sion to  fortune,  she  has  discovered 
some  very  amiable  and  some  espe- 
cially attractive  qualities  in  your 
nature,  and  that,  '  if  you  fall 
amongst  the  right  people  ' — I  hope 
you  appreciate  the  sort  of  accident 
intended — you  will  become  a  very 
superior  article.  Bella  is,  as  always, 
a  sincere  friend  ;  and  though  Alice 
says  nothing,  she  does  not  look  un- 
grateful to  him  who  speaks  well  of 
you.  Bella  has  told  me  in  confid- 
ence— mind,  in  confidence — that  all 
is  broken  off  between  Alice  and 
you,  and  says  it  is  all  the  better 
for  both  ;  that  you  were  a  pair  of 
intractable  tempers,  and  that  the 
only  chance  for  either  of  you,  is  to 
be  allied  to  somebody  or  something 
that  would  consent  to  think  you 
perfection,  and  yet  manage  you  as 
if  you  were  not  what  is  called  '  ab- 
solute wisdom.' 

"  Bella  also  said,  '  Tony  might 
have  had  some  chance  with  Alice 
had  he  remained  poor/  the  opposi- 
tion of  her  family  would  have  had 
its  weight  in  influencing  her  in  his 
favour ;  but  now  that  he  is  a  prize 
in  the  matrimonial  lottery,  she  is 
quite  ready  to  se«  any  defects  he 
may  have,  and  set  them  against  all 
that  would  \)Q  said  in  his  behalf. 
Last  of  all,  she  likes  her  independ- 
ence as  a  widow.  I  half  suspected 
that  Maitland  had  been  before  you 
in  her  favour  ;  but  Bella  says  not. 
By  the  way,  it  was  the  fortune  that 
has  fallen  to  you  Maitland  had  al- 
ways expected  —  Sir  Omerod  hav- 
ing married,  or,  as  some  say,  not 
married,  his  mother,  and  adopted 
Maitland,  who  contrived  to  spend 


14 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


about  eighty  thousand  of  the  old 
man's  savings  in  ten  or  eleven 
years.  He  is  a  strange  fellow,  and 
mysterious  to  the  last.  Since  the 
overthrow  of  the  Government,  we 
have  been  reduced  to  ask  protec- 
tion to  the  city  from  the  secret  so- 
ciety called  the  Camorra,  a  set  of 
Neapolitan  Thugs,  who  cut  throats 
in  reciprocity ;  and  it  was  by  a 
guard  of  these  wretches  that  we 
were  escorted  to  the  ship's  boats 
when  we  embarked.  Bella  swears 
that  the  chief  of  the  gang  was  no 
other  than  Maitland,  greatly  dis- 
guised, of  course ;  but  she  says  that 
she  recognised  him  by  his  teeth,  as 
he  smiled  accidentally.  It  would 
be,  of  course,  at  the  risk  of  his  life 
he  was  there,  since  anything  that 
pertained  to  the  Court  would,  if 
discovered,  be  torn  to  fragments  by 
the  people.  My  'godfather'  had  a 
narrow  escape  on  Tuesday  last.  He 
rode  through  the  Toledo  in  full 
uniform,  amidst  all  the  people,  who 
were  satisfied  with  hissing  him  in- 
stead of  treating  him  to  a  stiletto, 
and  the  rascal  grinned  an  insolent 
defiance  as  he  went,  and  said,  as 
lie  gained  the  Piazza,  '  You're  not 
such  bad  canaille,  after  all ;  I 
have  seen  worse  in  Mexico.'  He 
went  on  board  a  despatch-boat  in 
the  bay,  and  ordered  the  command- 
er to  take  him  to  Gaeta ;  and  the 
oddest  of  all  is,  the  officer  complied, 
overpowered,  as  better  men  have 
been,  by  the  scoundrel's  impertin- 
ence. Oh,  Tony,  to  you — to  your- 
self, to  yonr  heart's  most  secret 
closet,  fast  to  be  locked,  when  you 
have  my  secret  inside  of  it — to  you, 
I  own,  that  the  night  I  passed  in 
that  wretch's  company  is  the  dark- 
est page  of  my  existence.  He  over- 
whelmed me  with  insult,  and  I  had 
to  bear  it,  just  as  I  should  have  to 
bear  the  buffeting  of  the  waves  if 
I  had  been  thrown  into  the  sea. 
I'd  have  strangled  him  then  and 
there  if  I  was  able,  but  the  brute 
would  have  torn  me  limb  from 
limb  if  I  attempted  it.  Time  may 
diminish  the  acuteness  of  this  suf- 
fering, but  I  confess  to  you,  up 


to  this,  when  I  think  of  what  I 
went  through,  my  humiliation  over- 
powers me.  I  hope  fervently  you 
may  meet  him  one  of  these  days. 
Yon  have  a  little  score  of  your  own, 
I  suspect,  to  settle  with  him ;  at 
all  events,  if  the  day  of  reckoning 
comes,  include  my  balance,  and 
trust  to  my  eternal  gratitude. 

"  Here  have  come  Alice  and 
Bella  to  make  me  read  out  what  I 
have  written  to  you ;  of  course  I 
have  objected.  This  is  a  strictly 
'  private  and  confidential.'  What  we 
do  for  the  blue-books,  Master  Tony, 
we  do  in  a  different  fashion.  Alice, 
perhaps,  suspects  the  reasons  of  my 
reserve — 'appreciates  my  reticence,' 
as  we  say  in  the  '  Line.' 

"  At  all  events,  she  tells  me  to 
make  you  write  to  her.  '  When 
Tony,'  said  she,  '  has  found  out 
that  he  was  only  in  love  with  me 
because  I  made  him  better  known 
to  his  own  heart,  and  induced  him 
to  develop  some  of  his  own  line 
qualities,  he'll  begin  to  see  that  we 
may  and  ought  to  be  excellent 
friends ;  and  some  day  or  other, 
when  there  shall  be  a  Mrs  Tony,  if 
she  be  a  sensible  woman,  she'll  not 
object  to  the  friendship.'  She  said 
this  so  measuredly  and  calmly,  that 
I  can  almost  trust  myself  to  say 
I  have  reported  her  word  for  word. 
It  reads  to  me  like  a  very  polite 
conge.  What  do  you  say  to  it  I 

".The  Lyles  are  going  back  at  the 
end  of  the  month,  but  Alice  says 
she'll  winter  at  Cairo.  There  is  an 
insolent  independence  about  these 
widows,  Tony,  that  adds  one  more 
terror  to  death.  I  protest  I'd  like 
to  haunt  the  woman  that  could  em- 
ploy her  freedom  of  action  in  this 
arbitrary  manner. 

"  Dearest  Bella  insists  on  your 
coming  to  our  wedding:  it  will  come 
off  at  Tilney,  strictly  private.  None 
but  our  nearest  relatives,  not  even 
the  Duke  of  Dullchester,  nor  any 
of  the  Howards.  They  will  feel 
it;  but  it  can't  be  helped,  I  sup- 
pose. Cincinnatus  had  to  cut  his 
connections  too,  when  he .  took  to 
horticulture.  You,  however,  must 


1865.] 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


not  desert  me ;  and  if  you  cannot 
trav.-l  without  llory,  bring  him 
with  yon. 

•'  I  am  impatient  to  get  away 
from  this,  and  seek  the  safety  of 
some  obscure  retreat ;  for  I  know 
the  persecution  I  shall  be  exposed 
to  to  withdraw  my  resignation  and 
remain.  To  this  I  will  never  con- 
sent. I  give  it  to  you  under  my 
hand,  Tony,  and  I  give  it  the  more 
formally,  as  I  desire  it  may  be  his- 
toric. I  know  well  the  whining 
tone  they  will  assume — just  as  well 
asif  I  saw  it  before  me  in  a  dispatch. 
'  What  are  we  to  tell  the  Queen  /' 
will  be  the  cry.  My  dignified  an- 
swer will  be,  '  Tell  .her  that  you 
made  it  impossible  for  one  of  the 
ablest  of  her  servants  to  hold  his 
office  with  dignity.  Tell  her, 
too,  that  Skeff  Darner  has  done 
enough  for  honour — he  now  seeks  to 
do  something  for  happiness.'  Back 
to  office  again  I  will  not  go.  Five 
years  and  two  months  of  unpaid 
.services  have  I  given  to  my 
country,  and  England  is  not  a- 
shamed  to  accept  the  unrewarded 
labours  of  her  gifted  sons !  My 
very  '  extraordinaric.s  ;  have  been 
cavilled  at.  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honour,  they  have  asked  me  for 
vouchers  for  the  champagne  and 
lobsters  with  which  I  have  treated 
some  of  the  most  dangerous  regi- 
cides of  Europe — men  whose  lan- 
guage would  make  your  hair  stand 
on  end,  and  whose  sentiments  actu- 
ally curdled  the  blood  as  one 
listened  to  them. 

"  The  elegant  hospitalities  which 
I  dispensed,  in  the  hope — vain 
hope  ! — of  inducing  them  to  believe 
that  the  social  amenities  of  life  had 
extended  to  our  insular  position, — 
these  the  Office  declares  they  have 
nothing  to  do  with  ;  and  insolently 
asks  me,  '  Are  there  any  other  items 
of  my  pleasure  whose  cost  I  should 
wish  to  submit  to  Parliament  ?' 

"Ask  Talleyrand, ask  Metternich, 
ask  any  of  our  own  people — B.,  or 
S.,  or  H. — since  when  have  cookery 
and  the  ballet  ceased  to  be  the  law- 
ful weapons  of  diplomacy? 


"  The  day  of  reckoning  for  all 
this,  my  dear  Tony,  is  coming.  At 
first  I  thought  of  making  some  of 
my  friends  in  the  J louse  move  for 
the  correspondence  between  F.  O. 
and  myself  —  the  Darner  papers 
they  would  be  called,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  public  journals — and 
thus  bring  on  a  smashing  de- 
bate. Reconsideration,  however, 
showed  me  that  my  memoirs, 
'  Five  Years  of  a  Diplomatist  on 
Service/  would  be  the  more  fitting 
place  ;  and  in  the  pages  of  those 
volumes  you  will  find  revelations 
more  astounding,  official  knaveries 
more  nefarious,  and  political  in- 
trigues more  Machiavellian,  than 
the  wildest  imagination  for  wicked- 
ness has  ever  conceived.  What 
would  they  not  have  given  rather 
than  see  such  an  exposure  ?  I  al- 
most  think  I  will  call  my  book/"  Ex- 
traordinaries "  of  a  Diplomatist.' 
Sensational  and  taking  both,  that 
title  !  You  mustn't  be  provoked 
if,  in  one  of  the  lighter  chapters — 
there  must  be  light  chapters — I 
stick  in  that  little  adventure  of  your 
own  with  my  godfather." 

"  Confound  the  fellow  ! "  mut- 
tered Tony,  and  with  such  a  hearty 
indignation,  that  his  mother  heard 
him  from  the  adjoining  room,  and 
hastened  in  to  ask  who  or  what  had 
provoked  him.  Tony  blundered 
out  some  sort  of  evasive  reply,  and 
then  said,  "Was  it  Dr  Stewart's 
voice  I  heard  without  there  a  few 
minutes  ago  ?'; 

"  Yes,  Tony  ;  he  called  in  as  he  was 
passing  to  Coleraine  on  important 
business.  The  poor  man  is  much 
agitated  by  an  offer  that  has  just 
been  made  him  to  go  far  away  over 
the  seas,  and  finish  his  days,  one 
may  call  it,  at  the  end  of  the  world. 
Some  of  this  country  folk,  it  seems, 
who  settled  in  New  Zealand,  at  a 
place  they  call  Wellington  Gap, 
have  invited  him  to  go  out  there 
and  minister  among  them  ;  and 
though  he's  not  minded  to  make 
the  change  at  his  advanced  time  of 
life,  nor  disposed  to  lay  his  bones 
in  a  far-away  land,  yet  for  Dolly's 


1G 


Tony  Bailer. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


sake — poor  Dolly,  who  will  be  left 
friendless  and  homeless  when  he  is 
taken  away — he  thinks  maybe  it's 
his  duty  to  accept  the  offer ;  and  so 
he's  gone  in  to  the  town  to  consult 
I)r  M'Candlish  and  the  elder  Mr 
M'Elwain,  and  a  few  other  sensible 
men." 

"  Why  won't  Dolly  marry  the 
man  she  ought  to  marry — a  good, 
true-hearted  fellow,  who  will  treat 
her  well  and  be  kind  to  her  '?  Tell 
me  that,  mother." 

"  It  mauna  be  —  it  mauna  be," 
said  the  old  lady,  who,  when  much 
moved,  frequently  employed  the 
Scotch  dialect  unconsciously. 

"  Is  there  a  reason  for  her  con- 
duct?" 

"  There  is  a  reason,'''  said  she, 
firmly. 

"  And  do  you  know  it  1  has  she 
told  you  what  it  is  1" 

"  I'm  not  at  liberty  to  talk  over 
this  matter  with  you,  Tony.  What- 
ever I  know,  I  know  as  a  thing  con- 
fided to  me  in  honour." 

"  I  only  asked,  Was  the  reason  one 
that  you  yourself  were  satisfied 
with  ?" 

"  It  was,  and  is,"  replied  she, 
gravely. 

"  Do  you  think,  from  what  you 
know,  that  Dolly  would  listen  to 
any  representations  I  might  make 
her  1  for  I  know  M'  Grader  thor- 
oughly, and  can  speak  of  him  as  a 
friend  likes  to  speak/' 

"  No,  no,  Tony — don't  do  it  ! 
don't  do  it!"  cried  she,  with  a 
degree  of  emotion  that  perfectly 
amazed  him,  for  the  tears  swam  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  lips  trembled  as 
she  spoke.  He  stared  fixedly  at 
her,  but  she  turned  away  her  head, 
and  for  some  minutes  neither 
spoke. 

''  Come,  mother,"  said  Tony,  at 
last,  and  in  his  kindliest  voice,  "you 
have  a  good  head  of  your  own, — • 
think  of  some  way  to  prevent  the 
poor  old  Doctor  from  going  off  into 
exile." 

"  How  could  we  help  him  that  he 
would  not  object  to  ] " 

"  What  if  you  were  to  hit  upon 


some  plan  of  adopting  Dolly  ?  You 
have  long  loved  her  as  if  she  were 
your  own  daughter,  and  she  has  re- 
turned your  affections." 

"  That  she  has,"  muttered  the  old 
lady,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  What  use  is  this  new  wealth  of 
ours,  if  it  benefit  none  biit  our- 
selves, mother  ?  Just  get  the  Doc- 
tor to  talk  it  all  over  with  you,  and 
say  to  him,  '  Have  no  fears  as  to 
Dolly;  she  shall  never  be  forced  to 
marry  against  her  inclinations — 
merely  for  support ;  her  home  shall 
be  here  with  its,  and  she  shall  be 
no  dependant  neither.'  I'll  take 
care  of  that." 

"  How  like  your  father  you  said 
these  words,  Tony ! "  cried  she,  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  gaze  of  love  and 
pride  together ;  "it  was  his  very 
voice,  too." 

"  I  meant  to  have  spoken  to  her 
on  poor  M'Gruder's  behalf — I  pro- 
mised him  I  would  ;  but  if  you  tell 
me  it  is  of  no  use " 

"  I  tell  you  more,  Tony — I  tell 
you  it  would  bo  cruel ;  it  would  be 
worse  than  cruel."  criedshc,  eagerly. 

"Then  I'll  not  do  it,  and  I'll 
write  to  him  to-day  and  say  so, 
though,  heaven  knows,  I'll  be  sorely 
puzzled  to  explain  myself ;  but  as 
he  is  a  true  man,  he'll  feel  that  I 
have  done  all  for  the  best,  and  that 
if  I  have  not  served  his  cause  it 
has  not  been  for  any  lack  of  the 
will!" 

"  If  you  wish  it,  Tony,  I  could 
write  to  Mr  M'G  ruder  myself.  A 
letter  from  an  old  body  like  me  is 
sometimes  a  better  means  to  break 
a  misfortune  than  one  from  a 
younger  hand.  Age  deals  more 
naturally  with  sorrow,  perhaps." 

"  You  will  be  doing  a  kind  thing, 
my  dear  mother,"  said  he,  as  he 
drew  her  towards  him,  "  and  to  a 
good  fellow  who  deserves  well  of 
us." 

"  I  want  to  thank  him,  besides, 
for  his  kindness  and  care  of  you, 
Tony;  so  just  write  his  address  for 
me  there  on  that  envelope,  and  I'll 
do  it  at  once." 

"  I'm  off  for  a  ramble,  mother, 


J8GO.] 


T'ony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


till  dinner-time,"  said  Tony,  taking 
bis  hat. 

"  Are  you  going  up  to  the  Abbey, 
Tony  I " 

"  No,"  said  lie,  blushing  slightly. 

"  Because,  if  you  had,  I'd  have 
asked  you  to  fetch  rae  some  fresh 
flowers.  Dolly  is  coming  to  dine 
with  us,  and  she  is  so  fond  of 
seeing  flowers  on  the  centre  of  tin.- 
table'." 

"  No  ;  I  have  nothing  to  do  at 
the  Abbey.  I'm  oft'  towards  Port- 
rush." 

"  Why  not  go  over  to  the  Burn- 
side  and  fetch  Dolly1?"  said  she, 
carelessly. 


"  Perhaps  1  may — that  is,  if  1 
should  find  myself  in  that  quarter; 
but  I'm  first  of  all  bent  on  a  pro- 
found piece  of  thoughtfulness  or  a 
good  smoke — pretty  much  the  same 
thing  with  me,  [  believe.  >So  good- 
bye for  a  while." 

His  mother  looked  after  him  with 
loving  eyes  till  the  tears  dulled 
them  ;  but  there  are  tears  which  fall 
on  the  affections  as  the  dew  falls 
on  flowers,  and  these  were  of  that 
number. 

"  His  own  father — his  own  fa- 
ther !"  muttered  she,  as  she  followed 
the  stalwart  figure  till  it  was  lost  in 
the  distance. 


<  iiAi'Ti.i:  i.xin.  —  AT  Tin:  CUTTACK  nr.sinr.  mi:  I-AUSKWAY. 


I  must  use  more  discretion  as 
to  Mrs  Butler's  correspondence 
than  I  have  employed  respecting 
Skeff  Darner's.  What  she  wrote  on 
that  morning  is  not  to  be  recorded 
here.  It  will  be  enough  if  I  say 
that  her  letter  was  not  alone  a  kind 
one,  but  that  it  thoroughly  con- 
vinced him  who  read  it  that  her 
view  was  wise  and  true,  and  that  it 
would  be  as  useless  as  ungenerous 
to  press  Dolly  further,  or  ask  for 
that  love  which  was  not  hers  to 
give. 

It  was  a  rare  event  with  her  to 
have  to  write  a  letter.  It  was  not, 
either,  a  very  easy  task ;  but  if  she 
had  not  the  gift  of  facile  expres- 
sion, she  had  another  still  better 
for  her  purpose — an  honest  nature 
steadfastly  determined  to  perform 
a  duty.  8he  knew  her  subject  too, 
and  treated  it  with  candour,  while 
Avith  delicacy. 

While  she  wrote,  Tony  strolled 
along,  puffing  his  cigar  or  relight- 
ing it,  for  it  was  always  going  out, 
and  dreaming  away  in  his  own 
misty  fashion  over  things  past, 
present,  and  future,  till  really  the 
actual  and  the  ideal  became  so 
thoroughly  commingled  he  could  not 
well  distinguish  one  from  the  other. 
He  thought — he  knew,  indeed,  he 
ought  to  be  very  happy.  All  his 
VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  DXCI. 


anxieties  as  to  a  career  and  a  liveli- 
hood ended,  he  felt  that  a  very  en- 
joyable existence  might  lie  before 
him,  but  somehow — he  hoped  he  was 
not  ungrateful — but  somehow  he 
was  not  so  perfectly  happy  as  he 
supposed  his  good  fortune  should 
have  made  him. 

"Perhaps  it  will  come  later  on; 
perhaps  when  I  am  active  and  em- 
ployed ;  perhaps  when  I  shall 
have  learned  to  interest  myself  in 
the  things  money  brings  around 
a  man ;  perhaps,  too,  when  I  can 
forget— ay,  that  was  the  lesson  was 
hardest  of  all."  All  these  pass- 
ing thoughts,  a  good  deal  dashed 
through  each  other,  scarcely  con- 
tributed to  enlighten  his  faculties ; 
and  he  rambled  on  over  rocks  and 
yellow  strand,  up  hillsides,  and 
through  fern-clad  valleys,  not  in  the 
least  mindful  of  whither  he  was 
going. 

At  last  he  suddenly  halted,  and 
saw  he  was  in  the  shrubberies  of 
Lyle  Abbey,  his  steps  having  out 
of  old  habit  taken  the  one  same 
path  they  had  followed  for  many  a 
year.  The  place  was  just  as  he  had 
seen  it  last.  Trees  make  no  mar- 
vellous progress  in  the  north  of 
Ireland,  and  a  longer  absence  than 
Tony's  would  leave  them  just  as 
they  were  before.  All  was  neat, 

15 


18 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


orderly,  and  well  kept ;  and  the 
heaps  of  dried  leaves  and  brush- 
wood ready  to  be  wheeled  away, 
stood  there  as  he  saw  them  when 
he  last  walked  that  way  with  Alice. 
He  was  poor  then,  without  a  career, 
or  almost  a  hope  of  one ;  and_  yet 
was  it  possible,  could  it  be  possible, 
that  he  was  happier  than  he  now 
felt?  Was  it  that  Love  sufficed  for 
all,  and  that  the  heart  so  filled  had 
no  room  for  other  thoughts  than 
those  of  her  it  worshipped  ?  He  cer- 
tainly had  loved  her  greatly.  She 
— she  alone  made  up  that  world  in 
which  he  had  lived.  Her  smile,  her 
step,  her  laugh,  her  voice  —  ay, 
there  they  were,  all  before  him. 
What  a  dream  it  was !  Only  a  dream 
after  all ;  for  she  never  cared  for 
him.  She  had  led  him  on  to  love 
her,  half  in  caprice,  half  in  a  sort 
of  compassionate  interest  for  a  poor 
boy — boy  she  called  him — to  whom 
a  passion  for  one  above  him  was  cer- 
tain to  elevate  and  exalt  him  in  his 
own  esteem.  "  Very  kind,  doubt- 
less," muttered  he,  "  but  very  cruel 
too.  She  might  have  remembered 
that  this  same  dream  was  to  have  a 
very  rough  awaking.  I  had  built 
nearly  every  hope  upon  one,  and  that 
one,  she  well  knew,  was  never  to  be 
realised.  It  might  not  have  been 
the  most  gracious  way  to  do  it,  but 
I  declare  it  would  have  been  the 
most  merciful,  to  have  treated  me 
as  her  mother  did,  who  snubbed  my 
pretensions  at  once.  It  was  all 
right  that  I  should  recognise  her 
superiority  over  me  in  a  hundred 
ways  ;  but  perhaps  she  should  not 
have  kept  it  so  continually  in  mind, 
as  a  sort  of  barrier  against  a  warmer 
feeling  for  me.  I  suppose  this  is 
the  fine-lady  view  of  the  matter. 
This  is  the  theory  that  young 
fellows  are  to  be  civilised,  as  they 
call  it,  by  a  passion  for  a  woman 
who  is  to  amuse  herself  by  their 
extravagancies,  and  then  ask  their 
gratitude  for  having  deceived  them. 
"  I'll  be  shot  if  I  am  grateful," 
said  he,  as  he  threw  his  cigar  into 
the  pond.  "I'm  astonished — am- 
azed— now  that  it's  all  over"  (here 


his  voice  shook  a  little)  "  that  my 
stupid  vanity  could  have  ever  led 
me  to  think  of  her,  or  that  I  ever 
mistook  that  patronising  way  she 
had  towards  me  for  more  than  good- 
nature. But,  I  take  it,  there  are 
scores  of  fellows  who  have  had  the 
selfsame  experiences.  Here's  the 
seat  I  made  for  her,"  muttered  he, 
as  he  came  in  front  of  a  rustic 
bench.  For  a  moment  a  savage 
thought  crossed  him  that  he  would 
break  it  in  pieces,  and  throw  the 
fragments  into  the  lake — a  sort  of 
jealous  anger  lest  some  day  or 
other  she  might  sit  there  with  "  an- 
other;" but  he  restrained  himself, 
and  said,  "  Better  not ;  better  let 
her  see  that  her  civilising  process 
has  done  something,  and  that  though 
I  have  lost  my  game  I  can  bear  my 
defeat  becomingly."  . 

He  began  to  wish  that  she  were 
there  at  that  moment.  Not  that 
he  might  renew  his  vows  of  love, 
or  repledge  his  affection  ;  but  to 
show  her  how  calm  and  reasonable 
— ay,  reasonable  was  her  favourite 
word — he  could  be  ;  how  collect- 
edly he  could  listen  to  her,  and  how 
composedly  reply.  He  strolled  up 
to  the  entrance  door.  It  was  open. 
The  servants  were  busy  in  prepar- 
ing for  the  arrival  of  their  masters, 
who  were  expected  within  the  week. 
All  were  delighted  to  see  Master 
Tony  again,  and  the  words  some- 
how rather  grated  on  his  ears.  'It 
was  another  reminder  of  that  same 
"boyhood"  he  bore  such  a  grudge 
against.  "  I  am  going  to  have  a 
look  out  of  the  small  drawing-room 
window,  Mrs  Hayles,"  said  he  to 
the  housekeeper,  cutting  short  her 
congratulations,  and  hurrying  up- 
stairs. 

It  was  true  he  went  up  for  a 
view  ;  but  not  of  the  coast-line  to 
Fairhead,  fine  as  it  was.  It  was  of 
a  full-length  portrait  of  Alice,  life- 
size,  by  Grant.  She  was  standing 
beside  her  horse — the  Arab  Tony 
trained  for  her.  A  braid  of  her 
hair  had  fallen,  and  she  was  in  the 
act  of  arranging  it,  while  one  hand 
held  up  her  drooped  riding-dress. 


1865.] 


Tony  nutler. — Conclusion. 


1!) 


There  was  that  in  the  air  ami  atti- 
tude that  bespoke  a  certain  embar- 
rassment with  a  sense  of  humorous 
enjoyment  of  the  dilemma.  A 
sketch  from  life,  in  fact,  had  given 
the  idea  of  the  picture,  and  the  re- 
ality of  the  incident  was  unquestion- 
able. 

Tony  blushed  a  deep  crimson  as 
he  looked  and  muttered,  "  The  very 
smile  she  had  on  when  she  said 
good-bye.  I  wonder  I  never  knew 
her  till  now." 

A  favourite  myrtle  of  hers  stood 
in  the  meadow  ;  he  broke  off  a 
sprig  of  it,  and  placed  it  in  his  but- 
ton-hole, and  then  slowly  passed 
down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
lawn.  With  very  sombre  thoughts 
and  slow  steps  he  retraced  his  way 
to  the  cottage.  He  went  over  to 
himself  much  of  his  past  life,  and 
saw  it,  as  very  young  men  will  of- 
ten in  such  retrospects,  far  less 
favourably  as  regarded  himself  than 
it  really  was.  He  ought  to  have  done 
— heaven  knows  what.  He  ought  to 
have  been — scores  of  things  which 
he  never  was,  perhaps  never  could 
be.  At  all  events  there  was  one 
thing  he  never  should  have  im- 
agined, that  Alice  Lyle — she  was 
Alice  Lyle  always  to  him — in  her 
treatment  of  him  was  ever  more 
closely  drawn  towards  him  than  the 
others  of  her  family.  "  It  was  sim- 
ply the  mingled  kindness  and  ca- 
price of  her  nature  that  made  the 
difference  ;  and  if  I  hadn't  been  a 
vain  fool  I'd  have  seen  it.  I  see  it 
now,  though  ;  I  can.  read  it  in  the 
very  smile  she  has  in  her  picture. 
To  be  sure  I  have  learned  a  good 
deal  since  I  was  here  last  ;  I  have 
outgrown  a  good  many  illusions. 
I  once  imagined  this  dwarfed  and 
stinted  scrub  to  be  a  wood.  I 
fancied  the  Abbey  to  be  like  a  royal 
palace  ;  and  in  Sicily  a  whole  bat- 
talion of  us  have  bivouacked  in  a 
hall  that  led  to  suites  of  rooms 
without  number.  If  a  mere  glimpse 
of  the  world  could  reveal  such  as- 
tounding truths,  what  might  not 
come  of  a  more  lengthened  experi- 
ence I" 


"  How  tired  and  weary  you  look, 
Tony!"  said  his  mother,  as  he  threw 
himself  into  a  chair  ;  "have  you 
overwalked  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  he,  with  a 
half  smile.  "In  my  poorer  days  I 
thought  nothing  of  going  to  the 
Abbey  and  back  twice — I  have 
done  it  even  thrice — in  one  day  ; 
but  perhaps  this  weight  of  gold  I 
carry  now  is  too  heavy  for  me." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  you  look  more 
grateful  for  your  good  fortune, 
Tony,"  said  she,  gravely. 

"I'm  not  ungrateful,  mother; 
but  up  to  this  I  have  not  thought 
much  of  the  matter.  I  suspect, 
however,  I  Avas  never  designed  for 
a  life  of  ease  and  enjoyment.  Do 
you  remember  what  Dr  Stewart 
said  one  day,  '  You  may  put  a  weed 
in  a  garden,  and  dig  round  it  and 
water  it,  and  it  will  only  grow  to 
be  a  big  weed  after  all.'  " 

"  I  hope  better  from  Tony — far 
better,"  said  she,  sharply.  "  Have 
you  answered  McCarthy's  letter  I 
have  you  arranged  where  you  are  to 
meet  the  lawyers  1" 

"I  have  said  in  Dublin.  They 
couldn't  come  here,  mother ;  we 
have  no  room  for  them  in  this 
crib." 

"  You  must  not  call  it  a  crib  for 
all  that.  It  sheltered  your  father 
once,  and  he  carried  a  very  high 
head,  Tony." 

"  And  for  that  very  reason,  dear 
mother,  I'm  going  to  make  it  our 
own  home  henceforth,  —  without 
you'd  rather  go  and  live  in  that  old 
manor-house  on  the  Xore  ;  they 
tell  me  it  is  beautiful." 

"  It  was  there  your  father  was 
born,  and  I  long  to  see  it,"  said 
she,  with  emotion.  "  Who's  that 
coming  in  at  the  gate,  Tony  ? " 

"  It  is  Dolly,"  said  he,  rising,  and 
going  to  the  door  to  meet  her. 

"  My  dear  Dolly,"  cried  he,  as  he 
embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  on 
cither  cheek  ;  "  this  brings  me  back 
to  old  times  at  once." 

If  it  was  nothing  else,  the 
total  change  in  Tony's  appear- 
ance abashed  her ;  the  bronzed 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


and  bearded  man  looking  many 
years  older  than  lie  was,  seemed 
little  like  the  Tony  she  had  seen 
last ;  and  so  she  half  shrank  back 
from  his  embrace,  and,  with  a 
flushed  cheek  and  almost  constrain- 
ed manner,  muttered  some  words 
of  recognition. 

"  How  well  you  are  looking," 
said  he,  staring  at  her,  as  she  took 
off  her  bonnet,  "  and  the  nice  glossy 
hair  has  all  grown  again,  and  I  vow 
it  is  brighter  and  silkier  than  ever." 

"What's  all  this  flattery  about 
bright  een  and  silky  locks  I'm  lis- 
tening to?"  said  the  old  lady,  com- 
ing out  laughing  into  the  hall. 

"It's  Master  Tony  displaying 
his  foreign  graces  at  my  expense, 
ma'am,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  smile. 

"  Would  you  have  known  him 
again,  Dolly  ?  would  you  have 
thought  that  great  hairy  creature 
there  was  our  Tony  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  changed — a  good 
deal  changed/'  said  Dolly,  without 
looking  at  him. 

"  I  didn't  quite  like  it  at  first ;  but 
I'm  partly  getting  used  to  it  now; 
and  though  the  Colonel  never  wore 
a  beard  on  his  upper  lip,  Tony's 
more  like  him  now  than  ever." 
The  old  lady  continued  to  ramble 
on  about  the  points  of  resemblance 
between  the  father  and  son,  and 
where  certain  traits  of  manner  and 
voice  were  held  in  common  ;  and 
though  neither  Tony  nor  Dolly  gave 
much  heed  to  her  words,  they  were 
equally  grateful  to  her  for  talking. 

"  And  where's  the  Doctor,  Dolly  I 
are  we  not  to  see  him  at  dinner  ?" 

"  Not  to-day,  ma'am  ;  he's  gone 
over  to  M'Laidlaw's  to  make  some 
arrangements  about  this  scheme  of 
ours — the  banishment,  he  calls  it." 

"  And  is  it  possible,  Dolly,  that 
he  can  seriously  contemplate  such 
a  step  1 "  asked  Tony,  gravely. 

"  Yes  ;  and  very  seriously  too." 

"  And  you,  Dolly  ;  what  do  you 
say  to  it  ?  " 

"  I  say  to  it  what  I  have  often 
said  to  a  difficulty,  what  the  old 
Scotch  adage  says  of  ' the  stout 
heart  to  the  stey  brae.'  " 


"And  you  might  have  found 
more  comforting  words,  lassie  — 
how  the  winds  can  be  tempered 
to  the  shorn  lamb,"  said  the 
old  lady,  almost  rebukefully ;  and 
Dolly  drooped  her  head  in  si- 
lence. 

"  I  think  it's  a  bad  scheme,"  said 
Tony,  boldly,  and  as  though  not 
hearing  his  mother's  remark.  "  For 
a  man  at  the  Doctor's  age  to  go  to 
the  other  end  of  the  globe,  to  live  in 
a  new  land,  and  make  new  friend- 
ships at  his  time  of  life,  is,  I'm 
sure,  a  mistake." 

"  That  supposes  that  we  have  a 
choice  ;  but  my  father  thinks  we 
have  no  choice." 

"  I  cannot  see  that.  I  cannot 
see  that  what  a  man  has  borne  for 
five-and-thirty  or  forty  years  —  he 
has  been  that  long  at  the  Burnside, 
I  believe — he  cannot  endure  still 
longer.  I  must  have  a  talk  with  him 
myself  over  it."  And  unconscious- 
ly— quite  unconsciously — Tony  ut- 
tered the  last  words  Avith  a  high- 
sounding  importance,  so  certain  is 
it  that  in  a  man's  worldly  wealth 
there  is  a  store  of  self-confidence 
that  no  mere  qualities  of  head  or 
heart  can  ever  supply ;  and  Dolly 
almost  smiled  at  the  assured  tone 
and  the  confident  manner  of  her 
former  playfellow. 

"  My  father  will  be  glad  to  see 
you,  Tony — he  wants'  to  hear  all 
about  your  campaigns  ;  he  was  try- 
ing two  nights  ago  to  follow  you 
on  the  map,  but  it  was  such  a 
bad  one  he  had  to  give  up  the 
attempt." 

"  I'll  give  you  mine,"  cried  the 
old  lady,  "  the  map  Tony  brought 
over  to  myself.  I'll  no  just  give 
it,  but  I'll  lend  it  to  you  ;  and 
there's  a  cross  wherever  there  was 
a  battle,  and  a  red  cross  wherever 
Tony  was  wounded." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  mother !  don't 
worry  Dolly  about  these  things  ; 
she'd  rather  hear  of  pleasanter 
themes  than  battles  and  battle- 
fields. And  here  is  one  already — 
Jeanie  says,  '  dinner.'  " 

"  Where  did  you  find  your  sprig 


1865.] 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


21 


of  myrtle  at  this  time  1 "  asked  Dolly, 
as  Tony  led  her  in  to  dinner. 

"  I  got  it  at  the  Abbey.  I  strolled 
up  there  to-day,"  said  he,  in  a  half- 
confusion.  "  Will  you  have  it  T' 

"No/'  said  she,  curtly. 


"  Neither  will  I  then,"  cried  he, 
tearing  it  out  of  his  button-hole 
and  throwing  it  away. 

What  a  long  journey  in  life  can 
be  taken  in  the  few  steps  from  the 
drawing-room  to  the  dinner-table ! 


CII.UTER    I.XIV. — TIIK    KND. 


As  Dr  Stewart  had  many  friends 
to  consult  and  many"  visits  to 
make — some  of  them,  as  he  ima- 
gined, farewell  ones — Dolly  was 
persuaded,  but  not  without  diffi- 
culty, to  take  up  her  residence  at 
the  cottage  till  he  should  be  able 
to  return  home.  And  a  very  plea- 
sant week  it  was.  To  the  old  lady 
it  was  almost  perfect  happiness. 
She  had  her  dear  Tony  back  with 
her  after  all  his  dangers  and 
escapes,  safe  and  sound,  and  in 
such  spirits  as  she  had  never  seen 
him  before.  Not  a  cloud,  not  a 
shadow,  now  ever  darkened  his 
bright  face  ;  all  was  good-humour, 
and  thoughtful  kindness  for  herself 
and  for  Dolly. 

And  poor  Dolly,  too,  with  some 
anxious  cares  at  her  heart — a  load 
that  would  have  crushed  many — 
bore  up  so  well  that  she  looked  as 
cheery  as  the  others,  and  entered 
into  all  the  plans  that  Tony  formed 
about  his  future  house,  and  his 
gardens,  and  his  stables,  as  though 
many  a  hundred  leagues  of  ocean 
were  not  soon  to  roll  between  her 
and  the  spots  she  traced  so  eagerly 
on  the  paper.  One  evening  they 
sat  even  later  than  usual.  Tony 
had  induced  Dolly,  who  was  very 
clever  with  her  pencil,  to  make  him 
a  sketch  for  a  little  ornamental 
cottage — one  of  those  uninhabitable 
little  homesteads,  which  are  im- 
mensely suggestive  of  all  the  com- 
forts they  would  utterly  fail  to 
realise  ;  and  he  leaned  over  her  as 
she  drew,  and  his  arm  was  on  the 
back  of  her  chair,  and  his  face  so 
close  at  times  that  it  almost  touched 
the  braids  of  the  silky  hair  beside 
him. 

"  You  must  make  a  porch  there. 


Dolly;  it  would  be  so  nice  to  sit 
there  with  that  noble  view  down 
the  glen  at  one's  feet,  and  three 
distinct  reaches  of  the  Nore  visible." 

"  Yes,  I'll  make  a  porch  ;  I'll 
even  make  you  yourself  lounging  in 
it.  See,  it  shall  be  perfect  bliss  !" 

"  What  does  that  mean!'' 

"  That  means  smoke,  sir ;  you 
are  enjoying  the  heavenly  luxury 
of  tobacco,  not  the  less  intensely 
that  it  obscures  the  view." 

"No,  Dolly,  I'll  not  have  that. 
If  you  put  me  there,  don't  have 
me  smoking ;  make  me  sitting 
beside  you  as  we  are  now — you 
drawing,  and  I  looking  over  you." 

"  But  I  want  to  be  a  prophet  as 
well  as  a  painter,  Tony.  I  desire 
to  predict  something  that  will  be 
sure  to  happen,  if  you  should  ever 
build  this  cottage." 

"  I  swear  I  will — I'm  resolved 
on  it." 

"  Well,  then,  so  sure  as  you  do, 
and  so  sure  as  you  sit  in  that  little 
honeysuckle -covered  porch,  you'll 
smoke." 

"  And  why  not  do  as  I  say  I 
\Vhy  not  make  you  sketching — 

"  Because  I  shall  not  be  sketch- 
ing ;  because,  by  the  time  your 
cottage  is  finished,  I  shall  be  pro- 
bably sketching  a  Maori  chief,  or  a 
war-party  bivouacking  on  the  llaki- 
Eaki." 

Tony  drew  away  his  ami  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  a  sense 
almost  of  faintish  sickness  creeping 
over  him. 

"  Here  are  the  dogs,  too,"  con- 
tinued she.  "  Here  is  Lance  with 
his  great  majestic  face,  and  here 
Gertrude,  with  her  fine  pointed  nose 
and  piercing  eyes,  and  here's  little 
Spicer  as  saucy  and  pert  as  I  can 


22 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


[Jan. 


make  him  without  colour  ;  for  one 
ought  to  have  a  little  carmine  for 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  a  slight 
tinge  to  accent  the  tip  of  his  nose. 
Shall  I  add  all  your  '  emblems,'  as 
they  call  them,  and  put  in  the  fish- 
ing-rods against  the  wall,  and  the 
landing-net,  and  the  guns  and 
pouches?" 

She  went  on  sketching  with  in- 
conceivable rapidity,  the  drawing 
keeping  pace  almost  with  her  words. 
But  Tony  no  longer  took  the  in- 
terest he  had  done  before  in  the 
picture,  but  seemed  lost  in  some 
deep  and  difficult  reflection. 

"  Shall  we  have  a  bridge — a  mere 
plank  will  do — over  the  river  here, 
Tony?  and  then  this  zigzag  path- 
way will  be  a  short  way  up  to  the 
cottage." 

He  never  heard  her  words,  but 
arose  and  left  the  room.  He  passed 
out  into  the  little  garden  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  leaning  on  the 
gate  looked  out  into  the  dark  still 
night.  Poor  Tony  !  impenetrable 
as  that  darkness  was,  it  was  not 
more  difficult  to  peer  through  than 
the  thick  mist  that  gathered  around 
his  thoughts. 

"Is  that  Tony?"  cried  his  mo- 
ther from  the  doorway. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  moodily,  for  he 
wanted  to  be  left  to  his  own 
thoughts. 

"  Come  here,  Tony,  and  see  what 
a  fine  manly  letter  your  friend  Mr 
M'Gruder  writes  in  answer  to 
mine." 

Tony  was  at  her  side  in  an 
instant,  and  almost  tore  the  letter 
in  his  eagerness  to  read  it.  It  was 
very  brief,  but  well  deserved  all 
she  had  said  of  it.  With  a  delicacy 
which  perhaps  might  scarcely  have 
been  looked  for  in  a  man  so  edu- 
cated and  brought  up,  he  seemed 
to  appreciate  the  existence  of  a 
secret  he  had  no  right  to  question  ; 
and  bitterly  as  the  resolve  cost 
him,  he  declared  that  he  had  no 
longer  a  claim  on  Dolly's  affection. 
"I  scarcely  understand  him, 
mother  ;  do  you  ? "  asked  Tony. 
"It's  not  very  hard  to  under- 


stand, Tony,"  said  she,  gravely. 
"  Mr  M'Gruder  sees  that  Dolly 
Stewart  could  not  have  given  him 
her  love  and  affection  as  a  man's 
wife  ought  to  give,  and  he  would 
be  ashamed  to  take  her  without 
it." 

"  But  why  couldn't  she  ?  Sam 
seems  to  have  a  sort  of  suspicion 
as  to  the  reason,  and  I  cannot 
guess  it." 

"  If  he  does  suspect,  he  has  the 
nice  feeling  of  a  man  of  honour, 
and  sees  that  it  is  not  for  one 
placed  as  he  is  to  question  it." 

"  If  any  man  were  to  say  to  me, 
'  Head  that  letter,  and  tell  me 
what  does  it  infer,'  I'd  say  the 
writer  thought  that  the  girl  he 
wanted  to  marry  liked  some  one 
else." 

"  Well,  there's  one  point  placed 
beyond  an  inference,  Tony  ;  the 
engagement  is  ended,  and  she  is 
free." 

"I  suppose  she  is  very  happy  at 
it." 

"  Poor  Dolly  has  little  heart  for 
happiness  just  now.  It  was  a  little 
before  dinner  a  note  came  from  the 
Doctor  to  say  that  all  the  friends  he 
had  consulted  advised  him  to  go 
out,  and  were  ready  and  willing 
to  assist  him  in  every  way  to  make 
the  journey.  As  January  is  the 
stormy  month  in  these  seas,  they 
all  recommended  his  sailing  as  soon 
as  he  possibly  could  ;  and  the  poor 
man  says  very  feelingly, '  To-morrow, 
mayhap,  will  be  my  farewell  ser- 
mon to  those  who  have  sat  under 
me  eight-and-forty  years.'/' 

"  Why  did  you  not  make  some 
proposal  like  what  I  spoke  of, 
mother?"  asked  he,  almost  peev- 
ishly. 

"  I  tried  to  do  it,  Tony,  but  he 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  He  has  a  pride 
of  his  own  that  is  very  dangerous 
to  wound,  and  he  stopped  me  at 
once, saying,  'I  hope  I  mistake  your 
meaning ;  but  lest  I  should  not,  say 
no  more  of  this  for  the  sake  of  our 
old  friendship.'" 

"  I  call  such  pride  downright 
want  of  feeling.  It  is  neither  more 


18G5.1 


Tony  Batkr. — Conclusion. 


23 


nor  less  than  consummate  selfish- 
ness." 

"  Don't  tell  him  so,  Tony,  or  may- 
be yon'il  fare  worse  in  the  argu- 
ment. He  lias  a  Aviso  deep  head, 
the  Doctor." 

"  1  wish  he  had  a  little  heart  with 
it,"  said  Tony,  sulkily,  and  turned 
again  into  the  garden. 

Twice  did  Jeanie  summon  him 
to  tea,  but  he  paid  no  attention  to 
the  call ;  so  engrossed,  indeed,  was 
he  by  his  thoughts,  that  he  even 
forgot  to  smoke,  and  not  impossi- 
bly the  want  of  his  accustomed 
weed  added  to  his  other  embarrass- 
ments. 

"  Miss  Dolly's  for  ganging  hame, 
Master  Tony,"  said  the  maid  at 
last,  "  and  the  mistress  wants  you 
to  go  wi'  her." 

As  Tony  entered  the  hall,  Dolly 
was  preparing  for  the  road.  Co- 
quetry was  certainly  the  least  of  her 
accomplishments,  and  yet  there  was 
something  that  almost  verged  on  it 
in  the  hood  she  wore,  instead  of  a 
bonnet,  lined  with  some  plushy 
material  of  a  rich  cherry  colour, 
and  forming  a  frame  around  her 
face  that  set  oft'  all  her  features  to 
the  greatest  advantage.  Never  did 
her  eyes  look  bluer  or  deeper — never 
did  the  gentle  beauty  of  her  face 
light  up  with  more  of  brilliancy. 
Tony  never  knew  with  what  rapture 
he  was  gazing  on  her  till  he  saw 
that  she  was  blushing  under  his 
fixed  stare. 

The  leave-taking  between  Mrs 
Butler  and  Dolly  was  more  than 
usually  affectionate ;  and  even  after 
they  had  separated,  the  old  lady 
called  her  back  and  kissed  her 
again. 

"  I  don't  know  how  mother  will 
bear  up  after  you  leave  her,"  mut- 
tered Tony,  as  he  walked  along  at 
Dolly's  side ;  "  she  is  fonder  of 
you  than  ever." 

Dolly  murmured  something,  but 
inaudibly. 

"  For  my  own  part,"  continued 
Tony,  "  I  can't  believe  this  step 
necessary  at  all.  It  would  be  an 
ineffable  disgrace  to  the  whole 


neighbourhood  to  let  one  we  love 
and  revere  as  we  do  him,  go  away 
in  his  old  age,  one  may  say,  to  seek 
his  fortune.  He  belongs  to  us,  and 
we  to  him.  We  have  been  linked 
together  for  years,  and  I  can't  bear 
the  thought  of  our  separating." 

This  was  a  very  long  speech  for 
Tony,  and  he  felt  almost  fatigued 
when  it  was  finished  ;  but  Dolly 
was  silent,  and  there  was  no  means 
by  which  he  could  guess  the  effect 
it  hud  produced  upon  her. 

"  As  to  my  mother,"  continued 
he,  "  .she'd  not  care  to  live  here 
any  longer — I  know  it.  1  don't 
spealc  of  myself,  because  it's  the 
habit  to  think  I  don't  care  for 
any  one  or  anything — that's  the  es- 
timate people  form  of  me,  and  I 
must  bear  it  as  1  can." 

"  It's  less  than  just,  Tony,"  said 
Dolly,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  if  I  am  to  ask  for  justice, 
Dolly,  I  shall  get  the  worst  of  it," 
said  he,  laughing,  but  not  merrily. 

For  a  while  they  walked  on  with- 
out a  word  on  either  side. 

"  What  a  calm  night ! "  said  Dolly, 
"  and  how  large  the  stars  look ! 
They  tell  me  that  in  southern  lati- 
tudes they  seem  immense." 

"  You  are  not  sorry  to  leave  this, 
Dolly?"  murmured  he,  gloomily; 
"are  you  ?" 

A  very  faint  sigh  was  all  her  an- 
swer. 

"  I'm  sure  no  one  could  blame 
you,"  he  continued.  "  There  is 
not  much  to  attach  any  one  to 
the  place,  except,  perhaps,  a  half- 
ravage  like  myself,  who  finds  its 
ruggedness  congenial." 

u  But  you  will  scarcely  remain 
here  now,  Tony  ;  you'll  be  more 
likely  to  settle  at  Butler  Hall,  won't 
you?" 

"  Wherever  I  settle  it  shan't  be 
here,  after  you  have  left  it,"  said 
he,  with  energy. 

"  Sir  Arthur  Lyle  and  his  family 
are  all  coming  back  in  a  few  days, 
I  hear." 

"  So  they  may  ;  it  matters  little 
to  me,  Dolly.  Shall  I  tell  you  a 
secret  ?  Take  my  arm,  Dolly — the 


24 


Ton  >/  flutter. — Conclusion. 


[Jan, 


path  is  rough  here — you  may  as 
well  lean  on  me.  We  are  not  likely 
to  have  many  more  walks  together. 
Oh  dear  !  if  you  were  as  sorry  as  I 
am,  Dolly,  what  a  sad  stroll  this 
would  be  !  " 

"What's  your  secret,  Tony?" 
asked  she,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Ah!  my  secret,  my  secret,"  said 
he,  ponderingly,  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  called  it  a  secret — but  here 
is  what  I  meant.  You  remember, 
Dolly,  how  I  used  to  live  up  there 
at  the  Abbey  formerly.  It  was  just 
like  my  home.  I  ordered  all  the 
people  about  just  as  if  they  had 
been  my  own  servants — and,  indeed, 
they  minded  my  orders  more  than 
their  master's.  The  habit  grew  so 
strong  upon  me,  of  being  obeyed 
and  followed,  that  I  suppose  I  must 
have  forgot  my  own  real  condition. 
I  take  it  I  must  have  lost  sight  of 
who  and  what  I  actually  was,  till 
one  of  the  sons — a  young  fellow  in 
the  service  in  India — came  back  and 
contrived  to  let  me  make  the  dis- 
covery, that,  though  I  never  knew 
it,  I  was  really  living  the  life  of  a 
dependant.  I'll  not  tell  you  how 
this  stung  me,  but  it  did  sting  me 
— all  the  more  that  I  believed,  I 
fancied,  myself — don't  laugh  at  me 
— but  I  really  imagined  I  was  in 
love  with  one  of  the  girls — Alice. 
She  was  Alice  Trafford  then." 

"  I  had  heard  of  that,"  said  Dol- 
ly, in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Well,  she  too  undeceived  me — 
not  exactly  as  unfeelingly  nor  as 
offensively  as  her  brother,  but  just 
as  explicitly — you  know  what  I 
mean  ? " 

"  No,  tell  me  more  clearly,"  .said 
she,  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you. 
It's  a  long  story — that  is  to  say,  I 
was  a  long  while  under  a  delusion, 
and  she  was  a  long  while  indulging 
it.  Fine  ladies,  Fin  told,  do  this 
sort  of  thing  when  they  take  a  ca- 
price into  their  heads  to  civilise 
young  barbarians  of  my  stamp." 

"  That's  not  the  generous  way 
to  look  at  it,  Tony." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  generous — 


the  adage  says  one  ought  to  begin 
by  being  just.  Skeffy — you  know 
whom  I  mean,  Skeff  Darner — saw 
it  clearly  enough — he  warned  me 
about  it.  And  what  a  clever  fellow 
he  is!  would  you  believe  it,  Dolly? 
he  actually  knew  all  the  time  that 
I  was  not  really  in  love,  when  I 
thought  I  was.  He  knew  that  it 
was  a  something  made  up  of 
romance  and  ambition  and  boyish 
vanity,  and  that  my  heart,  my  real 
heart,  was  never  in  it." 

Dolly  shook  her  head,  but  whether 
in  dissent  or  in  sorrow  it  was  not 
easy  to  say. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  more1?"  cried 
Tony,  as  he  drew  her  arm  closer  to 
him,  and  took  her  hand  in  his  ; 
"  shall  I  tell  you  more,  Dolly  I 
Skeff  read  me  as  I  could  not  read 
myself.  He  said  to  me,  '  Tony,  this 
is  no  case  of  love,  it  is  the  nattered 
vanity  of  a  very  young  fellow  to 
be  distinguished  not  alone  by  the 
prettiest,  but  the  most  petted  wo- 
man of  society.  Yon,'  said  he,  'are 
receiving  all  the  homage  paid  to  her 
at  second-hand/  But  more  than 
all  this,  Dolly,  he  not  merely  saw 
that  I  was  not  in  love  with  Alice 
Trafford,  but  he  saw  with  whom 
my  heart  was  bound  up,  for  many 
and  many  a  year." 

"  Her  sister,  her  sister  Bella," 
whispered  Dolly. 

"  No,  but  with  yourself,  my  own 
own  Dolly,"  cried  he,  and  turning, 
and  before  she  could  prevent  it,  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed 
her  passionately. 

"Oh,  Tony  !  "  said  she,  sobbing. 
"  you  that  I  trusted,  you  that  I 
confided  in,  to  treat  me  thus." 

"  It  is  that  my  heart  is  bursting, 
Dolly,  with  this  long  pent-up  love, 
for  I  now  know  I  have  loved  you 
all  my  life  long.  Don't  be  angry 
with  me,  my  darling  Dolly  ;  I'd 
rather  die  at  your  feet  than  hear 
an  angry  Avord  from  you.  Tell  me 
if  you  can  care  Tor  me ;  oh,  tell  me, 
if  I  strive  to  be  all  you  could  like 
and  love,  that  you  will  not  refuse 
to  be  my  own." 

She  tried   to   disengage  herself 


1805.] 


Tony  Butler. — Conclusion. 


from  his  arm;  she  trembled,  heaved 
a  deep  sigh,  and  fell  with  her  head 
on  his  shoulder. 

"And  you  are  my  own;'  said  lie. 
again  kissing  her  ;  "  and  now  the 
wide  world  has  not  so  happy  a 
heart  as  mine." 

Of  those  characters  of  my  story 
who  met  happiness,  it  is  as  well 
to  say  no  more.  A  more  cunning 
craftsman  than  myself  has  told  us, 
that  the  less  we  track  human  life, 
the  more  cheerily  we  shall  speak  of 
it.  Let  us  presume,  and  it  is  no 
unfair  presumption,  that,  as  Tony's 
life  was  surrounded  with  a  liberal 
share  of  those  gifts  which  make  ex- 
istence pleasurable,  he  Avas  neither 
ungrateful  nor  unmindful  of  them. 
Of  Dolly  I  hope  there  need  be  no 
doubt.  "  The  guid  dochter  is  the 
best  warrant  for  the  guid  wife:"  so 
said  her  father,  and  he  said  truly. 

In  the  diary  of  a  Spanish  guer- 
illa chief,  there  is  mention  of  a 
"  nobile  Inglese,"  who  met  him  at 
Malta,  to  confer  over  the  possibil- 
ity of  a  landing  in  Calabria,  and 
the  chances  of  a  successful  rising 
there.  The  Spaniard  speaks  of  this 
man  as  a  person  of  rank,  education, 
and  talents,  high  in  the  confidence 
of  the  Court,  and  evidently  warmly 
interested  in  the  cause.  He  was 
taken  prisoner  by  the  Piedmontese 
troops  on  the  third  day  after  they 
landed,  and,  though  repeatedly 
offered  life  under  conditions'  it 
would  have  been  no  dishonour  to 


accept,  was  tried  by  court-martial, 
and  shot. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that 
the  ''nobile  Jnglese"  was  Maitland. 

From  the  window  where  1  write,  1 
can  see  the  promenade  on  the  Pincian 
Hill,  and  if  my  eyes  do  not  deceive 
me  I  can  perceive  that  at  times  the 
groups  are  broken,  and  the  loungers 
fall  back,  to  permit  some  one  to 
pass.  I  have  called  the  waiter  to 
explain  the  curious  circumstance, 
and  asked  if  it  be  royalty  that  is 
so  deferentially  acknowledged.  He 
smiles,  and  says  — "  No.  It  is  the 
major  domo  of  the  palace  exacts 
the  respect  you  see.  He  can  do 
what  he  likes  at  Koine.  Antonclli 
himself  is  not  greater  than  the 
Count  M'Caskey." 

As  some  unlettered  guide  leads 
the  traveller  to  the  verge  of  a 
cliff,  from  which  the  glorious  land- 
scape beneath  is  visible,  and  wind- 
ing river  and  embowered  home- 
stead, and  swelling  plain  and  far- 
off  mountain,  are  all  spread  out  be- 
neath for  the  eye  to  revel  over,  so 
do  I  place  you,  my  valued  reader, 
on  that  spot  from  which  the  future 
can  be  seen,  and  modestly  retire 
that  you  may  gaze  in  peace,  weav- 
ing your  own  fancies  at  will,  and 
investing  the  scene  before  you  with 
such  images  and  such  interests  as 
best  befit  it. 

M>/  part  is  done  :  if  I  have  sug- 
gested something  for  yours,  it  will 
not  be  all  in  vain  that  I  have  writ- 
ten '  Tony  Butler.' 


26 


Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


A  VISIT   TO   THE   CITIES   AND   CAMPS   OF   THE   CONFEDERATE 
STATES,    1863-64. 

TAUT    II. — CHAITEll   VII. 


THE  Northerners  are  not  very 
fond  of  being  called  Yankees,  but 
they  are  never  called  anything  else 
in  the  South  now. 

About  the  commencement  of  the 
war,  before  the  behaviour  of  the 
Federal  armies  had  entirely  put  a 
stop  to  all  intercourse  between  them 
and  the  inhabitants  of  such  portions 
of  the  South  as  they  were  invading, 
a  Northern  regiment  marched  into 
some  little  town  in  Tennessee.  The 
colonel  of  the  regiment  had  out  his 
band  to  perform  for  the  edification 
of  the  townspeople,  and  requested 
the  lady  of  the  house  where  he  was 
quartered  to  choose  what  she  would 
desire  them  to  play.  The  lady, 
wishing  to  gratify  her  guest,  and  at 
the  same  time  careful  not  to  offend, 
requested  that  the  band  might  play 
the  "Federal  doodle." 

I  have  attempted  in  my  narrative 
to  imitate  the  delicacy  of  this  Ten- 
nessee lady,  and  have  substituted 
"Federal"  and  "Northern"  as 
often  as  I  could  for  the  obnoxious 
term,  but  I  find  it  impossible  to 
avoid  it  entirely. 

The  day  after  we  crossed  the 
Potomac  we  reached  Martinsburg, 
where  I  had  the  pleasure  of  again 
meeting  Colonel  Faulkner,  who  en- 
tertained and  lodged  a  large  party 
at  his  house  —  amongst  others 
Major  Norris,  who  had  come  up 
in  hot  haste  from  Richmond,  ex- 
pecting to  march  triumphantly  with 
Lee's  victorious  army  into  his  native 
city  of  Baltimore.  There  had  been 
most  extravagant  rumours  of  extra- 
ordinary success  at  Richmond,  and 
the  disappointment  there  at  the 
retreat  was  proportionate.  It  is 
astonishing  what  people  can  bring 
themselves  to  believe  if  they  try. 

According  to  rumours  at  Rich- 
mond, the  whole  Federal  army  had 
been  captured  ;  whilst  in  the  North, 


the  Yankees  were  persuading  them- 
selves that  Lee's  army  had  been 
utterly  annihilated  ! 

A  few  miles  south  of  Martins- 
burg  we  made  a  halt  again  of  seve- 
ral days,  and  as  I  had  by  this  time 
been  able  to  procure  a  horse  of  my 
own,  I  could  move  more  freely,  and 
visit  all  the  surrounding  camps. 
The  waggon-train,  which  had  grown 
to  be  excessive  during  the  cam- 
paign, was  being  cut  down  very 
strictly,  and  large  numbers  of  horses 
and  waggons  sent  to  the  rear, 
at  which  of  course  many  people 
grumbled.  Provisions  were  plenti- 
ful, and  the  men  were  in  excellent 
spirits,  and  much  given  to  exhibit 
them  by  chaffing  any  parties  who 
might  ride  through  their  camps. 
"  Look  at  that  man  with  the  Parrot 
gun  on  his  back,"  they  would  cry 
out  to  one  who  carried  a  spy-glass 
strapped  over  his  shoulders.  "  And 
what  a  fine  see-gar  that  other  one's 
smoking  ! "  "  And  there's  the  chap 
what  carries  the  whisky!"  as  an- 
other rode  past  with  the  neck  of  a 
bottle  suspiciously  protruding  out 
of  one  of  his  saddle-bags.  And 
then  the  whole  "  crowd "  would 
burst  out  into  a  regular  Southern 

yell. 

I  was  siirprised  to  see  how  well 
the  men  were  shod.  The  weather 
was  fine  now,  but  it  had  been  hor- 
ribly bad.  The  mud  on  the  roads 
had  been  ankle -deep,  and  several 
rivers  and  streams  had  been  waded 
and  forded.  Many  a  European 
army  would  have  been  half  without 
shoes,  but  here  there  were  very  few 
barefooted  men,  and  during  our 
halt  these  few  were  supplied  by 
stores  sent  up  from  the  rear.  Al- 
most all  their  boots  and  shoes  are 
imported  from  England  through  the 
blockade. 

We  had  a  charming  camp  under 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  18C3-64.— Part  11. 


27 


a  grove  of  trees,  with  a  stream  close 
by  where  we  could  bathe,  and  were 
rather  sorry  when  it  was  broken  up 
and  we  continued  our  retreat. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  the  camps 
here  are  not  constructed  according 
to  the  rules  in  the  books,  in  long 
straight  parallel  lines,  with  a  place 
for  every  one,  and  every  one  in  his 
place. 

On  the  contrary,  the  tents  are 
pitched  according  to  the  formation 
of  the  ground,  wherever  their 
owners  choose,  keeping,  of  course, 
within  a  certain  distance  of  each 
other  ;  and,  grouped  together  as 
they  are  in  shady  places,  they  are 
not  only  much  more  picturesque, 
but  also  much  more  pleasant  and 
comfortable,  than  if  rules  were 
strictly  adhered  to. 

On  leaving  our  pleasant  camp  we 
marched  rapidly  for  five  days  con- 
secutively to  Culpepper  Courthouse, 
marching  from  eighteen  to  twenty 
miles  a-day. 

The  Confederates  make  very 
long  inarches,  and  show  small  signs 
of  fatigue.  I  am  told  that  the  average 
distance  of  a  day's  march  during  this 
war  has  been  about  eighteen  miles, 
though  sometimes  they  have  march- 
ed thirty  and  more  for  days  to- 
gether. Stonewall  Jackson  was 
especially  rapid  in  his  movements, 
and  his  men  had  often  nothing  to 
eat  on  their  march  but  ears  of 
Indian-corn  which  they  gathered 
and  parched.  The  second  day  we 
crossed  over  the  two  forks  of  the 
Shenandoah  at  Front  Royal.  The 
river  was  swollen  by  the  late  rains, 
and  mounted  men  had  to  be  em- 
ployed during  the  crossing  to  pre- 
vent those  who  were  weak,  or  who 
were  attacked  with  giddiness,  from 
being  swept  from  the  ford  into  deep 
water. 

The  army  got  across  safely,  but 
a  pontoon-bridge  had  to  be  made 
for  the  artillery  and  waggon-train, 
which  caused  some  delay.  The 
pass  in  the  mountains  through 
•which  we  had  to  march  is  called 
Chester  Gap. 

The  Yankees  were  on  the  other 


side  of  the  gap,  trying  to  hold  it 
against  us,  and  when  we  got  to  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  about  five 
miles  from  Front  J loyal,  a  smart 
skirmish  was  going  on.  The  enemy 
was  driven  away ;  but  as  we  were 
in  advance  of  the  main  body  of  the 
army,  we  retraced  our  steps  some 
half-mile  down  the  mountain  again 
to  a  house  where  a  Mr  Gardner  re- 
ceived us  very  hospitably.  As 
"uy"  on  this  occasion  consisted  of 
General  Long.street,  with  all  his 
staff  and  couriers,  the  house  was 
rather  too  small  to  shelter  us,  and 
most  of  our  number  camped  at  night 
on  the  piazza  and  in  the  garden  ; 
but  we  all  got  plenty  to  eat,  and 
so  did  our  horses,  which  was  very 
agreeable,  as  we  had  fasted  since 
breakfast. 

Next  morning,  when  we  reached 
the  top  of  the  mountain  again,  we 
found  the  Yankees  had  returned, 
and  were  going  to  dispute  our  pas- 
sage a  mile  or  two  further  on  than 
where  the  skirmish  took  place  yes- 
terday. 

They  had  only  a  brigade  of  cav- 
alry, however,  and  a  couple  of  guns. 
Longstreet  sent  a  brigade  of  infan- 
try to  drive  them  off,  and  the  sight 
which  followed  was  very  interesting. 
We  had  a  magnificient  view,  and 
could  distinguish  every  figure  in  the 
fight  which  took  place  far  below 
us.  The  Confederate  brigade — I 
think  it  was  Wolford's — threw  out 
skirmishers  first,  but  presently,  as 
the  Yankees,  who  had  dismounted, 
fell  back  towards  their  horses,  the 
whole  body  advanced  in  line  of 
battle  over  a  broad  open  space. 
The  Yankees  got  to  their  horses, 
mounted,  and  I  fully  expected 
would  charge  and  ride  down  the 
Confederate  brigade  :  they  had  a 
splendid  opportunity  for  doing  so, 
as  the  open  ground  sloped  towards 
them,  and  they  could  have  got 
close  to  their  opponents,  who  were 
in  line,  before  they  could  have  been 
fired  upon.  The  open  ground  was 
skirted,  too,  by  a  wood  through 
which  a  flanking  squadron  might 
have  been  sent  without  being  per- 


28 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  tlte 


[Jan. 


ceived,  and  at  tlie  same  time  their 
two  guns  might  have  gone  forward 
and  prepared  for  their  charge  with 
grape  and  canister.  But  nothing 
of  the  kind  occurred. 

As  soon  as  they  were  on  their 
horses  the  guns  limbered  up,  and  all 
trotted  off  together. 

After  seeing  such  an  opportunity 
lost,  I  was  not  surprised  'to  hear 
that  mounted  cavalry  never  at- 
tacked infantry.  We  continued  our 
march  unmolested.  On  the  road  I 
got  into  conversation  with  a  ser- 
geant of  the  signal  corps.  This 
signal  corps  is  an  institution  pecu- 
liar to  the  American  armies.  On 
marches  and  daring  battles,  high 
and  commanding  positions  are  oc- 
cupied by  squadrons  of  this  corps, 
who  communicate  with  each  other 
by  flags,  on  the  old  semaphore  sys- 
tem, and  report  all  important  com- 
munications to  their  generals.  The 
corps  was  found  very  useful  last 
year,  and  has  been  much  increased 


since.  When  Jackson  was  forcing 
the  surrender  of  Harper's  Ferry  he 
was  able  to  communicate  from  the 
Virginia  heights  with  M'Laws,  who 
Avas  on  the  Maryland  heights,  by 
means  of  two  posts  of  the  signal 
corps ;  whilst,  if  he  had  been  obliged 
to  send  couriers,  they  would  have 
had  to  make  a  detour  of  twenty-five 
miles. 

This  year  Lee  and  Ewell  were 
in  constant  communication  from 
Culpepper  to  Winchester,  I  forget 
whether  by  twenty-five  or  thirty- 
five  posts. 

Sometimes  they  discover  each 
other's  alphabet.  The  Yankees  did 
this  just  before  the  battle  of  Chan- 
cellorsville,  but  the  Confederates 
found  it  out  and  changed  their 
signals  ;  so  when  the  Yankees,  hav- 
ing got  to  a  Confederate  post,  tele- 
graphed with  the  old  alphabet  to 
know  where  Lee  and  Jackson  were, 
they  got  a  wrong  answer.  Major 
jSTorris  is  the  chief  of  this  corps. 


CHATTER    VIII. 


We  reached  Culpepper  Courthouse 
on  the  24th  of  July;  and  as  it  was 
evident  that  the  army  woiild  re- 
main here  inactive  for  some  time, 
I  "took  the  cars"  to  Richmond, 
where  I  spent  ten  days  very  agree- 
ably. 

Richmond  was  never  intended  to 
hold  so  many  inhabitants  as  it  does 
now.  Its  population  before  the  war 
was,  I  believe,  about  30,000 ;  now, 
they  say,  it  is  100,000 ;  so  that 
many  of  the  Government  employes 
are  hard  up  for  lodging.  One  gold 
dollar  is  now  worth  about  ten  paper 
ones  of  Confederate  currency,"/?/?zc?- 
able  in  stocks  or  bonds  of  the  Con- 
federate States  six  months  after  the 
ratification  of  a  treaty  of  peace  be- 
tween the  Confederate  States  and  the 
United  States,"  and  not  "  A  LEGAL 
TENDER  for  all  debts,  public  and  pri- 
vate, except  duties  on  imports  and 
interest  on  the  public  debt,"  as  the 
"greenbacks"  in  the  North  are. 
And  as  Government  officials  and  the 


army  are  paid  in  this  currency,  at 
the  same  rate  as  if  it  were  worth 
its  nominal  value  in  gold,  of  course 
those  who  have  no  private  means 
are  obliged  to  be  very  economical. 
Planters,  and  those  who  have  any- 
thing to  sell,  are  nearly  as  well  off 
as  before,  as  they  get  proportion- 
ately high  prices  for  their  goods. 
For  those  who  can  command  gold 
or  exchange  upon  England,  living 
is  exceedingly  cheap.  .Board  and 
lodging  at  a  first-rate  hotel,  for  in- 
stance, is  six  paper  dollars  a -day, 
or  about  half -a- crown  in  English 
money.  But  as  Richmond  is  crowd- 
ed with  Government  officials,  most 
of  whom  have  only  their  salaries, 
and  with  refugees  from  parts  of  the 
country  occupied  by  the  Yankees, 
who  have  little  or  nothing  at  all, 
the  war  is  much  more  severely 
felt  here  than  anywhere  else  in  the 
Confederacy.  Still  it  is  a  pleasant' 
place,  and  pleasant  people  live  here. 
The  houses  are  cosy  and  comfort- 


18G5.J 


Confederate  States,  1803-64.— Part  IL 


21) 


able,  especially  in  the  better  streets, 
which  are  lined  with  "shade" 
trees,  a  great  feature  of  Southern 
cities.  Americans,  like  the  Eng- 
lish, always  have  a  house  to  them- 
selves if  they  can,  so  the  only  very 
large  houses  are  the  hotels. 

Captain  Scheibert,  the  Prussian 
Commissioner,  with  whom  I  had 
associated  a  great  deal  during  the 
campaign,  was  my  next-door  neigh- 
bour at  the  Ballard  House ;  and  as 
he  was  soon  to  leave  for  Europe, 
we  agreed  to  go  down  to  Charles- 
ton together,  where  great  events 
were  expected  to  take  place.  The 
journey  was  very  disagreeable.  It 
was  scorchingly  hot,  and  the  cars, 
always  inconvenient,  were  excess- 
ively crowded.  They  invariably  are 
so,  both  in  the  North  and  South. 
and  the  discomforts  of  travelling 
are  greater  than  any  one  can  ima- 
gine who  has  not  experienced  them. 

We  left  Richmond  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning  of  Thursday,  August 
6th,  and  breakfasted  at  Petersburg, 
where  we  had  to  stop  for  four 
hours,  which  we  spent  in  wandering 
about  the  "  city."  It  is  not  neces- 
sary in  this  country  for  a  city  to 
have  a  bishop  and  a  cathedral ;  a 
good-sized  church  is  enough,  and 
every  town  sufficiently  large  to 
boast  such  an  ornament  is  a  city 
here.  Petersburg,  moreover,  is  a 
good-sized  place,  has  several  chur- 
ches, some  handsome  "  stores,"  and 
is  said  to  be  a  delightful  residence. 
From  Petersburg  to  Wilming- 
ton we  were  constantly  travelling 
through  the  enormous  pine  forests 
for  which  Xortli  Carolina  is  famous, 
and  from  which,  in  time  of  peace, 
they  extract  rosin  enough  to  supply 
the  world. 

It  was  getting  daylight  as  we 
crossed  the  river  at  Wilmington. 
We  counted  twelve  blockade-run- 
ners lying  at  the  wharves.  From 
thence  to  Charleston  most  of  the 
road  was  through  forests,  but  of  a 
different  description  from  those  of 
the  day  before.  The  trees  were 
chiefly  live  oak,  and  others  of  a 
tropical  character,  bearded  all  over 


with  long  Spanish  nioss,  on  ground 
which  was  almost  a  swamp. 

The  spaces  cleared  on  each  side 
of  the  road  were  covered  with  cane- 
brake  several  yards  high ;  and  in  the 
ditches,  full  of  black  water,  which 
ran  parallel  with  the  line,  cooters 
and  terrapins  and  various  reptiles 
were  swimming  about.  At  inter- 
vals, and  always  near  the  stations, 
there  were  large  clearings,  with 
country  houses  and  negro  villages ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt,  from  the  look 
of  the  soil,  that  the  plantations 
must  be  very  productive. 

We  reached  Charleston  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  took  up 
our  quarters  at  the  Mill's  House 
Hotel,  very  hot  and  dusty  and 
rather  knocked  up.  However,  after 
spoiling  a  good  deal  of  cold  water 
— making  it  very  nearly  black — we 
felt  more  comfortable  before  we  re- 
tired to  rest. 

Next  morning,  in  spite  of  the 
scorching  sun,  we  paid  a  round  of 
visits  to  the  generals  and  others, 
presenting  letters  of  introduction 
with  which  we  had  been  furnished 
at  Richmond.  We  Avere  very  kind- 
ly and  cordially  received,  and  I 
soon  began  to  feel  at  home  in 
Charleston. 

"  Charleston,  the  metropolis  of 
South  Carolina,  is  picturesquely 
situated  at  the  confluence  of  the 
Ashley  and  Cooper  rivers,  which 
combine  to  form  its  harbour,"  says 
Applcton's  Guide.  "  It  was  founded 
about  1G70,  and  subsequently  laid 
out  on  a  plan  furnished  from  Eng- 
land, which  was  then  considered  of 
very  magnificent  scale." 

There  are  some  fine  churches  and 
public  buildings,  museum,  orphan 
asylum,  libraries,  A:c.  No  State  has 
so  many  charitable  institutions  as 
South  Carolina.  Before  the  war 
Charleston  had  nearly  70,000  inha- 
bitants, but  now  there  are  less  than 
20,000,  they  say. 

A  terrific  fire,  in  December  186:?, 
destroyed  one  -  third  of  the  city, 
with  the  Roman  Catholic  cathedral, 
several  churches,  the  theatre,  and 
many  of  the  finest  public  and  pri- 


30 


A  Visit  to  tlie  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


vate  buildings.  The  centre  of 
Charleston  is  now  a  wide  waste  of 
ruin  and  rubbish.  There  is  a  fine 
arsenal  here,  and  a  military  college. 
It  is  a  curious  fact  that  several  of 
the  Southern  States  have  had  for 
many  years  military  colleges,  where 
the  pupils  received  a  complete  mili- 
tary education,  although  they  were 
never  intended  for  soldiers,  and,  in- 
deed, could  not  enter  the  regular 
army,  which  was  exclusively  officer- 
ed by  graduates  from  Westpoint, 
the  United  States  military  school. 

At  dinner  I  met  V.,  whom  I  im- 
mediately recognised  from  having 
seen  his  photograph,  and  we  walked 
out  in  the  evening  to  the  ''Battery/' 
a  promenade  on  the  bay,  whence 
there  is  a  splendid  view  of  Fort 
Sumter  and  the  shore  on  each  side 
of  Charleston  Bay,  now  covered 
with  forts  and  batteries.  Fort  Sum- 
ter is  three  miles  off,  Fort  Wagner 
four  ;  so  when  battles  take  place  it 
is  perfectly  safe  to  look  on,  and 
on  such  occasions  the  Battery  is 
crowded  with  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Cannonading  is  kept  up  night  and 
day  between  Sumter  and  the  bat- 
teries on  James  Island  on  one  side, 
and  the  Yankees  on  the  other. 
These  last  have  now  a  firm  footing 
on  Morris  Island,  and  are  working 
their  way  towards  Fort  Wagner, 
which  they  failed  to  take  by  storm 
the  other  day.  In  the  evening 
especially  it  is  very  interesting  to 
watch  the  contest,  as  all  the  guns 
use  hollow  shot,  with  time  fuzes, 
which  go  blazing  through  the  air 
like  meteors.  The  mortar- shells 
are  the  prettiest,  going  high  up  into 
the  air,  and  then  slowly  descend- 
ing. 

One  of  my  first  excursions  was 
to  Fort  Sumter,  whither  I  went  one 
evening  with  General  Ilipley  in  his 
barge.  It  was  then  almost  entirely 
intact,  having  been  hurt  very  little 
indeed  by  the  Monitor  attack  in 
April ;  and  when  I  observed  the 
thickness  of  its  walls,  and  compared 
them  with  what  I  had  seen  in  other 
countries,  and  when  I  saw  that  no 
land  -  batteries  could  be  brought 


within  much  less  than  a  mile  of  it, 
I  confess  I  did  not  foresee  the  de- 
struction it  was  to  undergo  within 
a  very  short  time.  They  were  blaz- 
ing away  from  a  mortar  in  the  yard 
at  the  Yankee  works  on  Morris 
Island;  and  Colonel  llhett,  the  com- 
mandant at  Sumter,  told  us  as  a 
curiosity  that  this  firing  from  the 
fort  spoils  their  bread,  as  it  shakes 
the  foundation  so  that  the  yeast 
cannot  make  the  dough  rise.  From 
Sumter  we  rowed  over  to  Battery 
Gregg,  on  Morris  Island,  and  thence 
took  horse  to  Fort  Wagner,  a  very 
strong  little  work  made  entirely  of 
sand,  lined  or  faced  with  palmetto 
wood,  which  does  not  splinter. 
Every  one  knew  it  was  doomed,  and 
must  fall  in  time,  but  it  Avas  in- 
tended to  hold  it  as  long  as  possi- 
ble. The  garrison  is  relieved  every 
five  days.  The  impression  of  most 
people  then  was  that  the  Yankees 
would  work  their  way  up  to  Fort 
Wagner  and  force  its  evacuation 
and  that  of  Battery  Gregg,  and 
then  place  their  own  batteries  there 
and  attack  Sumter.  The  bomb- 
proofs  at  Fort  Wagner  were  stif- 
lingly  close  and  hot,  but  we  went 
outside  and  lay  on  the  parapet  for 
an  hour,  chatting.  The  Yankees 
were  so  obliging  as  not  to  shell 
whilst  we  Avere  there,  as  they  other- 
wise do  pretty  nearly  all  day  and 
all  night  long,  keeping  the  garrison 
under-ground,  with  the  exception 
of  those  who  are  working  the  guns. 
But  the  land  guns  do  not  trouble 
them  so  much  as  the  monitors,  and 
especially  the  new  Ironsides,  an 
iron-clad  frigate  carrying  seven  11- 
inch  Dalgrens  on  a  side,  as  well  as 
two  200-pounder  Parrots  on  pivots, 
which  are  used  as  broadside  guns. 
It  is  surprising  hoAV  little  damage 
they  do  to  the  fortification.  A  15- 
inch  shell,  Aveighing  340  pounds, 
will  bury  itself  in  the  sand,  explode, 
and  create  an  enormous  amount  of 
dust ;  but  the  sand  not  being  heavy 
enough  to  be  throAvn  far,  it  pre- 
sently subsides,  and  the  damage  is 
repaired  by  a  very  little  shovelling. 
As  yet  there  haAre  not  been  many 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64.—  Part  II. 


31 


casualties  on  the  Confederate  side 
since  the  siege  of  Charleston  has 
commenced;  and  General  Jordan 
tells  me  he  has  calculated  that  it 
takes  the  Yankees  70,000  pounds 
weight  of  iron  to  kill  or  wound 
a  Confederate  soldier.  Still  the 
incessant,  tremendous,  deafening, 
aga^ant  crashing  of  the  enormous 
guns  affects  the  nerves  of  the  men, 
and  they  are  thoroughly  knocked 
lip  at  the  end  of  their  five  days' 
service  ;  and  the  worthy  mission- 
aries, who  hold  revival  and  prayer 
meetings  at  the  different  camps, 
reap  a  large  harvest  of  repentant 
converts  each  time  the  garrison  is 
relieved.  We  did  not  return  from 
our  expedition  till  near  daylight 
the  next  morning. 

Another  day  we  drove  over  to 
see  the  fortifications  on  James 
Island.  When  the  British  took 
Charleston  in  May  1780,  it  was 
through  James  Island  that  they 
made  their  attack,  and  General 
Beauregard  is  very  thankful  that 
the  Yankees  did  not  follow  their 
example.  It  is  now,  however,  cov- 
ered with  strong  works.  Formerly, 
it  was  considered  certain  death  to 
sleep  out  one  night  there  during 
the  malaria  season,  and  now  thou- 
sands of  men  are  quartered  on 
it.  They  have  to  be  well  dosed 
with  quinine,  however.  Major  Lu- 
cas, who  commanded  at  the  prin- 
cipal Avork  on  the  island  —  Fort 
Pemberton — told  me  that  he  made 
his  men  take  their  dose  regularly 
every  morning  after  dress-parade. 
Last  year,  when  it  was  left  more  to 
the  option  of  the  men,  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  fever;  but  this  year, 
since  the  men  had  no  choice  in  the 
matter,  they  arevvcry  healthy.  The 
island  used  before  the  war  to  be 
covered  with  cotton  -  plantations, 
but  it  has  gone  out  of  cultivation 
now. 

Another  excursion  was  to  Ashley 
Hall,  some  five  or  six  miles  from 
Charleston,  belonging  to  Colonel 
Bull,  whose  grandfather,  Sir  Wil- 
liam Bull,  was  the  last  British 
Governor  of  South  Carolina.  The 


Colonel  drove  me  over  in  his  buggy, 
and  Scheibert,  V.,  Captain  Fielden, 
an  Englishman  on  General  Beau- 
regard's  Staff,  and  Mr  Walker,  a 
Charlestonian,  followed  in  a  car- 
riage. We  spent  a  delightful  day, 
roaming  over  cotton-fields  and  rice 
plantations,  woods,  and  "  park-like 
meadows,"  studded  with  the  most 
magnificent  live  oaks.  At  lunch, 
some  fruit  was  brought  in,  which  I 
began  to  eat,  and  said,  "  What  de- 
licious gooseberries!"  upon  which 
I  was  informed  that  I  was  not  eat- 
ing gooseberries  at  all,  but  grapes 
— Scuppernong  grapes,  an  indigen- 
ous fruit  of  the  country.  I  found 
a  vine  afterwards  in  the  garden  with 
these  grapes  growing  upon  it,  singly 
and  in  bunches  of  two  or  three, 
like  cherries.  They  have  a  hard 
skin,  rather  hairy :  a  capital  wine 
is  made  from  them.  It  is  remark- 
able that  most  attempts  to  make 
wine  in  this  country  have  failed, 
though  of  course  the  grape  thrives 
in  perfection  ;  but  I  am  told  that 
they  ripen  too  early,  and  the  juice 
will  not  ferment  properly  in  the 
hot  weather  which  follows  the 
pressing. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features 
in  the  forests  are  the  enormous  wild 
vines  which  twine  round  the  larger 
trees. 

The  house  at  Ashley  Hall,  like 
many  more  on  the  old  plantations, 
was  built  before  the  revolutionary 
war,  of  bricks  brought  from  Eng- 
land. 

We  had  hardly  been  a  week  at 
Charleston,  before  the  Yankees, 
having  mounted  some  heavy  bat- 
teries at  a  distance  of  from  two 
and  a  half  to  three  miles  from 
Sumter,  commenced  a  furious  bom- 
bardment of  that  fort,  firing  over 
Fort  Wagner  and  Battery  Gregg, 
and  at  the  same  time  continuing 
their  approaches.  It  was  an  en- 
tirely novel  feature  of  war ;  but  it 
soon  became  evident  that  they 
would  have  the  best  of  it,  and  that 
the  brick  walls  of  Sumter  would 
not  be  able  to  stand  the  pounding 
of  their  two  and  three  hundred- 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


pound  shells,  thrown  from  that  ex- 
traordinary distance.  From  Fort 
Jackson  on  James  Island,  which  is 
distant  about  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  from  Sumter,  and  where  AVC 
went  now  daily  to  watch  the  pro- 
gress of  events,  we  could  clearly  see 
the  effect  of  every  shot  fired. 

Day  by  day  more  of  the  wall 
disappeared,  and  more  guns  were 
knocked  from  the  parapet  and  the 
upper  casemates,  into  the  area  be- 
hind them.  Every  now  and  then 
the  fleet  would  come  in  and  join 
in  the  attack.  Thus,  on  Monday 
morning,  August  17th,  the  new 
Ironsides,  six  monitors,  and  six 
wooden  ships,  and  all  the  Yankee 
batteries,  commenced  a  furious  at- 
tack on  Forts  Sumter  and  Wagner, 
nnd  Battery  Gregg.  Fort  Moultrie 
and  the  batteries  on  Johnson's 
Island  joined  in  the  affray,  and 
the  din  was  tremendous  till  half- 
past  ten,  when  the  fleet  drew  off. 

Again,  en  the  23d,  there  was  a 
furious  combined  assault  by  the 
fleet  and  the  batteries,  which  did 
not,  however,  last  very  long,  and 
then  there  was  a  lull  for  a  week. 
Speaking  of  this  last  attack,  the 
'  Charleston  Mercury '  of  August 
31st  says: — "There  are  few  who 
have  known  how  fortunate  for  that 
fort  was  the  inaction  of  the  enemy. 
When  the  monitors  drew  off  after 
their  brief  assault,  in  which  their 
fire  had  been  exceedingly  accurate, 
Sumter  was  in  a  very  precarious 
condition.  If  the  fleet  had  then 
pushed  the  bombardment  with 
vigour,  or  if  they  had  renewed  it 
with  determination  after  a  brief 
interval,  they  would  have  penetrated 
the  magazine,  and,  doiibtless,  have 
blown  up  the  fort  or  compelled  the 
garrison  to  surrender.  As  it  hap- 
pily turned  out,  the  monitors  with- 
drew before  the  destruction  was 
complete.  In  the  interval  that  has 
elapsed  the  powder  has  been  taken 
care  of,  and  the  defences  of  the  fort 
strengthened  by  sand-bags." 

Sumter's  chief  power  of  offence 
lay  in  its  barbette  guns  on  the  par- 
apet, and  in  those  of  its  upper  case- 


mates, which  could  pour  a  plunging 
fire  upon  any  vessels  approaching ; 
thus  giving  it  an  advantage  such  as 
in  throwing  stones  a  man  on  a 
tower  would  have  over  an  opponent 
on  the  ground  below  him. 

Only  a  short  time  ago  the  fort 
was  considered  strong  enough  to 
defend  the  entrance  of  the  harbour, 
and  the  works  on  the  land  were 
considered  of  small  importance,  but 
they  have  now  been  enormously 
strengthened  and  increased  :  indeed 
the  whole  shore  on  each  side  of 
the  bay  is  lined  with,  batteries,  and 
the  defenders  of  Charleston  believe 
that  no  fleet  could  enter  the  inner 
harbour  without  being  certainly 
destroyed. 

Although  it  took  little  more  than 
a  week  to  knock  Sumter  into  what 
is  here  metaphorically  called  a 
"  cocked  hat,"  yet  as  the  walls  fell 
and  the  bricks  got  pounded  into 
dust,  they  covered  the  lower  case- 
mates with  such  a  mass  of  debris 
as  materially  increased  their 
strength  ;  and  in  time,  assisted  by 
skilful  engineering,  the  ruins  of 
Sumter  became  stronger  for  inter- 
nal defence  than  the  untouched 
fort  had  ever  been.  The  flag  never 
ceased  to  float  defiantly  from  its 
dilapidated  walls,  and  the  boom  of 
its  evening  gun  never  failed  at  sun- 
set to  remind  the  Yankees  that 
Fort  Sumter  would  not  be  so 
easily  given  up  to  them  as  it  had 
been  taken  from  them. 

The  Charlestonians  are  fully  de- 
termined never  to  give  up  their 
city  to  the  Yankees  except  in  ruins, 
and  have  all  provided  themselves 
with  the  means  of  setting  fire  to 
their  houses  if  by  any  mischance 
the  place  should  become  untenable. 

I  am  told  by  those  who  have 
studied  the  science  of  arson,  that 
half-a-dozen  bottles  of  spirit  of  tur- 
pentine are  sufficient  to  set  the 
largest  house  in  a  blaze.  A  good 
many  of  the  houses  are  what  are 
called  "frame  houses" — that  is, 
built  of  wooden  planks — and  almost 
all  have  a  wrooden  piazza  all  round 
them,  up  to  the  top,  which  would 


1865.] 


Confederate  Slates,  1863-64.— Part  II. 


greatly  facilitate  operations  if  ex- 
tremities have  to  be  resorted  to, 
which  I  sincerely  hope  will  not  be 
the  case. 

All  this  time  the  weather  was 
oppressively  hot  in  the  day-time, 
although  now  and  then  the  rain 
would  come  down  in  torrents,  for 
when  it  rains  in  this  country  it  does 
pour !  and  then  the  air  would  be  cool- 
er for  a  few  hours.  The  evenings, 
however,  were  delightful,  and  the 
sea-breezes  on  the  Battery  made  it 
always  a  very  pleasant  promenade. 
Besides,  there  were  "fireworks"  in 
abundance  there,  but  these  we  were 
soon  to  have  a  little  closer  than 
was  agreeable. 

One  night  we  had  retired  to  rest, 
and  as  I  was  dropping  oft'  to  sleep 
a  whiz/ing  sound  came  rushing 
through  the  air  and  roused  me 
again,  and  when  it  was  repeated  a 
few  minutes  later,  I  knew  that  they 
were  shelling  the  city.  Scheibert, 
who  was  still  reading  in  the  next 
room,  would  not  believe  it  at  first, 
but  the  next  shell,  which  burst 
with  a  crash  not  far  oft",  convinced 
him.  We  sallied  out  presently, 
and  found  that  most  of  the  inmates 
of  the  hotel  had  taken  the  alarm,  and 
the  hall  was  crowded.  There  was 
great  excitement,  and  many  were 
the  maledictions  on  the  Yankees. 

Soon  after  V.,  who  was  stay- 
ing at  the  Charleston  Hotel,  came 
in.  There  the  consternation  had 
been  considerably  greater  than 
with  us,  as  the  very  first  shell  had 
struck  a  hoxise  close  by,  and  a  sort 
of  panic  had  been  the  result.  Some 
had  "  stampeded  "  without  waiting 
to  dress,  and  had  been  seen  with 
coats  flying  in  one  hand  and  pan- 
taloons in  the  other,  rushing  fran- 
tically in  the  direction  of  the  rail- 
road depot. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  in- 
mates of  our  hotel  behaved  with 
entire  dignity,  and  showed  far  more 
wrath  and  scorn  at  this  cowardly 
attack  of  the  Yankees,  than  any 
apprehensions  of  danger. 

It  was  expected  at  first  that 
houses  would  be  set  on  fire  by  the 

VOL.  XCVIT. — NO.  DXCL 


exploding  shells,   as   the   Yankees 
had  been  boasting  for  some  time  of 
their  "Greek  fire;"   and  the  fire- 
engines  rattling  and  jingling  about 
the  streets  added  to  the  excitement 
of  the  hour.     Altogether  it  was  a 
scene    to    be     remembered.      We 
walked  down  to  the  Battery,  where 
a  multitude  had   assembled.     We 
could  hear  the  whizz  of  the  shells 
long  before  they  passed  over  our 
heads,  and  I  offered  V.  a  thousand 
to  one  that  a  shell  we  heard  com- 
ing would  not  hit  either  of  us.     lie 
took  the  odds — forgetting  that  if 
he  won  he  would  have  had  but  a 
small  chance  of  realising  his  wager 
— and,  of  course,  I  won  my  dollar. 
The  shelling  lasted  scarcely  more 
than  an  hour,  and  did  little  mis- 
chief.    Next  morning  we  heard  of 
the   "fair  warning"   General  Gil- 
more  had  given  of  his  intention  to 
shell   the  city.     It   seems  that  at 
nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  a  note 
had  been  sent  to  the  commanding 
officer  at  Fort  Wagner  to  forward 
to  General  Beauregard,  in  which  it 
was  demanded  that  Fort  Wagner, 
Fort  Sumter,  and  the  other  defences 
of  the  harbour,  should  be  immedi- 
ately given  up  to  the  Yankees ;  if 
not,  the  city  would  be  shelled .   Four 
hours    were    graciously    given    to 
General  Beauregard  to  make  up  his 
mind,  and  to  remove  women  and 
children  to  a  place  of  safety.     This 
note  was  entirely  anonymous,  no 
one  having  taken  the   trouble   to 
sign  it.     It  reached  General  Beau- 
regard  about  midnight,  and  was  of 
course  returned  for  signature  and 
without  an  answer.      At  half-past 
one  the  shelling  commenced.     No 
doubt  General  Gilmore  wished  that 
the    effects   of    the    bombardment 
should  have  their  influence  on  Gen- 
eral Beauregard  before  it  was*  pos- 
sible that  he  should  give  an  answer 
to  the  summons.     It  was  a  "  mean 
Yankee  trick,"  says  everybody. 

It  is  rather  an  extraordinary  pro- 
ceeding, to  say  the  least  of  it,  to 
bombard  the  city  because  the  har- 
bour defences,  which  are  three  and 
four  miles  distant,  cannot  be  taken  ; 
c 


A  Visit  to  tlie  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


and  the  attempt  to  destroy  it  by 
Greek  fire  is  very  abominable  ;  but 
the  spite  of  the  Yankees  against 
Charleston,  "the  hotbed  of  the  re- 
bellion," is  so  intense  that  they 
would  do  anything  to  gratify  it. 
Fortunately  their  Greek  fire  is  a 
complete  failure ;  some  of  it  has 
been  extracted  from  shells  that  had 
burst  here,  and  it  has  been  found 
difficult  to  ignite  with  a  match. 

Two  days  afterwards  they  com- 
menced shelling  again  in  the  night, 
but  this  time  everybody  took  it 
with  remarkable  coolness.  They 
took  their  aim  at  the  steeple  of  St 
Michael's  Church,  which  is  only  a 
few  yards  from  the  Mill's  House 
Hotel,  and  we  therefore  regarded  it 
as  one  of  the  safest  places  in  Charles- 
ton, for  to  hit  us  would  be  making 
a  sort  of  bull's-eye  shot  at  9000 
yards,  which  is  hardly  to  be  expect- 
ed. Their  gun,  which  they  call  a 
swamp-angel,  burst,  and  there  was 
no  more  shelling  for  a  long  time. 

We  made  several  more  excursions 
into  the  country  during  our  stay  at 
Charleston,  and  as  the  planters  take 
great  pleasure  in  showing  and  tell- 
ing us  all  about  their  plantations, 
I  had  a  pretty  good  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  working  of  their  system. 
The  "hands,"  who  have  each  and 
all  a  cottage  allotted  to  them,  with 
a  "patch"  to  raise  corn  and  vege- 
tables and  poultry,  show  every  ex- 
ternal sign  of  material  happiness. 
They  are  well  fed  and  well  clothed, 
and  sport  as  much  finery  on  Sun- 
days, and  are  as  fond  of  doing  so, 
as  a  millowner's  "  hands  "  in  Eng- 
land. 

When  the  market  is  dull,  they  are 
not  put  on  half  food  or  none  at  all ; 
nor  do  their  masters,  who  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  their  industry,  expect  other 
people  to  support  them  in  bad 
times.  They  are  singularly  attach- 
ed to  their  masters,  who  invariably 
treat  them  with  the  greatest  kind- 
ness. No  clergyman's  wife  in  Eng- 
land can  be  more  conscientious  in 
visiting  the  sick  and  aged  amongst 
her  husband's  parishioners,  reading 
the  Bible  to  them,  and  furnishing 


them  with  medicine  and  little  com- 
forts, than  are  the  ladies  in  the 
South  in  administering  to  the  wants 
of  the  helpless  amongst  their  own 
people.  To  exercise  charity  in  this 
way  is  taught  them  as  one  of  their 
first  duties.  That  there  is  no  dis- 
position on  the  part  of  the  negroes 
to  rebel  against  the  present  system, 
has  been  clearly  shown  in  the  course 
of  this  war.  At  the  commencement, 
many — wiled  away  by  false  repre- 
sentations, and  foolishly  thinking 
that  the  freedom  promised  them  by 
the  Yankees  meant  a  total  exemp- 
tion from  labour  for  all  future  time 
— did  certainly  run  away  and  take 
refuge  with  the  Yankees  ;  but  they 
have,  most  of  them,  bitterly  repent- 
ed of  their  mistake,  and  many  have 
returned  whenever  they  could  find 
an  opportunity.  The  Yankees  "lib- 
erate "  a  great  many,  sorely  against 
their  will,  wherever  they  penetrate, 
but  that  is  to  make  soldiers  of  them. 
There  are,  at  the  present  time, 
thousands  of  plantations  where  the 
only  whites  are  women  and  children; 
and  if  the  negroes  were  as  wicked  as 
many  good  people  wish  they  were, 
nothing  could  prevent  them  from 
murdering  their  mistresses  and  the 
children,  and  escaping  in  bodies 
wherever  and  whenever  they  choose. 
But  not  a  single  instance  of  this 
kind  has  ever  occurred.  Some  per- 
sons, especially  in  Virginia,  have 
told  me  that  they  would  be  happy 
to  be  entirely  without  negroes,  and 
that  if  the  Yankees  take  it  upon 
themselves  to  exterminate  them — 
as  they  seem  likely  to  do,  to  judge 
from  what  has  happened  in  the  re- 
gions where  they  have  penetrated, 
where  they  generally  make  soldiers 
of  the  able-bodied  men,  and  leave 
the  worn-out  ones  with  the  women 
and  children  to  starve — they  would 
have  no  objection,  as  far  as  they 
themselves  were  concerned.  But 
they  object  to  be  the  agents  of  their 
destruction;  and  yet  it  would  be 
intolerable  to  live  side  by  side  on 
terms  of  equality  with  a  black  pop- 
ulation, almost  equal  in  number, 
who  should  be  under  no  control, 


18G5.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64.—  Part  II. 


and  who,  being  utterly  averse  to  la- 
bour, would  pick  up  their  living 
like  gypsies  in  Europe.  Eventually 
the  negroes  who  have  been  raised 
i'roni  barbarism,  and  educated  to 
work  here,  may  become  the  means 
of  Christianising  and  civilising  their 
own  race  in  Africa;  and  it  ought 
not  to  be  forgotten,  that  four  mil- 
lions of  negroes  have  become  Chris- 
tians in  the  Southern  States,  whilst 
all  the  efforts  of  missionaries  in 
Africa  have  not  perhaps  succeeded 
in  converting  4000.  To  emancipate 
the  negroes  now,  as  the  Abolitionists 
propose,  would  be  an  act  of  the 
greatest  cruelty  towards  them,  and 
would  certainly  in  the  end  result 
in  their  extermination,  just  as  the 
lied  Indians,  a  far  nobler  race,  have 
perished  before  them.  For  the  fact 
of  their  having  negroes  amongst 
them,  England,  they  say,  and  the 
Yankees  are  responsible ;  England 
for  having  insisted  on  their  impor- 
tation in  spite  of  the  repeated  pro- 
testations of  the  colonies,  and  the 
Yankees  for  having  carried  on  the 
trade. 

It  is  a  fact,  that  when  the  traffic 
in  slaves  from  the  coast  of  Africa  to 
the  United  States  was  for  ever  pro- 
hibited by  Act  of  Congress  in  1808, 
this  measure  was  carried  by  South- 
ern against  Northern  votes ;  for  the 
reason,  that  all  the  vessels  engaged 
in  the  trade  were  fitted  out  from 
Yankee  seaports,  manned  by  Yankee 
seamen,  and  commanded  by  Yankee 
captains,  so  that  the  abolition  of  the 
traffic  was  in  point  of  fact  the  de- 


struction of  the  Yankee  maritime 
interest.  New  Bedford,  New  Bmy- 
port,  and  Nantucket,  all  in  Massa- 
chusetts, were  the  principal  ports 
from  which  these  vessels  were  fitted 
out. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  no 
act  of  absolute  emancipation  ever 
was  adopted  by  any  Northern  State. 
When  it  became  evident  that  slave 
labour  was  no  longer  profitable  in 
the  North,  acts  were  passed  at  differ- 
ent times  by  the  legislatures  of  the 
Northern  States,  naming  a  date  in 
the  future  from  and  after  which  all 
negroes  born  within  the  limits  of  the 
respective  States  should  be  free : 
but  care  was  taken  to  place  the  date 
at  a  sufficiently  remote  period,  to 
enable  the  masters  to  dispose  of 
able-bodied  and  valuable  slaves  to 
purchasers  in  the  South,  where  their 
labour  would  be  profitable.  This 
was  invariably  done,  and  the  super- 
annuated and  helpless  alone  remain- 
ed to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  this  spu- 
rious philanthropy. 

I  doubt  whether  the  country  gen- 
tlemen in  South  Carolina  would  be 
entirely  indifferent  to  the  loss  of 
their  "  hands,"  and  I  am  quite  sure 
that  their  "  hands"  would  very 
much  object  to  being  exterminated 
if  their  opinions  were  asked. 

The  darkies  are  all  very  fond  of 
music,  singing,  and  dancing,  and 
delighted  to  exhibit  before  strangers; 
but  the  performances  of  "  Ethio- 
pian serenaders"  are  so  well  known 
to  everybody,  that  I  need  not  de- 
scribe them. 


Before  we  left  Charleston  the 
Yankees  had  succeeded  in  taking 
Fort  Wagner  and  Battery  Gregg, 
but  not  till  they  had  brought  up 
their  parallels  to  within  a  few  yards 
of  Fort  Wagner,  so  that  they  could 
almost  jump  from  their  own  works 
into  it.  They  then  cannonaded  it 
for  thirty-six  hours  consecutively, 
during  which  the  garrison  lost  a 
great  many  men,  and  would  pro- 


bably have  stormed  it  early  in  the 
morning,  had  it  not  been  evacuated 
during  the  night,  together  with  Bat- 
tery Gregg ;  Colonel  Keitt,  who  was 
in  command,  bringing  off  all  his 
wounded,  as  well  as  the  garrison  of 
both  places.  They  were  to  have 
been  blown  up,  but  by  some  mis- 
chance the  trains  did  not  explode 
the  mines  that  ha<l  been  laid. 
An  attempt  was  then  made  to 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan, 


storm  Sumter,  but  it  failed  signally, 
and  the  attacking  party  was  taken 
instead  of  the  fort.  They  had  been 
confident  of  success,  and  had  brought 
the  identical  stars  and  stripes  with 
them  which  caused  such  a  commo- 
tion at  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
when  it  was  fired  at,  and  which 
Major  Anderson  had  been  permitted 
to  take  away  with  him  when  he 
surrendered.  They  had  hoped  to 
plant  it  again  in  triumph  on  the 
ruins  of  Sumter,  but  it  was  no  go, 
and  the  celebrated  flag  fell  definite- 
ly into  the  hands  of  the  Con- 
federates. 

Whilst  we  were  at  Charleston,  it 
became  evident  that  the  next  great 
events  of  the  war  would  take  place 
in  the  West,  where  Bragg  was  op- 
posed to  Rosencranz,  but  had  just 
been  obliged  to  fall  back  from 
Chattanooga  into  Georgia.  Long- 
street's  corps  from  Lee's  army  in 
Northern  Virginia  was  being  sent 
to  reinforce  Bragg,  and  an  attempt 
was  to  be  made  to  recover  the 
ground  that  had  been  lost.  Ac- 
cordingly, on  the  14th  of  September, 
V.,  Captain  Byrne,  an  Englishman 
in  the  Confederate  service,  and  I, 
started  together  in  that  direction. 
A  day's  journey  by  rail  took  us  to 
Augusta,  a  thriving  inland  city  of 
some  fifteen  thousand  inhabitants, 
on  the  Savannah  river,  which  here 
becomes  navigable. 

Most  of  the  goods  which  run  the 
blockade  into  Charleston  and  Wil- 
mington are  sold  by  auction  here, 
whence  they  are  dispersed  all  over 
the  interior. 

We  found  several  English  friends 
in  Augusta  engaged  in  the  blockade- 
running  business,  and  a  capital 
hotel ;  and  as  Longstreet  himself, 
and  the  greater  part  of  his  corps, 
had  not  yet  passed  through  on  their 
way  to  the  front,  we  were  induced 
to  remain  several  days  in  this  plea- 
sant little  city.  To  judge  from 
Augusta,  no  one  would  have  sup- 
posed that  two  formidable  armies 
were  confronting  each  other  within 
a  twenty-four  hours'  j  ourney.  Every 
one  seemed  engrossed  in  business, 


and  the  shops  were  all  plenteously 
filled  with  stores  and  customers. 
Soldiers,  it  is  true,  were  passing 
through  the  place  in  large  bodies,, 
but  we  saw  little  of  them,  as  they 
did  not  come  into  the  city,  but 
went  to  the  front  "  right  away." 

The  number  of  able-bodied  civil- 
ians we  saw  here  confirmed  what  I 
had  been  told  before,  that  the  sup- 
ply of  men  for  the  army  is  far  from 
being  exhausted. 

We  had  spent  a  few  days  very 
pleasantly,  when  we  heard  that 
Longstreet  and  his  Staff  had  passed 
through  in  the  night ;  and  seeing 
that  we  had  now  no  time  to  lose, 
we  started  early  next  morning.  The 
cars  were  crowded  inside  and  out^ 
the  roofs  being  covered  with  sol- 
diers ;  but  fortunately  we  met  with 
General  Jenkins,  who,  with  his 
splendid  brigade,  was  "  hurrying 
up  "  to  the  front. 

The  General  and  his  Staff  had  a 
small  car  to  themselves,  to  which 
they  made  us  welcome ;  and  the 
journey  to  Atlanta,  one  hundred 
and  seventy-one  miles,  passed  off 
very  agreeably. 

We  had  plenty  of  room  to  move 
about,  and  to  sit  down — a  great 
novelty  in  American  travelling.  We 
made  several  excursions  into  the 
ladies'  car,  for  one  can  move  from 
one  car  into  another  in  this  country, 
and  any  one  docs  so  who  chooses, 
although  it  is  "  strictly  prohibited ; " 
and  Colonel  Geary,  one  of  our  party, 
discovered  a  Confederate  captain  in 
one  of  the  ladies.  Her  husband 
was  a  major  in  the  Confederate 
army,  and  she  had  taken  an  active 
part  herself  in  the  war,  and  fairly 
earned  her  epaulettes.  She  was  no 
longer  in  uniform,  having  lately 
retired  from  the  service,  was  young, 
good-looking  and  lady-like,  and  told 
her  adventures  in  a  pleasant  quiet 
way.  It  Avas  Sunday,  and  at  every 
station  crowds  were  collected  to  see 
the  soldiers  pass  ;  and  they  cheered 
us  with  loud  shouts,  and  waving  of 
handkerchiefs  and  small  Confed- 
erate flags  by  the  ladies.  The  gaily- 
dressed  and  widely-grinning  negroes 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64— Part  II. 


37 


were  especially  enthusiastic.  At 
Atlanta  the  General  found  a  tele- 
gram to  hasten  his  arrival  ;  so  after 
taking  supper  at  one  of  the  hotels 
in  the  city,  we  continued  our  jour- 
ney in  an  extra  train.  We  there- 
fore saw  but  little  of  the  place 
which  has  since  become  so  cele- 
brated. 

Atlanta  is,  or  was,  a  new  and 
thriving  city,  and  had  before  the 
war  16,000  inhabitants,  though  but 
a  few  years  ago  the  town  and  the 
whole  surrounding  region  was  wild 
unpopulated  forest -land.  There 
was  a  manufactory  of  small-arms 
here.  Atlanta  used  to  be  called  the 
"gate  city,"  because  all  travellers 
by  railroad  from  the  north-east  to 
the  south-west,  and  from  the  north- 
west to  the  south-east,  and  vice 
rersd,  had  to  pass  through  here. 
Now  that  all  communication  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South  has 
been  put  an  end  to,  it  is  of  very 
little  real  consequence  in  whose 
hands  the  "gate"  may  temporarily 
be. 

The  night  was  very  chilly ;  and, 
indeed,  we  found  the  climate  here 
— and  later  in  camp — very  different 
from  what  we  had  left  in  Charles- 
ton and  Augusta. 

At  daylight  we  came  to  a  stop  at 
Greenwood  Mills,  near  Eingold,  the 
railroad  farther  on  having  been 
broken  up.  The  General  imme- 
diately rode  to  the  front,  and  we 
followed  in  the  course  of  the  morn- 
ing with  the  brigade. 

This  brigade  is  probably  now  the 
finest  in  the  Confederate  army. 
Though  belonging  to  Pickett's  di- 
vision, it  was  not  in  the  Pennsyl- 
-vania  campaign,  being  at  that  time 
stationed  at  Petersburg,  guarding 
the  railroad  communications  of 
Richmond  with  the  South,  and 
'holding  the  Yankees  at  Norfolk 
and  in  North  Carolina  in  check.  It 
has  not  had  much  fighting  since  the 
seven  days  around  Richmond  last 
year,  and  has  been  made  exceeding- 
ly efficient  by  drill,  discipline,  and 
recruiting.  General  Jenkins  has 
-adopted  an  ingenious  method  of 


filling  his  ranks.  He  gives  a  two- 
months'  leave  to  every  soldier  who 
procures  him  a  recruit.  Of  course 
the  soldiers  write  to  their  friends, 
who  keep  a  sharp  look  -  out  in 
their  neighbourhood  for  any  able- 
bodied  man  who  may  be  trying  to 
evade  the  universal  conscription, 
and  very  soon  manage  to  catch  one 
and  send  him  up  to  the  army ;  upon 
which  the  soldier  in  whose  interest 
he  has  been  sent,  gets  his  leave. 
In  this  thinly-populated  country  it 
would  require  an  army  of  agents  to 
carry  out  the  conscription  regularly; 
but  this  method  of  enlisting  the 
sympathy  and  assistance  of  the 
country  people  works  remarkably 
well. 

On  our  march  towards  the  front 
we  met  with  many  wounded  men, 
who  were  getting  back  to  the  rail- 
way-station and  the  hospitals  in 
the  rear.  All  were  in  good  spirits, 
as  a  splendid  victory  had  been 
gained. 

At  llingold,  an  insignificant  little 
town,  the  market-place  was  crowded 
with  Yankee  prisoners  ;  there  must 
have  been  thousands  of  them. 

As  we  got  towards  the  front,  the 
news  of  yesterday's  battle  became 
more  and  more  favourable.  A 
courier  we  met  gave  us  the  infor- 
mation, which  turned  out  to  be  in- 
correct, that  the  enemy  had  evacu- 
ated Chattanooga.  Forrest  had 
dashed  in  after  them  with  his  cal- 
vary, and  captured  a  whole  train  of 
avalanches.  In  this  part  of  the 
world  all  army-waggons  are  called 
avalanches  (ambulances),  and  every 
mounted  soldier  is  a  calvary-m&n. 

We  reached  Longstreet's  head- 
quarters, but  the  General  was  not 
there.  The  negro  servants,  how- 
ever, were  delighted  to  see  us,  and 
came  up  and  shook  hands,  and  were 
full  of  stories  of  the  great  success. 
We  had  walked  a  dozen  miles,  and, 
not  knowing  where  to  find  our 
friends,  we  "concluded"  to  stay 
where  we  were  all  night.  A  tent 
was  pitched  for  us,  and  we  made 
ourselves  very  comfortable,  and  got 
plenty  to  eat. 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan, 


I  had  been  told  a  few  days  be- 
fore  that  my  horse,  which  I  had  left 
in  Virginia  with  these  headquarters, 
had  been  stolen  ;  and  I  was  very 
glad  to  hear  that,  though  that  had 
been  the  case,  it  had  escaped  from 
the  thieves  after  twenty-four  hours' 
mancipation,  and  would  be  at  head- 
quarters in  a  few  days. 

Next  morning  Captain  Byrne, 
who  is  on  Cleburne's  Staff,  left  us  in 
search  of  his  General,  whilst  V.  and 
i  trudged  off  in  the  hope  of  finding 
General  Longstreet's  whereabouts. 

We  crossed  the  field  of  battle, 
which  had  been  chiefly  fought  in 
dense  woods ;  and  the  trees  were 
barked  to  a  degree  which  showed 
that  the  musketry  fire  must  have 
been  intensely  severe.  Countless 
dead  bodies  still  covered  the  ground, 
and  parties  were  engaged  in  bury- 
ing them.  Small-arms  were  lying 
scattered  about  in  all  directions, 
though  many  had  been  collected, 
and  we  passed  one  place  where  there 
were  large  stacks  of  them ;  and  we 
counted,  besides,  thirty-three  can- 
non. The  most  horrible  sight  was 
outside  some  hospital  tents,  where 
amputations  had  been  performed, 
and  great  piles  of  legs  and  arms 
were  lying  in  heaps  outside. 

We  had  been  very  much  disap- 
pointed at  being  too  late  for  the 
battle  ;  but  I  think  what  we  saw 
to-day  rather  moderated  our  regret. 
We  should  have  been  able  to  see 
very  little  amongst  the  trees  ;  and, 
from  the  way  in  which  the  bullets 
had  evidently  been  flying  about, 
our  own  legs  and  arms  would  have 
stood  a  very  good  chance  of  adorn- 
ing the  outside  of  an  hospital  tent. 
Coming  the  day  after,  we  were  sure 
to  see  and  hear  and  know  quite  as 
much  about  it  as  if  we  had  been 
there.  It  was  midnight  before  we 
reached  Watkin's  House,where,  after 
wandering  about  in  many  wrong 
directions,  we  at  last  discovered 
that  we  should  find  General  Long- 
street. 

All  were  asleep  except  Captain 
Goree,  who  welcomed  us,  and  found 
us  a  couple  of  saddles  for  pillows. 


We  were  very  tired,  and  slept 
soundly  till  daylight,  when  we  were 
roused  by  a  furious  shelling.  For 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  shells  flew 
about  us  fast  and  thick,  but  only 
two  men  of  the  cavalry  escort  were 
hurt  by  them.  One  burst  in  Gene- 
ral M'Laws's  bed  just  after  the 
General  had  left  it. 

All  the  negroes,  who  had  built  a 
large  fire  and  were  cooking  break- 
fast, "  skedaddled, "  excepting  Gen- 
eral M'Laws's  boy,  who  continued 
to  prepare  his  master's  morning 
meal,  and  afterwards  made  a  cup 
of  coffee  for  us  all,  which  we  found 
exceedingly  refreshing.  The  boy 
was  very  proud  of  his  performance, 
and  spoke  contemptuously  of  "dose 

d niggers  running  away."    Xo- 

body  ever  calls  the  negroes  here 
niggers,  except  themselves  ;  nor  are 
they  ever  called  slaves,  but  servants, 
or  boys. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  a 
gigantic  Texan  brought  in  twenty- 
two  Yankee  prisoners.  He  had 
been  down  scouting  with  foxir  other 
men  in  the  woods  by  the  side  of 
the  river,  when  they  discovered  a 
boat  full  of  Yankees.  They  fired 
into  them,  and  killed  several,  when 
the  captain  in  command  of  the  lot, 
with  half-a-dozen  others,  jumped 
overboard,  and  the  rest  siirrendered. 
The  captain  reached  the  opposite 
shore,  but  those  who  had  jumped 
overboard  with  him  were  drowned. 
The  prisoners  were  halted  for  a 
short  time  at  these  quarters,  and 
a  ring  of  spectators  soon  formed 
round  them.  Amongst  them  was 
a  negro  lad  of  about  fifteen,  who, 
as  soon  as  he  saw  himself  amongst 
friends,  got  away  from  the  other 
prisoners,  and,  standing  apart,  look- 
ed at  them  with  the  most  superb 
disdain. 

"  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  these  Yankees,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
have  no  use  at  all  for  them."  On 
being  questioned,  he  told  us  he  be- 
longed to  Billy  Buckner,  over  in 
Tennessee,  and  had  been  kidnapped 
by  the  captain  who  had  escaped, 
and  who  had  made  him  his  servant. 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64.— Part  II. 


"  And  what  did  he  give  you  \  " 

';  Never  a  cent !  Oh  the  mean  ras- 
cal ! — just  like  a  Yankee,"  iVc.  Arc. 

And  here  I  may  remark  that 
•Southerners  are  always  exceeding- 
ly liberal  in  their  largesses  to  ser- 
vants, whilst  the  Yankees  have  the 
reputation  of  being  the  contrary. 

The  captured  colours  of  the  Yan- 
kees are  to  be  sent  to  Richmond, 
and  men  from  each  corps  are  being 
elected  to  carry  them  there. 

One  sergeant,  a  handsome  Mis- 
.sissippian  from  Vicksburg,  had  cap- 
tured 116  less  than  three.  "  I  don't 
take  any  credit  for  it,  though,"  he 
said  ;  "  if  they  had  been  fifty  yards 
oft'  I  should  have  run  like  a  turkey." 
With  a  small  party  emerging  from 
a  tliicket  of  wood  he  had  come  close 
upon  a  large  body  of  Yankees. 
"  Shall  we  surrender  ?  "  suggested 
one  or  two  of  the  party.  "  By  no 
means,"  said  their  gallant  leader; 
and  he  called  on  the  Yankees  to  do 
.so,  saying- there  was  a  brigade  in 
the  wood  behind  him,  towards 
which  he  beckoned  with  his  hand, 
calling  out,  "  Don't  fire,  don't  fire, 
they  are  going  to  surrender  ;  "  and, 
sure  enough,  they  did  so.  The  fine 
young  fellow  told  his  story  in 
a  modest,  straightforward,  manly 
way,  and  got  more  credit  for  his 
exploit  than  he  claimed. 

We  had,  I  am  happy  to  say, 
found  all  our  old  friends  safe,  ex- 
cept Colonel  Manning,  Avho  had 
been  badly,  but  not  dangerously, 
hurt.  All  attributed  the  grand 
success  on  Sunday  to  Longstreet. 
There  had  been  some  sharp  fighting 
on  Friday,  and  a  pitched  battle  on 
Saturday,  in  which  only  Hood  Avith 
five  brigades  had  been  engaged. 
The  action  had  not  been  decisive, 
but  on  Saturday  night  Longstreet 
came  up  with  part  of  M'Laws's  di- 
vision. He  took  command  of  the 
left  wing  of  Bragg' s  army,  worked 
all  night,  and,  in  spite  of  the  hard 
fighting  of  the  day  before  in  the 
woods,  where  naturally  brigades 
and  regiments  had  become  exces- 
sively entangled,  by  the  morning 
of  Saturday  his  command  was  in 


perfect  order,  and  when  the  fight 
began  had  it  all  their  own  Avay. 
Polk  and  Hardie  Avere  repulsed  in 
the  morning,  and  for  some  hours 
the  right  wing  of  the  army  was 
entirely  inactive,  Avhich  enabled 
the  enemy  to  send  reinforcements 
against  Longstreet;  but  these,  too, 
Avere  caught  and  scattered  almost 
before  they  reached  those  they 
Avere  to  support,  and  by  nightfall — 
Polk  and  Hardie  advancing  again 
— the  Avhole  Yankee  army  Avas  com- 
pletely routed.  "  They  have  f on yltf 
t/teir  last  man,  and  he's  running" 
said  Longstreet. 

He  was  much  disappointed  that 
they  Avere  not  more  hotly  pursued. 
Wheeler's  cavalry,  which  Long- 
street  had  sent  oft'  for  that  purpose, 
Avere  recalled  and  ordered  to  pick 
up  the  small-arms  scattered  on  the 
battle-field.  Longstreet  says  that 
the  Yankees  Avere  never  before  so 
completely  routed,  not  even  at  the 
first  battle  of  Manassas(BulFs  Hun). 
There  Avas  a  prevalent  idea  before 
this  battle  that  the  Yankee  Western 
army  fought  better  than  the  army 
of  the  Potomac  ;  but  Longstreet 
says  that  such  is  decidedly  not  the 
case  :  at  any  rate,  his  men  made  as 
short  Avork  of  them  as  ever  they 
did  in  Virginia.  He  has  not  as 
high  an  opinion  of  Ifosencranz  as 
General  Bragg  has,  and  says  he  is 
about  equal  to  Pope  of  boasting 
memory. 

General  Buckner  came  over  in 
the  course  of  the  morning,  and  he 
too  attributed  the  victory  entirely 
to  Longstreet.  His  own  corps  be- 
haved splendidly,  and  one  regiment 
belonging  to  it  in  General  Grade's 
brigade,  of  General  Preston's  divi- 
sion, the  second  battalion  of  the 
Alabama  Legion,  had  its  battle-fing 
shot  through  eighty -three  times. 
The  same  man  bore  it  through  the 
Avhole  fight,  and  Avas  Avounded  three 
times,  i  saw  it  a  I'CAV  days  after- 
Avards  and  counted  the  holes.  The 
flag  Avas  shown  to  the  President 
when  he  visited  the  army  a  short 
time  afterwards,  and  the  bearer 
Avas  promoted. 


40 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


With  General  Buckner  came  his 
chief  engineer,  a  wicked  French- 
man called  Noquet,  who  some  time 
afterwards,  just  before  the  battle  of 
Missionary  Bidge,  absconded  to  the 
Yankees  at  Chattanooga,  after  rob- 
bing the  army-chest  of  150,000  dol- 
lars ;  and  made  himself  agreeable 
there  by  giving  valuable  information 
as  to  Bragg's  position  and  works. 
He  was  very  loquacious,  and  abused 
General  Bragg  considerably. 

In    the    afternoon    Longstreet's 
headquarters  baggage  arrived,  and 
his  camp  was  pitched  in  a  clump 
of  trees  by  the  side  of  Chattanooga 
Creek,  half  a  mile  to  the  rear  of 
Watkin's  House  ;  it  was  a  charm- 
ing spot  as  long   as   the  weather 
remained    fine.      In    the    evening 
General  Wheeler  came  in  and  had 
a  long  consultation  with  Longstreet. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  shelling 
at  night,  but  we  were  now  out  of 
range.     A  report  came  in  that  the 
Yankees  were  evacuating   Chatta- 
nooga, but  it  turned  out  to  be  un- 
true.    "  No  matter,  it  is  not  like 
your  Charleston,"  Longstreet  said 
to  me,  "  which  there  is  only  one 
way  of  getting  at.      We  can  go 
where    we    want    to    go    without 
touching  Chattanooga."    But  Gene- 
ral Bragg,  as  it  turned  out,  thought 
differently.     In  the  mean  time  the 
Yankees  were  strengthening  it,  and 
very   soon   made    it    impregnable. 
There  was  no  doubt,  too,  that  they 
would  be  reinforced  before  very  long, 
so  that  many  people  were  impatient 
that   something    should   be   done. 
Last  year,  after  a  decided  victory 
at  Murfreesboro',  where  many  pris- 
oners and  guns  had  been  captured, 
Bragg  tried  to  follow  up  his  advan- 
tage, but  Kosencranz  held  on  and 
he  did  not  succeed,  but  lost  very 
heavily  in  the  attempt.     It  was  on 
this    occasion   that   Rosencranz   is 
said  to  have  repeated  the  proverb, 
"  Bragg  is  a  good  dog,  but  Holdfast 
is  a  better."     The  recollection  of 
Murfreesboro',  no  doubt,  had  great 
influence  upon  General  Bragg,  and 
induced  him  to  be  more  cautious 
after  Chicamauga  than  the  army 


expected.  Immediately  after  the 
battle  it  had  been  determined,  at  a 
council  of  war,  to  march  straight 
upon  Knoxville,  which  would  un- 
doubtedly have  obliged  the  Yankees 
to  fall  back.  Folk's  corps  had 
already  marched  ten  miles  in  that 
direction,  and  the  rest  of  the  army 
was  following,  when  General  Bragg 
changed  his  mind,  and  counter- 
manded the  order.  The  army  was 
to  march  directly  upon  Chattanooga. 
Longstreet  sent  M'Laws  on  with 
his  division,  with  orders  to  march 
straight  into  the  place.  M'Laws 
marched,  looked  at  it,  didn't  like 
it,  skirmished,  and  sent  back  to 
say  the  place  was  too  strong ;  he 
could  not  take  it ;  he  had  already 
lost  a  few  men  wounded.  "  I  wish 
he  had  lost  a  thousand,"  said  Long- 
street,  impatiently ;  and,  indeed, 
subsequent  events  proved  that  the 
capture  of  Chattanooga  would  have 
been  well  worth  such  a  sacrifice. 
The  place  could  undoubtedly  have 
been  taken  immediately  after  the 
battle,  with  small  loss  :  the  Yankees 
were  then  in  no  humour  for  fight- 
ing, and  they  would  certainly  not 
have  made  any  stand  again  before 
they  reached  Nashville.  As  it  was, 
a  few  days  sufficed  for  them  to  re- 
gain their  spirits,  and  make  an  im- 
pregnable stronghold  of  what  had 
been  an  almost  open  place. 

A  week  after  the  battle  of  Chica- 
mauga Longstreet  still  thought  it 
was  not  too  late  to  make  some  profit 
out  of  the  hitherto  barren  victory 
by  a  flank  movement ;  but  as  the 
time  wore  away  it  became  evident 
that  nothing  would  be  done,  and 
that  the  army  had  fought  and  bled 
in  vain.  "  The  battle  of  Chica- 
mauga," says  General  P.,  "was 
badly  planned,  splendidly  executed, 
and  fruitless  in  its  results."  Long- 
street,  like  all  favourite  generals,  is 
familiarly  spoken  of  by  his  men 
by  several  names  with  which  his 
godfathers  and  godmothers  at  his 
baptism  had  nothing  to  do.  He  is 
generally  called  "Old  Peter,"  some- 
times the  "  Old  War-horse."  Since 
the  battle  of  Chicamauga,  which 


18G5.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64.— Part  II. 


41 


was  fought  in  a  dense  forest,  the 
men  out  here  have  christened  him 
"  Bull  of  the  Woods." 

Our  camp  lies  at  the  foot  of 
Lookout  Mountain,  so  called  from 
the  magnificent  and  extensive  view 
one  has  from  the  top  of  it.  My 
horse  had  not  arrived,  but  General 
Buckner  was  so  good  as  to  send 
horses  both  for  myself  and  V.,  and 
we  rode  half-way  up  the  mountain 
to  a  farmhouse,  and  thence  scram- 
bled up  to  the  top  of  a  rock  called 
the  Pulpit,  where  a  party  of  the 
signal  corps  were  stationed.  From 
thence  we  had  a  most  splendid 
panoramic  view  of  the  plain  and 
lesser  hills  beneath  us.  We  could 
see  Chattanooga  and  the  Yankee 
camps,  and,  with  a  good  glass,  were 
able  clearly  to  distinguish  every 
individual  soldier.  We  could  trace 
the  position  of  the  Confederate 
camps,  though  the  army  was  now 
hidden  from  our  view  by  trees, 
which,  however,  were  afterwards 
pretty  well  cleared  away  for  fire- 
wood. 

Hiding  back  we  visited  General 
Jenkins  at  his  quarters.  His  brigade 
had  been  employed  to  clear  Look- 
out Mountain  of  the  Yankees,  and 
the  General  had  been  struck  by  a 
piece  of  shell  just  on  the  bridge  of 
the  nose,  and  had  consequently  two 
rather  black  eyes,  but  it  was  provi- 
dential that  it  was  no  worse.  The 
piece  of  shell  had  struck  with  the 
round  smooth  part,  and  so  did  not 
penetrate  ;  if  a  jagged  end  had  hit 
him  it  might  have  been  fatal,  in- 
stead of  which,  though  dreadfully 
stunned,  he  got  off  with  a  few  days' 
headache. 

We  rode  on  to  General  Buckner's 
quarters,  where  we  dined.  I  met 
here  Colonel  von  Scheliha,  the 
General's  Chief  of  Staff,  many  of 
whose  relations  I  had  known  in 
Europe,  and  we  had  a  long  chat 
together.  General  Buckner  is  a 
Kentuckian,  and  so  are  most  of 
his  Staff :  they  are  all  splendidly 
mounted  on  Kentuckian  horses — a 
very  fine  breed.  On  the  whole, 
the  horses  here  are  much  finer  and 


larger  than  those  I  saw  in  Virginia, 
which  are  nevertheless  excellent. 
Their  docility  is  extraordinary — I 
never  saw  a  vicious  horse  the  whole 
time  I  was  in  the  South.  Every 
officer  or  courier  coming  to  a  camp 
will  tie  his  horse's  reins  to  a  branch 
or  twig  of  a  tree,  and  the  animal 
will  stand  quietly  for  hours  without 
even  attempting  to  get  away.  Dr 
Morton,  of  Buckner's  Staff,  was  with 
the  Russians  in  Sebastopol,  and 
related  many  interesting  incidents 
of  the  siege.  Among  other  things 
he  told  me  that  the  engineer  in 
charge  of  building  the  Malakoff,  in 
spite  of  Todleben's  plan  being  to 
the  contrary,  made  it  difficult  of 
access  behind,  to  which  the  Russians 
attributed  their  not  having  been 
able  to  retake  it  as  they  did  the 
Redan.  As  it  was  very  dark,  we 
remained  the  night  at  General 
Buckner's  quarters.  There  were 
no  tents,  so  we  all  had  to  camp  out. 
The  weather  is  getting  very  cold, 
but  we  had  a  roaring  fire  and  plenty 
of  blankets.  Next  morning  we 
rode  with  Major  Johnstone  and  Dr 
Morton,  of  General  Buckner's  Staff, 
to  General  Bragg's  headquarters, 
and  were  presented  to  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief.  He  told  us  that 
the  reason  he  had  fallen  back  from 
Chattanooga  a  short  time  ago  was, 
that  he  had  hoped  to  capture  a 
Yankee  corps  of  25,000  men  that 
was  trying  to  flank  him,  and  said 
that  we  should  advance  as  soon  as 
his  preparations  were  completed. 
In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  we 
met  and  were  introduced  to  a  good 
many  of  the  generals  of  this  Western 
army  ;  Breckenridge,  Walker,  Pres- 
ton, Gracic,  Mackall,  Lidell,  Cle- 
burne,  Arc.  <kc.  General  Cleburnc 
— Pat  Cleburne  his  soldiers  call 
him — is  an  Irishman,  and  was  for- 
merly in  the  British  army.  He  is 
in  high  repute  as  a  "  fine  fighter." 
Breckenridge,  although  not  a  soldier 
by  profession,  has  established  a 
very  good  reputation  as  a  general 
during  this  war,  before  which  he 
took  a  prominent  part  in  politics, 
and  was  the  Southern  candidate  for 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


the  Presidency  of  the  United  States 
in  opposition  to  Lincoln.  He  is  a 
Kentuckian.  and  so  is  General 
Preston,  formerly  United  States 
Minister  to  Spain.  General  Pres- 
ton, whose  camp  is  on  Missionary 
llidge,  just  above  Buckner's,  and 
from  whence  there  is  a  command- 
ing view  of  Chattanooga  and  the 
Yankee  camps  opposite,  pointed 
out  the  different  positions  to  us, 
and  explained  the  conformation  of 
the  country  beyond.  The  Yankees 
were  working  away  at  their  in- 
trenchments  like  beavers,  and  all 
say  their  works  are  getting  too 
strong  to  be  stormed.  General 
Preston's  division,  though  some  of 
his  troops  were  under  heavy  fire  for 
the  first  time,  distinguished  itself 
very  much  indeed  in  the  late  battle. 
We  were  very  fortunate  in  having 
tents  at  our  headquarters,  though 
some  of  them  were  rather  crowded. 
I  am,  for  instance,  in  the  same  tent 
with  Majors  Fairfax  and  Latrobe, 
and  Captain  Dunne,  each  of  whom 
is  at  least  six  feet  high,  and  broad 
in  proportion  ;  and  as  the  tent  is 
only  intended  for  two,  we  have  to 
squeeze.  It  is  universal  here  to 
mess  in  small  parties,  not  more 
numerous  than  one  servant  can 
cook  for,  so  our  headquarters  are 
divided  into  two  messes.  The 
General  and  my  tent-mates  form 
one ;  and  Colonel  Sorrel,  Major 
Walton,  Captains  Goree  and  Daw- 
son,  with  V.,  the  other.  Captain 
Dawson  is  an  Englishman,  and 
acts  as  Chief  of  Ordnance  in  the 
place  of  Colonel  Manning,  who 
was  wounded  the  other  day.  With 
his  assistance,  I  made  the  following 
note  about  the  artillery  in  the 
Confederate  armies.  The  field- 
piece  most  generally  employed  is 
the  12-pound  "Napoleon'''  (canon 
obusier),  which  fires  solid  shot, 
shell,  case,  and  canister :  it  is 
much  lighter  than  the  ordinary  12- 
pounder,  and  they  can  give  it  an 
elevation  of  nine  to  ten  degrees. 
Then  there  are  10  and  20  pound 
Parrotts,  named  after  their  in- 
ventor, or  rather  manufacturer, 


Parrott  of  New  York ;  they  are 
rilled  guns,  with  a  wrought-iron 
band  at  the  breach  ;  their  bore  is 
2.90.  Those  in  this  army  are 
chiefly  captured  from  the  Yankees, 
but  some  are  made  at  the  Treclegar 
Works  at  Richmond  ;  they  throw 
solid  bolts,  shell,  case,  and  canister. 
The  3-inch  rifled  gun  is  A7ery  similar ; 
and  the  best  of  these,  too,  are  taken 
from  the  enemy. 

In  Northern  Virginia  12-pouml 
howitzers  and  6-pounder  guns  are 
discarded,  and  Napoleons  have  been 
cast  from  their  metal ;  here  there 
are  still  a  large  number,  and  a 
few  24-pounder  howitzers.  Colonel 
Alexander  thinks  highly  of  these 
last.  Opinions  are  divided  as  to 
the  merits  of  Napoleons,  Parrotts, 
and  3-inch  rifled  guns  ;  but  for 
general  use,  almost  all  consider 
the  Napoleon  most  serviceable. 
There  arc  a  few  Whitworth  guns, 
which  are  very  accurate,  and  of 
great  range,  but  require  much  care. 
The  breech  has  sometimes  been 
blown  off  or  disabled,  through 
carelessness  in  loading.  This  was 
especially  the  case  with  breech- 
loading  guns.  I  understand  that 
the  Whitworth  guns  which  arc  now 
sent  out  are  muzzle-loading  guns. 
Their  field-ammunition  the  Confede- 
rates consider  to  be  far  superior  to 
that  of  the  Yankees.  (Spherical 
case  (shell  filled  with  musket-balls) 
is  the  most  successful  projectile 
they  use. 

In  the  Pennsylvania  campaign, 
General  Longstreet  had  with  him 


Xapoleons,   . 
10-lb.  P.irrotts, 
3-inch  I'iflcd. 
20-11).  Parrotts, 
12-lb.  howitzers, 
20-lb.        do. 


40 

15 

15 

4 


S.3  guns. 

Considered  as  good  an  armament 
as  could  be  wished  for.  excepting 
the  12 -pound  howitzers,  which 
ought  to  have  been  replaced  by 
Napoleons. 

The   artillery   is  organised   into 
battalions ;  five  battalions  in  a  corps 


1865.]  Confederate  States,  1863-64.— Part  II. 


43 


of  three  divisions,  one  to  each  divi- 
sion, and  two  in  reserve.  They 
always  mass  the  artillery  now,  and 
commanders  of  battalions  say  that 
they  lose  no  more  men  in  a  bat- 
talion than  they  formerly  did  in  a 
single  battery.  Each  battalion  is 
complete  in  itself,  with  quarter- 
master, adjutant,  ordnance  orh'cer, 
surgeon,  etc.  The  whole  is  under 
the  control  of  the  chief  of  artillery 
of  the  army,  but  assigned  at  conve- 
nience to  the  corps  commanders, 
one  of  whose  staff-officers  is  chief  of 
artillery  to  the  corps,  and  another 
chief  of  ordnance. 

The  duty  of  the  chief  of  ordnance 
is  to  supply  the  guns  and  every- 
thing for  their  equipment,  with  am- 
munition and  stores  of  every  de- 
scription, excepting  horses  and  pro- 
visions. 

The  chief  of  artillery  places  them 
in  action,  and  commands  them 
there. 

Colonel  Walton  is  chief  of  artil- 
lery to  General  Louigstreet's  corps  ; 
but  as  he  is  now  at  Petersburg  with 
the  reserve,  his  place  is  occupied  by 
Colonel  Alexander. 

Colonel  Manning  is  chief  of  ord- 
nance ;  and  as  he  is  wounded,  Cap- 
tain Dawson  supplies  his  place.  The 
chief  of  artillery  to  an  army  is  a 
brigadier-general ;  to  a  corps,  a  col- 
onel ;  and  to  a  division,  a  major. 

The  chief  of  ordnance  to  an  army 
is  usually  a  lieutenant-colonel,  and 
he  has  two  captains  as  assistants ; 
to  a  corps,  a  major,  with  a  lieutenant 
as  assistant;  and  the  divisional  ord- 
nance officer  is  a  captain.  The  ord- 
nance officers  of  brigades  and  artil- 
lery battalions  are  lieutenants.  The 
commanders  of  battalions  of  artil- 
lery are  generally  majors,  but  some 
are  lieutenant-colonels. 

The  principal  small-arms  in  use 
are  the  smooth-bore  musket,  O.C!) ; 
the  Enfield  rifle,  bore  0.57;  the 
Springfield  (Illinois)  rifle,  0.58  — 
the  same  ammunition  does  for  both 
the  last  named ;  the  Mississippi  rifle 
(U.  S.  make),  0.54;  Austrian  rifle, 
O.24.  with  foresighted  bayonet. 

In  Pennsylvania,  Lee's  army,  with 


the  exception  of  Hood's  division, 
Avas  armed  with  Enfield  and  Spring- 
field rifles.  The  uniform  calibre  of 
0.57  and  0.58  will  be  adopted  in  the 
whole  army  as  soon  as  possible. 
Three-fourths  of  the  arms  in  the 
armies  of  the  West  are  smooth-bore 
imiskets  and  Austrian  rifles ;  and 
some  think  smooth-bored  muskets 
for  eight  companies  out  of  ten,  with 
rifles  for  the  other  two,  flanking 
companies,  a  very  good  armament. 

The  Enfield  is  the  best  rifle.  The 
Mississippi  and  Austrian  rifle  clog 
very  soon — i.e.,  after  twenty  rounds. 

I  may  say  here  that  I  never  saw 
a  breech-loader  in  the  hands  of  a 
Southern  soldier,  nor  were  ever  any 
large  numbers  taken  from  the  Yan- 
kees. If  they  had  been,  they  would 
certainly  have  been  brought  and 
shown  at  headquarters,  as  was  the 
case  with  some  Spencer  rifles  and  a 
good  lot  of  revolving  six-shooter 
rifles,  and  some  excellent  breech- 
loading  cavalry  carbines. 

Attached  to  each  corps  were  some 
picked  sharpshooters,  armed  with 
a  telescopic  Whitworth  rifle,  with 
which  they  did  great  execution.  1 
never  at  any  arsenal  saw  machinery 
or  appliances  for  turning  mu/./.le- 
loaders  into  breech-loaders,  or  heard 
that  such  an  operation  had  ever 
been  performed. 

Dr  Cullen  was  so  good  as  to  fur- 
nish me  with  the  following  note 
upon  medical  matters.  The  medical 
department  is  organised  thus  :  — 
Medical  director  of  the  army;  me- 
dical director  of  the  army  corps ; 
chief  surgeon  of  division ;  senior 
surgeon  of  brigade.  Each  regiment 
has  a  surgeon,  an  assistant-surgeon, 
two  ambulances,  and  a  medical  wag- 
gon, belonging  to  it.  Two  men  from 
each  company  are  detailed  to  act  as 
litter-bearers  and  attendants  upon 
the  wounded  :  these  follow  the 
troops  on  the  field  of  battle,  and 
convey  men  to  the  hospitals  in  the 
rear.  The  flap  operation  is  gen- 
erally performed,  liesections  of  the 
humerus  at  the  elbow  and  shoulder 
joints  are  done  hundreds  of  times 
with  great  success. 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Jan. 


By  the  by,  Dr  Cullen  showed  me 
the  returns  to  his  department  for 
the  month  of  August  of  the  year, 
from  which  it  appears  that  in  the 
whole  of  Longstreet's  corps  in  the 
field  there  was  but  one  death  during 
that  period,  and  that  was  a  man 
who  had  just  returned  from  a  Yan- 
kee prison,  bringing  the  seeds  of 
disease  with  him.  This  month  of 
August  was  so  oppressively  hot, 
that  all  operations  between  the  op- 
posing armies  of  Lee  and  Meade 
were  suspended.  This  is  a  very  re- 
markable fact,  and  shows  what  good 
stuff  the  Confederate  soldiers  are 
made  of.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  the  month  of  August  followed 
immediately  after  a  very  severe 
campaign,  where  the  men  had  been 
exposed  to  many  and  great  hard- 
ships from  forced  marches,  bad 
weather,  unequal  food,  &c. 

Thirty-five  years  ago,  the  whole 
country  about  Chattanooga,  down 
nearly  to  Atlanta  in  Georgia, 
was  inhabited  by  Indians,  chiefly 
Cherokees :  and  there  are  a  good 
many  still  scattered  over  the  moun- 
tainous regions  of  North  Carolina, 
Georgia,  and  Tennessee,  but  the 
majority  were  induced  to  emigrate 
beyond  the  Mississippi.  In  the 
Indian  territory  set  apart  for  them 
in  the  West,  the  Choctaws,  Chicka- 
saws.  Creeks,  and  Cherokees  espe- 
cially have  become  quite  civilised, 
and  are  wonderfully  thriving.  They 
have  some  of  the  best  cotton  ground 
in  their  territory,  and  are  large  slave- 
owners ;  and  many  of  them  are 
very  wealthy.  They  have  churches 
and  public  schools,  and  their  native 
eloquence  having  been  developed 
by  education,  some  have  become 
famous  preachers.  Their  greatest 
bane  is  whisky;  and  though  the  Gov- 
ernment makes  great  efforts  to  pre- 
vent it,  the  traders  still  succeed  in 
smuggling  it  in.  In  this  war  they 
have  almost  all  taken  the  side  of 
the  South. 

The  chief  of  the  Cherokees  is 
John  Ross,  whose  grandfather  emi- 
grated hither  from  Scotland  and 


married  an  Indian  squaw.  An  old 
gentleman,  whom  we  met  at  the 
top  of  Lookout  Mountain,  told  us 
that  he  had  known  him  well  some 
fifty  years  since  ;  that  he  was  a  very 
clever  man,  and  had  had  his  chil- 
dren well  educated  at  Nashville  in 
Tennessee.  His  residence  was  at 
Rossville,  which  is  in  the  centre  of 
our  present  camp,  the  Cherokees 
having  in  his  day  inhabited  this 
part  of  the  country.  The  dignity 
of  chief  of  that  nation  has  now 
been  hereditary  for  three  genera- 
tions. 

After  a  few  sunshiny  days  we. 
had  some  pouring  wet  ones ;  it 
was  found  that  our  camp  was  on 
too  low  ground  to  be  comfortable, 
and  we  removed  some  distance  to 
the  rear. 

By  this  time  Dr  Cullen  had  ar- 
rived from  Richmond,  and  with 
him  came  L.  ;  and  as  Dr  Cullen 
had  —  besides  his  own  tent  and 
those  of  the  other  staff  doctors  who 
had  not  yet  arrived — a  large  hos- 
pital tent,  large  enough  to  accom- 
modate twenty  people,  I  thought 
I  had  crowded  my  friends  long 
enough,  and  accepted  his  kind  in- 
vitation to  move  over  and  take  up 
my  old  quarters  again  with  him. 

Old  Jeff,  the  cook,  was  rather  in 
a  grumbling  mood.  "  This  is  not 
like  old  Yirginny,  sir  ;  I  shall  find 
it  very  hard  to  keep  up  my  dignity 
here,  sir  : "  his  dignity  consisting 
in  providing  us  good  breakfasts 
and  dinners.  And,  indeed,  provi- 
sions are  scarce  and  not  very  good. 
Beef  is  tough,  bacon  is  indifferent, 
and  mutton  is  rarely  to  be  had  : 
chickens  and  eggs  are  almost  un- 
heard-of delicacies,  and  we  have 
to  ride  ten  miles  to  get  a  pat  of 
butter. 

During  anything  like  a  long 
stay  in  one  camp  all  energies  very 
soon  tend  to  the  point  of  how  to 
improve  the  diet,  and  many  long 
rides  are  taken  with  that  sole  ob- 
ject in  view,  and  with  very  various 
success. 

If  any  one  can  boast  of  a  leg  of 
mutton,  he  considers  it  quite  a 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  18G3-64.— Part  II. 


company  dish,  to  which  friends 
must  be  invited.  One  of  the  most 
successful  caterers  is  General  Pres- 
ton, and  another  is  his  adjutant- 
general,  Major  Owens,  an  old  friend, 
who  in  Virginia  was  aide  to  Colo- 
nel Walton.  Owens  is  believed  to 
have  a  flock  of  sheep  hidden  away 
somewhere.  The  General  gave  us 
a  splendid  supper  one  evening,  with 
a  profusion  of  delicate  viands,  and 
more  than  one  bowl  of  hot  punch 
made  of  some  capital  peach-brandy. 

Our  own  little  camp  was  particu- 
larly well  oft',  as  Cullen  came  pretty 
Avell  provided,  and  L.  brought  a  box 
of  good  things  with  him  from  Rich- 
mond. No  schoolboys  can  hail  a 
hamper  of  prog  with  more  gratifi- 
cation than  a  hungry  lot  of  cam- 
paigners do,  especially  if  they  have 
been  teetotalliny  rather  more  than 
they  like. 

After  a  victory  in  Virginia  there 
had  always  been  a  profusion  of  de- 
licacies in  the  Confederate  camp  for 
a  long  time,  but  from  these  Western 
people  nothing  had  been  captured 
but  guns  and  empty  waggons,  at 
which  there  was  great  disappoint- 
ment ;  and  many  were  quite  indig- 
nant, thinking  themselves  cheated. 
"  Why,  these  Yankees  are  not  worth 

killing/'  said  General ;  "  they 

are  not  a  bit  better  oft"  than  our- 
selves." 

L.,  after  having  one  horse  stolen 
at  Richmond,  had  purchased  an- 
other at  Atlanta,  and  as  mine  had 
arrived  with  Cullen  we  had  many 
a  ride  together.  The  camp  was 
pretty  extensive,  and  it  was  a  three 
or  four  miles'  ride  to  visit  many  of 
our  friends. 

There  was  a  grand  bombardment 
of  Chattanooga  one  day,  of  which 
we  had  a  splendid  view  from  the 
top  of  Lookout  Mountain.  Not 
much  harm  was  done,  but  it  was  a 
grand  sight  to  see  the  guns  blazing 
away  far  below  us.  On  the  top  of 
the  mountain  is  a  large  hotel,  be- 
sides several  villas  and  cottages. 
This  used  to  be  a  favourite  gather- 
ing-place in  summer,  but  now  every 
dwelling-place  was  deserted. 


We  made  our  way  into  the  hotel, 
and  purchased  half-a-dozen  chairs 
from  an  old  woman,  who  said  they 
were  not  hers  and  that  she  had  no- 
thing to  do  with  them  ;  but  she 
took  our  money  and  made  our  con- 
sciences easy.  And  the  chairs  were 
very  useful. 

About  this  time  the  President 
came  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  camp,  and 
there  was  a  general  expectation  that 
a  change  would  take  place;  but 
none  came,  except  in  the  weather, 
which  had  been  dry  and  sunshiny, 
with  a  storm  or  a  shower  now  and 
then,  but  now  settled  down  to  be 
wet  and  cold  and  nasty. 

The  President  remained  two  days, 
and  on  the  second  day  went  with  a 
large  suite  to  Lookout  Mountain. 
Homewards,  he  rode  with  General 
Longstreet,  a  hundred  yards  in  ad- 
vance of  the  rest  of  the  party,  and 
they  had  a  long  confabulation,  and, 
I  believe,  not  a  very  satisfactory 
one.  I  rode  with.  General  Brecken- 
ridge,  with  whom,  and  General 
Custis  Lee,  I  dined  afterwards  at 
General  Gracie's.  After  dinner 
we  had  some  capital  singing  by 
some  young  fellows  in  Gracie's 
brigade. 

Going  home,  I  fell  in  with  a 
courier  who  was  riding  in  the  same 
direction.  He  was  a  Louisianian, 
and  we  had  a  long  chat  together. 
Amongst  other  things,  he  told  me 
that  if  he  met  a  negro  in  a  fight,  he 
should  give  him  no  quarter — that 
they  had  always  treated  the  negroes 
well,  and  if  they  fought  against 
them  now,  they  deserved  no  quar- 
ter, and  he,  for  one,  should  give 
them  none.  I  remonstrated,  say- 
ing, it  was  no  fault  of  the  negro, 
that  he  was  forced  to  fight  by  the 
Yankees,  and  that  he  never  would 
fight  if  he  could  help  it,  Arc.  To 
all  which  my  friend  assented,  with 
a  "  That's  so,"  and  I  thought  that 
I  had  made  a  convert ;  but  when 
I  had  exhausted  my  arguments, 
although  he  again  repeated  his 
"That's  so,"  he  added,  "  For  all 
that,  I  shan't  give  them  any  quar- 
ter." 


46 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  tl 


[Jan. 


Our  black  cook,  Jeff,  confided  to 
me  the  other  day  his  idea  as  to  how 
the  war  should  be  carried  on. 

"  Why,  sir,  why  don't  they  do 
now  as  they  used  formerly  to  do  I 
The  generals  used  to  dine  together, 
and  take  their  wine,  and  then  one 
would  say,  '  General,  I'll  fight  you 
to-morrow  at  such  and  such  a  place,' 
and  then  they  would  shake  hands, 
and  the  next  day  they  would  fight 
their  battle.  That's  what  Napoleon 
used  to  do,"  Jeff  concluded,  "  and 
why  don't  they  do  so  now  ]" 

A  month  after  the  battle  of  Chi- 
camauga,  we  rode  over  the  field  of 
battle,  which  is  seven  or  eight  miles 
to  the  rear  of  our  camp.  The 
Yankee  dead  are  still  unburied, 
which  is  a  great  shame. 

Perhaps  General  Thomas  thinks 
it  beneath  his  dignity  to  ask  per- 
mission to  bury  them  ;  or  perhaps 
he  thinks  General  Bragg  will  do  it 
for  him.  This,  however,  he  has  no 
right  to  expect,  as  he  is  little  more 
than  a  mile  further  from  the  battle- 
field than  Bragg,  who,  if  he  sent 
large  details  of  men  eight  miles  to 
the  rear  whilst  active  operations 
are  going  on,  would  just  as  much 
have  to  demand  a  truce  for  the 
purpose  as  General  Thomas,  whose 
business  it  is.  Besides,  these  poor 
fellows'  friends  will  be  very  anxious 
that  they  should  be  identified,  that 
they  may  know  where  to  find  their, 
graves.  If  there  be  one  good  feel- 
ing to  be  found  in  the  North,  it 
is  the  respect  they  show  to  their 
dead ;  and  doiibtless,  if  these  poor 
fellows  had  been  identified  and 
properly  buried,  very  many  of  them 
would  have  been  brought  to  their 
homes  after  the  war,  and  their 
bones  laid  amongst  their  own  kin- 
dred. Now  the  pigs  are  fattening 
on  them — a  disgusting  sight  to  be- 
hold. 

The  rains  had  become  continu- 
ous now,  and  the  roads  were  nearly 
impassable  for  waggons,  and  no 
movements  of  importance  could 
therefore  be  anticipated.  The  army 
was  in  a  bad  way.  Insufficiently 


sheltered,  and  continually  drenched 
with  rain,  the  men  were  seldom 
able  to  dry  their  clothes ;  and  a 
great  deal  of  sickness  was  the 
natural  consequence.  Few  consti- 
tutions can  stand  being  wet  through 
for  a  week  together ;  and,  more- 
over, the  nights  were  bitterly  cold, 
and  the  blankets  were  almost  as 
scarce  as  tents.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  discontent,  which  was  in- 
creased by  its  being  well  known 
that  General  Bragg  was  on  very 
bad  terms  with  many  of  his  gen- 
erals. 

The  weather  made  it  disagree- 
able to  move  about,  and  L.,  V.,  and 
I  resolved  to  leave  the  army,  and 
on  the  22d  of  October  we  bade 
farewell  to  our  friends,  and  rode 
over  to  Chicamauga  station,  some 
eight  miles  off. 

The  road,  over  which  the  army 
drew  all  its  supplies,  was  in  a  hor- 
rible state,  and  it  was  five  o'clock 
in  the  evening  before  the  cart  witli 
our  small  amount  of  luggage  ar- 
rived. 

The  trains  were  running  wild — 
that  is  to  say,  at  no  fixed  hours — 
and  nobody  could  say  when,  or 
whether,  any  more  would  start  that 
evening,  several  having  just  left, 
crowded  with  sipk  soldiers. 

We  sat  down  rather  disconsolate 
by  the  s;de  of  a  lot  of  empty  cars, 
which  were  guarded  by  a  soldier, 
who  was  whistling  merrily,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  Soon  we 
made  friends  with  him,  and  he  pro- 
mised /us  his  assistance  as  soon  as 
his  guard  should  be  up. 

Accordingly,  when  he  was  re- 
lieved, he  took  me  with  him,  leav- 
ing L.  and  V.  to  guard  our  traps, 
promising  to  introduce  me  to  the 
station-master,  and  "  fix  everything 
straight,"  which  he  did.  He  then 
insisted  on  my  taking  supper  with 
him,  which  I  was  very  glad  to  do. 
He  told  me  that  he  came  from 
Memphis,  and  that,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  war,  his  regi- 
ment had  been  reviewed  by  Lord 
John  Russell,  whose  stately  appear- 
ance on  horseback  had  impressed 


1865.1 


Confederate  States,  18G3-64.— Part  17. 


47 


him  very  favourably.  I  tried  to 
explain  1  hat  he  might  be  mistaken, 
but  ho  was  positive,  and  1  only 
succeeded  in  .so  far  shaking  hid  be- 
lief as  to  leave  him  with  the  idea 
that  the  gentleman  he  had  admired 
•was  Lord  William  Russell,  a  brother 
to  the  famous  Earl.  He  was  deter- 
mined not  to  be  baulked  of  his 
nobleman ;  but  I  suppose  I  need 
hardly  say  that  the  gentleman  he 
alluded  to  was  the  well-known  Wil- 
liam Russell,  correspondent  of  the 
•Times.' 

He  was  exceedingly  obliging  and 
useful  to  us  ;  and  by  eight  o'clock 
we  were  packed  into  a  luggage-van, 
and  on  our  way. 

It  poured  with  rain,  and  plenty 
of  water  came  trickling  down 
through  the  roof. 

One  of  our  fellow-sufferers,  a  ma- 
jor, had  provided  himself  with  a 
plentiful  supper  of  bread  and  beef, 
and  offered  us  some  ;  but  L.  and  Y., 
although  they  had  had  no  supper, 
were  modest,  and  declined.  After 
the  major  had  gone  to  sleep,  how- 
ever, they  changed  their  minds,  and 
picked  his  pocket,  and  ate  up  the 
last  morsel  of  his  provisions. 

We  travelled  a  few  miles,  and 
reached  Cleveland  early  in  the 
morning.  Here  the  train  came  to 
a  dead  stop,  and  did  not  move  on 
till  the  afternoon.  We  allayed  our 
hunger  during  the  day  with  some 
parched  corn  and  gingerbread,  pro- 
cured from  a  cottage  at  hand,  and 
in  the  evening  reached  Dalton, 
where  we  had  supper,  and  got  into 
the  regular  train  for  Atlanta  and 
Augusta. 

We  were  near  being  stopped  by 
a  stupid  sentinel,  because  our  pass- 
ports were  signed  by  Longstreet, 
and  not  by  Bragg ;  but  Captain 
Mackall,  a  nephew  and  aide  of  the 
general  of  the  name,  helped  us 
through  our  difficulty,  and  we 
reached  Augusta  on  the  evening  of 
the  next  day  without  further  trou- 
ble. Here  we  thought  ourselves 
entitled  to  a  good  rest,  and  made 
ourselves  comfortable  at  the  Plant- 
ers' Hotel. 


The  largest  powder-mills  in  the 
South  are  at  A  tigusta.  They,  as  well 
as  the  arsenal,  are  under  the  super- 
intendence of  Colonel  Rains,  who  is 
inexhaustible  in  his  ingenious  con- 
trivances to  overcome  the  want  of 
hundreds  of  things  necessary  to  his 
manufacture,  and  yet  hardly  to  be 
procured  in  the  South. 

The  mills  turn  out  8400  Ib.  of 
powder  in  thirteen  hours.  In  fif- 
teen hours,  over  10,000  Ib.  have 
been  made.  They  began  to  wrork 
on  April  the  27th,  IhG^,  and  since 
then  one  and  a  half  million  of 
pounds  of  powder  have  been  sent 
to  Richmond  alone.  At  the  pre- 
sent time,  most  of  the  powder  is 
sent  to  Charleston,  which,  with  its 
many  heavy  guns,  consumes  an 
enormous  amount. 

Percussion-caps  used  to  be  im- 
ported from  the  North,  and  we  saw 
a  lot  which  had  been  manufactured 
at  some  place  in  Connecticut,  but 
they  are  already  independent  of  the 
enemy  for  this  important  article. 
At  one  time  so  many  were  sent  from 
the  North  that  they  were  absolutely 
a  drug  in  the  market.  The  charcoal 
is  excellent,  being  made  of  cotton- 
wood,  a  sort  of  white  poplar,  which 
has  no  knots  like  the  willow.  Of 
sulphur  they  had  large  stores  when 
the  war  commenced  ;  and  saltpetre 
is  imported  a  good  deal  through  the 
blockade. 

The  powder-magazines  are  under 
ground,  and  are,  moreover,  divided 
above  ground  by  thick  brick  tra- 
verses. The  roofs  are  of  zinc,  and 
very  light ;  so  that  if  one  magazine 
blows  up,  it  cannot  set  fire  to  its 
neighbours. 

We  were  much  struck  with  the 
powder  made  for  the  enormous 
Blakeney  guns  at  Charleston.  A 
charge  of  this  powder  looks  inore 
like  a  bag  of  coals  than  anything 
else,  each  grain  being  as  big  as  a 
lien's  egg. 

The  guard  duty  at  the  powder- 
mills  is  done  by  lads  of  from  1C  to 
18  years  of  age,  of  whom  there  is  a 
battalion  of  500  at  Augusta. 

Another  day.  Colonel  Rains  oblig- 


48 


A  Visit  to  the  Confederate  /States. — Part  II. 


[Jan. 


ingly  lending  xis  his  carriage,  we 
visited  the  old  U.  S.  Arsenal,  a 
couple  of  miles  from  the  city,  where 
small -arm  ammunition,  percussion- 
caps,  hand-grenades  with  sensitive 
tubes,  ifec.,  were  being  made  up  un- 
der the  superintendence  of  Captain 
Finny.  Small-arms  had  been  made 
here,  but  the  workshops  were  being 
removed  to  the  city  for  the  conve- 
nience of  transport.  We  also  went 
over  the  Government  cannon-foun- 
dry, which  is  under  the  personal 
superintendence  of  Colonel  Rains. 
The  Colonel  informed  us  that  he 
could  turn  out  a  Napoleon  a-day 
here,  but  at  present  it  was  not  ne- 
cessary. In  addition  to  the  cannon 
captured  from  the  enemy,  the  Con- 
federates had  manufactured  and 
imported  above  a  thousand  since  the 
war  commenced.  They  were  then 
making  Napoleons  of  Austrian  me- 
tal— a  composition  of  copper,  tin, 
wr ought-iron,  and  zinc,  very  strong 
and  very  light,  and  had  already 
turned  out  seventy. 

Colonel  Rains  uses  a  polygonal 
core  of  sand  and  clay  in  manufac- 
turing his  hollow  projectiles,  which, 
by  weakening  the  iron  in  regular 
lines,  causes  a  round  shell  to  burst 
into  eleven,  and  a  conical  shell  for 
rifled  guns  into  nineteen,  regular 
sections. 

Colonel  Rains  told  us  that  Colo- 
nel Bunford  was  the  real  inventor 
of  the  Dahlgren,  and  Captain  Blake- 


ney  of  the  Parrott  gun.  One  of  the 
big  Blakeneyguns  at  Charleston  had 
been  seriously  damaged  at  the  first 
discharge,  and  the  Colonel  was  one 
of  the  committee  to  inquire  into 
the  cause,  and  made  the  report 
on  it. 

It  seems  that  there  was  an  air- 
chamber  to  permit  the  gas,  on  ex- 
plosion, to  obtain  its  full  force  in 
the  gun  —  a  new  invention — and 
this  air-chamber  having  been  stuffed 
full  of  powder,  the  misfortune  oc- 
cured.  The  gun  has,  however,  been 
repaired,  and  the  second  one  worked 
satisfactorily  from  the  commence- 
ment. 

The  "stores"  at  Augusta  are  ex- 
cellent, and  well  supplied;  but  the 
bookseller  was  a  queer  fellow.  I 
wished  to  buy  one  of  his  books, 
but  he  refused  to  sell  it.  "  Can't 
let  you  have  that,  sir  :  it's  my  last 
copy." 

There  is  a  very  good  theatre  here, 
where  they  play  every  night.  The 
Planters'  Hotel  is  an  excellent  one  ; 
everything  good  except  the  tea, 
which  was  so  weak,  that  V.  won- 
dered how  it  could  get  out  of  the 
spout. 

So  mild  was  the  weather  that,  on 
the  1st  of  November,  we  followed 
the  example  of  other  inmates  of  the 
hotel,  and  sat  in  the  balcony  with 
our  coats  off. 

(To  le  continued.) 


.1865.]  Italian  Portraits.  49 

ITALIAN    PORTRAITS. 
I.  —  IN    THE   AXTEC'IIAMBKU   OK    MOXSIGXORE   DEL   KIOCCO. 

OI:R  master  will  be  Cardinal  ere  long — 

Is  he  not  made  for  one  ? — so  smooth  and  plump, 

With  those  broad  jaws,  those  half-shut  peeping  eyes, 

Those  ankle-heavy  legs  and  knotty  feet, 

Which  only  need  red  stockings.     Even  now 

lie  totters  round  with  the  true  Cardinal's  gait 

Upon  his  tender  toes,  while  you  behind 

Demurely  follow,  scarce  an  ear-shot  off, 

The  pious  footsteps  of  the  holy  man. 

How  many  years  have  you  thus  stalked  along 

Behind  that  broad-brimmed,  purple-tasselled  hat, 

In  your  stiff  lace  and  livery,  trained  to  pause 

Whene'er  he  pauses,  turning  half  to  fix 

His  Fifthly  on  his  fingers  to  some  dull 

Cringing  Abbate  shuffling  at  his  side  I 

Then,  when  that  point  is  drilled  into  his  brain 

(Proving  the  blessedness  of  poverty, 

Or  how  the  devil  has  no  cursed  wiles 

To  lure  the  world  to  hell  like  liberty — 

The  only  one  great  good  being  obedience), 

Back  go  the  hands  beneath  the  creased  black  silk 

That  streams  behind,  and  on  you  march  again ; 

While  the  gilt  carriage  lumbers  in  the  rear 

And  the  black  stallions  nod  their  tufted  crests. 

Yours  is  a  noble  station,  clinging  there 

Behind  it  as  you  clatter  through  the  town, 

Your  white  calves  shaking  with  the  pavement's  jar, 

The  mark  and  sneer  of  half  the  world  you  meet. 

Ah,  well !  His  wretched  business  yours  and  mine  ; 

I  know  not  which  is  worst — but  then  it  pays ; 

The  cards  are  dirty,  but  what  matters  dirt 

To  those  who  win  I     Though  now  the  stakes  are  small, 

WV11  hold  the  court-cards  when  the  suit  is  red; — 

And  so  it  will  be  soon ;  why,  even  now 

I  seem  to  see  red  stockings  on  his  legs ; — 

And  yesterday  I  said,  "  Your  Eminence," 

As  if  I  thought  he  now  was  Cardinal — 

"  Your  Eminence,"  indeed  !     At  that  he  smiled 

That  oily  smile  of  his,  and  rubbed  his  hands — 

Those  thick  fat  hands,  on  which  his  emerald  ring 

Flashes  ('tis  worth  at  least  a  thousand  crowns) — 

And  said,  "  Good  Giacomo,  not '  Eminence,' 

I'm  but  a  Monsignor,  and  that's  too  much 

For  my  deserts."     Then  I,  "  Your  '  Reverence* 

Ought  to  be  '  Eminence,'  and  will  be  soon ; 

The  tassel's  almost  old  upon  your  hat." 

"  Sei  matto,  Giacomo"  he  said,  and  smiled. 

You  know  those  smiles,  that  glitter  falsely  o'er 

His  smooth  broad  cheeks,  as  if  he  asked  of  you, 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCT.  D 


50  Italian  Portraits.  [Jan, 

"  Am  I  not  kind  and  good  ? "  and  all  the  while 
Your  soul  protests,  and  calls  out  "  Knave  and  cheat." 
But,  then,  how  can  one  call  him  by  such  names, 
When,  even  with  that  smile  upon  his  face, 
He  slips  a  scudo  in  one's  hand  and  says, 
"  Go,  Giacomo,  and  drink  my  health  with  this  "  ? 
What  can  one  do  but  bow  and  try  to  blush  ? 
"  Oh — Eminenza — thanks — you  are  too  good." 

Dear  man  !  sweet  man  !  in  all  those  troublous  times 

What  zeal  was  his  ! — IIOAV  earnestly  he  worked  ! 

Who  can  forget  his  pure  self-sacrifice, 

His  virtuous  deeds,  above  this  world's  reward — 

Done  for  pure  Christian  duty — done,  of  course, 

For  Holy  Church — all  was  for  Holy  Church — 

(Without  a  notion  of  this  world's  reward) — 

All  for  the  good  of  souls  and  Holy  Church — 

(Ora  pro  nobis,  and  that  sort  of  thing) — 

All  to  bring  sinners  back  again  to  God, 

And  from  the  harvest  root  the  devil's  tares — 

In  omnia  scecula — amen — amen. 

We  don't  forget — well !  you  know  who  I  mean — 

No  need  to  mention  names,  though  no  one's  nigh ; 

We  don't  forget  him  whose  anointed  hands 

Were  flayed  by  order  of  his  Reverence, 

Ere  with  his  bleeding  palms  they  led  him  down 

Into  the  court- yard,  and  we,  peeping  through 

The  half-closed  blind,  saw  him  throw  up  his  hands 

And  forward  fall  upon  his  face,  and  writhe, 

When  the  sharp  volley  rang  against  the  walls. 

Those  oily  fingers  wrote  that  sentence  down  ! 

That  thick  voice,  with  a  hypocritic  tone, 

While  both  his  palms  were  raised,  decreed  that  doom. 

Who  could  help  weeping  when  that  pious  man, 

Professing  horror  at  his  victim's  crime, 

And  bidding  him  confess  and  pray  to  God, 

And  saying,  "  God  would  pardon  him,  perhaps, 

As  he  himself  would,  if  the  power  were  his, 

But,  being  the  instrument  of  Church  and  State, 

No  choice  was  given,"  with  his  priestly  foot 

Pushed,  you  know  who,  into  a  felon's  grave  ? 

That  bloody  stain  is  still  upon  the  walls, 

Of  the  same  colour  as  the  scarlet  hat 

Our  master  soon  will  wear;  and,  after  all, 

Who  more  deserves  it  ?     If  he  stained  his  soul, 

Is  not  the  labourer  worthy  of  his  hire  '? 

He  shall  be  raised  who  doth  abase  himself  ! 

The  good  and  faithful  servant  shall  be  made 

The  ruler  over  many  I     Ah  !  my  friend, 

He  nothing  lost  by  all  those  deeds  of  his. 

He  erred  in  zeal,  but  zeal  is  not  a  vice — 

'Twas  all  for  Holy  Church.     His  secret  life, 

Perhaps,  was  not  quite  perfect !     Who  of  you 

Is  without  sin  let  him  first  cast  a  stone ; — 

No  one,  you  see ;  so  let  us  think  no  more 


18G5. 1  /. — In  the  Antechamber  of  Monsignore  <J<-t  Fi<w>.  .11 

Of  that.     Does  any  Duchess  smile  the  less 

At  all  his  compliments  and  unctuous  words 

As,  leaning  o'er  her  chair,  his  downcast  eyes 

He  fixes  somewhat  lower  than  her  lips, — 

Upon  the  jewels  on  her  neck,  perchance, 

He  is  so  modest, — and  with  undertone 

Whispers,  and,  deprecating,  lifts  his  hands, 

While  with  her  fan  she  covers  half  her  face  I 

He  knows  as  well  as  any  man  that  lives 

How  far  to  venture ; — covers  his  foul  jokes 

With  honeyed  words,  so  ladies  swallow  them ; — 

Tread  on  the  edge  of  scandal — not  a  chance 

He  will  fall  in  ; — knows  all  the  secret  shoals 

Of  innuendo ; — in  pure  earnestness 

(O,  nothing  more)  he  seizes  their  soft  hands 

And  holds  them — presses  them,  as  to  enforce 

His  argument ; — for  this,  our  Monsignor, 

Lifted  above  temptation,  with,  of  course, 

No  carnal  thought,  may  do  before  the  world — 

Because  it  must  be  done  through  innocence. 

Fie  on  his  foul  mouth  who  should  hint  'twas  wrong  ! 

Who'd  be  more  shocked  than  he,  the  pious  man  I 

He  would  go  home  and  pray  for  that  lost  soul ! 

And  yet,  how  can  a  woman  pure  in  heart, 

Without  disgust,  accept  his  compliments, 

And  let  him  feed  on  her  his  gloating  eyes  I 

Of  course,  it's  just  because  she's  innocent. 

Yes  !     I  am  lean  and  dry,  a  servitor, 

Not  fat  and  oily  like  our  Monsignor, 

And  so  I  can't  endure  his  nauseous  ways ; — 

All  right,  of  course  !     But  yet  I  sometimes  think, 

Did  San  Pietro  talk  to  Martha  thus, 

And  every  night,  wearing  his  fisherman's  ring. 

Show  his  silk-stockinged  legs  in  soft  saloons, 

And  fish  for  women  with  a  net  like  this  I 

Those  soft  fat  hands — those  sweet  anointed  hands — 
Those  hands  that  wear  the  glittering  emerald  ring — 
Those  hands  whose  palms  are  pressed  so  oft  in  prayer — 
Those  hands  that  fondle  high-born  ladies'  hands — 
Those  hands  that  give  their  blessing  to  the  poor — 
Those  hateful,  hideous  hands  are  red  with  blood  ! 
Think  !  Principessa,  when  you  kiss  those  hands — 
Think  !  Novice,  when  those  hands  upon  your  head 
Are  laid  in  consecration — think  of  this  ! 

Stop,  Master  Giacomo  !  don't  get  too  warm  ! 

When  Monsignore  gave  you  yesterday, 

With  those  same  hateful,  hideous,  bloody  hands, 

Your  scudo,  did  you  take  it,  sir,  or  not  ? 

Yes  !  I  confess  !  the  world  will  be  the  world  ! 

One  must  not  ask  too  much  of  mortal  man, 

Nor  mortal  woman  neither,  Giacomo  ! 

But  yet  we  cannot  always  keep  a  curb 

Upon  our  feelings,  school  them  as  we  will  ; 


52  Italian  Portraits.  [Jan. 

And  I,  "who  bow  and  cringe  and  smile  all  day, 

Detest  at  times  my  very  self,  and  grow 

So  restive  'neath  my  rank  hypocrisy, 

I  must  break  loose  and  fling  out  like  a  horse 

In  useless  kicks,  or  else  I  should  go  mad. 

God  knows  I  hate  this  man,  and  so  at  times, 

Kather  than  take  him  by  the  throat,  I  come 

And  pour  my  passion  out  in  idle  words  ; 

They  ease  me.     You're  my  friend  ;  but  if  I  thought 

A  word  of  this  would  reach  his  ears  ;  but,  no ! 

We  know  each  other  both  too  well  for  that. 

One  or  two  questions  I  should  like  to  ask, 

If  Monsignor  would  only  answer  them, 

As  this — what  Sora  Lisa  says  to  him 

At  her  confession,  once  a-week  at  least 

(For  Monsignore,  having  her  soul  in  charge, 

When  she  don't  come  to  him,  must  go  to  her). 

She  used  to  be  so  poor,  but  times  are  changed, 

And  Sora  Lisa  keeps  her  carriage  now  ; 

And  those  old  gowns,  by  some  "  Hey,  presto,  change," 

Have  turned  to  rustling  silks  ;  and  at  her  ears 

Diamonds  and  rubies  dangle,  which  she  shows, 

When  she's  the  mind,  in  her  own  opera  box. 

Well !  well !  that  office  our  good  Monsignor 

Gave  her  poor  husband  from  pure  love  of  him 

May  pay  for  these  ;  and  if  it  don't,  why,  then, 

It  don't — what  business  is  it  of  ours  1 

And  then,  who  knows,  some  uncle  may  have  died 

(Uncles  are  always  dying  for  such  folks) 

And  made  her  rich  ; — why  should  we  peep  and  pry  1 

Her  soul  is  safe  at  least  with  Monsignore. 

And  this  reminds  me — did  you  ever  know 

Nina,  that  tall,  majestic,  fierce-eyed  girl, 

With  blue-black  hair,  which,  when  she  loosed  it,  shook 

Its  crimpled  darkness  almost  to  the  floor? — 

She  that  was  friend  to  Monsignore  while  yet 

He  was  a  humble  Abbe — born  indeed 

In  the  same  town  and  came  to  live  in  Home  1 

Not  know  her  1     She,  I  mean,  who  disappeared 

Some  ten  years  back,  and  God  knows  how  or  why  ? 

Well,  Nina, — are  you  sure  there's  no  one  near  1 — 

Nina 

Per  Dio  !  liow  his  stinging  bell 
Startled  my  blood,  as  if  the  Monsignor 
Cried  out,  "  You,  Giacomo  ;  what,  there  again 
At  your  old  trick  of  talking  1     Hold  your  tongue  ! " 
And  so  I  will,  per  Bacco,  so  I  will ; — 
Who  tells  no  secrets  breaks  no  confidence. 
Nature,  as  Monsignor  has  often  said, 
Gave  us  two  eyes,  two  ears,  and  but  one  tongue, 
As  if  to  say,  "  Tell  half  you  see  and  hear  ;" 
And  I'm  an  ass  to  let  my  tongue  run  on, 
After  such  lessons.     There  he  rings  again  ! 
Vengo — per  Dio — Vengo  subito. 


1865.1  //. — II  Curato.  53 


There's  our  good  curate  coining  down  the  lane, 

Taking  his  evening  walk  as  he  is  wont : 

'Neath  the  dark  ilexes  he  pauses  now 

And  looks  across  the  fields  ;  then  turning  round, 

As  Spitz  salutes  me  with  a  sharp  high  bark, 

Advising  him  a  stranger's  near,  he  stops, 

Nods,  makes  a  friendly  gesture,  and  then  waits — 

His  head  a  little  bent  aside,  one  hand 

Firm  on  his  cane,  the  other  on  his  hip — 

And  ere  I  speak  he  greets  me  cheerily. 

"  A  lovely  evening,  and  the  well-reaped  fields 
Have  given  abundant  harvest.     All  around 
They  tell  me  that  the  grain  is  large  and  full ; 
Peasant  and  landlord  both  of  them  content  ; 
And  with  God's  blessing  we  shall  have,  they  say, 
An  ample  vintage  ;  scarcely  anywhere 
Are  traces  of  disease  among  the  grapes  ; 
The  olives  promise  well,  too,  as  it  seems. 
Good  grain,  good  wine,  good  oil — thanks  be  to  God 
And  the  Madonna,  who  give  all  things  good, 
And  only  ask  from  us  a  thankful  heart. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  to  take  my  evening  walk 

Down  to  the  Borgo  ;  for,  thank  heaven,  I  still 

Am  stout  and  strong  and  hearty,  as  you  see. 

I  still  can  walk  my  three  good  miles  as  well 

As  when  I  was  but  sixty,  though,  perhaps, 

A  little  slower  than  I  used  ;  but  then 

I've  turned  my  eightieth  year — I  have  indeed  ! 

Though  you  would  scarce  believe  it.     More  than  that, 

I've  never  lost  a  tooth — all  good  and  sound — 

Look  !  not  a  single  one  decayed  or  loose — 

As  good  to  crack  a  nut  as  e'er  they  were. 

They're  the  great  secret  of  my  health,  I  think  ; 

Like  a  good  mill  they  grind  the  food  up  well, 

And  keep  the  stomach  and  digestion  good. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  I've  passed  the  allotted  term  of  man, 
Threescore-and-ten.     I'm  fourscore  years,  all  told  ; 
But,  the  Lord  help  us,  how  we  old  men  boast ! 
What  are  our  fourscore  years  or  fivescore  years 
(If  I  should  e'er  reach  as  far  as  that) 
Compared  with  the  eternity  beyond  1 
Yet  let  us  praise  God  for  the  good  he  gives  ; 
All  are  not  well  and  strong  at  fourscore  years. 
There's  farmer  Lanti  with  but  threescore  years, 
See  how  he's  racked  with  his  rheumatic  pains  ; 
He  scarce  can  crawl  along. 

Do  you  take  snuff  ? 

"  Yes,  sir  !  'tis  fifty  years  since  first  I  came 
As  curate  to  this  village — fifty  years  ! 


r>4  Italian  Portraits.  [Jan. 

When  I  look  back  it  scarce  seems  possible, 
And  yet  'tis  fifty  years  last  May  since  first 
I  came  to  live  in  yonder  little  house. 
You  see  its  red-tiled  roof  and  loggia  there, 
Close-barnacled  upon  the  church,  that  shows 
Its  belfry  tower  above  the  olive  trees. 
The  place  is  rude  and  rough,  but  there  I've  lived 
80  long,  I  would  not  change  it  if  I  could. 
Old  things  grow  dear  to  us  by  constant  use  ; 
Habit  is  half  our  nature  ;  and  this  house 
Fits  all  my  uses,  answers  all  my  needs, 
Just  as  an  old  shoe  fits  one's  foot ;  and  tliere 
I  sleep  as  sound  with  its  bare  floor  and  walls 
As  if  its  bricks  were  spread  with  carpets  soft, 
And  all  the  ceilings  were  with  frescoes  gay. 

"  But  what  need  I  of  pictures  on  my  walls  1 
Out  of  my  window  every  day  I  see 
Pictures  that  God  hath  painted,  better  far 
Than  RaffaeJle  or  Ilazzi — these  great  slopes 
Covered  with  golden  grain  and  waving  vines 
And  rows  of  olives  ;  and  then  far  away 
Dim  purple  mountains  where  cloud  shadows  drift 
Darkening  across  them  ;  and  beyond,  the  sky, 
Where  morning  dawns  and  twilight  lingering  dies. 
And  then,  again,  above  my  humble  roof 
The  vast  night  is  as  deep  with  all  its  stars 
As  o'er  the  proudest  palace  of  the  king. 

"  So,  sir,  my  house  is  good  enough  for  me. 

I  have  been  happy  there  for  many  years, 

And  there's  no  better  riches  than  content ; 

There  I've  my  little  plot  of  flowers — for  flowers 

Are  God's  smile  on  the  earth, — I  could  not  do 

Without  my  flowers  ;  and  there  I  train  my  vines, 

Just  for  amusement ;  for  the  people  here, 

Good,  honest  creatures,  do  not  let  me  want 

For  grapes  and  wine,  howe'er  the  season  be  ; 

Then  I've  two  trees  of  apricots,  and  one 

Great  fig-tree,  that  beneath  my  window  struck 

Its  roots  into  a  rock-cleft  years  ago, 

And  of  itself,  without  my  care,  has  grown 

And  thriven,  till  now  it  thrusts  its  leaves  and  figs 

Into  my  very  room.     Sometimes  I  think 

This  was  a  gift  of  God  to  me  to  say, 

'  Behold  !  how  out  of  poverty's  scant  soil 

A  life  may  bravely  grow  and  bear  good  fruit, 

And  be  a  blessing  and  a  help/     May  I 

Be  like  this  fig-tree,  by  the  grace  of  God  ! 

I  have  one  peach-tree,  but  the  fruit  this  year 

Is  bitter,  tasting  somewhat  of  the  stone. 

Our  farmers  tell  me  theirs  are  all  the  same  ; 

I  think  they  may  have  suffered  from  the  drought, 

Or  from  that  hail-storm  in  the  early  spring. 

"Yes,  sir!  'tis  fifty  years  in  this  old  house 
I've  lived  ;  and  all  these  years,  day  after  day, 


18C5.]  II. —11  Cumto.  55 

Have  run  as  even  as  a  ticking  clock, 

Ono  like  another,  .summer,  winter,  spring  ; 

And  ne'er  a  day  I've  failed  to  have  my  walk 

Down  to  the  Borgo,  spite  of  wind  and  rain. 

While  in  the  valley  low  the  white  mist  crawls, 

I'm  up  to  greet  the  morning's  earliest  gleam 

Above  the  hill-tops.     After  noon  I  take 

An  hour's  siesta  when  the  birds  arc  still, 

And  the  cicale  stop,  and,  as  it  were, 

All  nature  falls  asleep.     As  twilight  comes, 

I  take  my  walk  ;  and,  ere  the  clock  strikes  ten, 

Lie  snugly  in  my  bed,  and  sleep  as  sound 

And  dreamless  sleep  as  when  I  was  a  boy. 

Why  should  I  not.'    God  has  been  very  good, 

And  given  me  strength  and  health  !     Praise  be  to  Him  ! 

'•  My  life  is  regular  and  temperate  ! 

(Jood  wine,  sir,  never  hurts  a  man  ;  it  keeps 

The  heart  and  stomach  warm — that  is,  of  course, 

Unless  'tis  taken  in  excess;   but  then, 

All  things  are  bad,  if  taken  in  excess. 

I  drink  my  wine  more  now  than  once  I  did; 

For  as  old  age  comes  on  I  need  it  more — 

But  in  all  things  my  life  is  temperate. 

I  take  my  cup  of  coffee  when  I  rise  ; 

I  dine  at  mid-day,  and  1  sup  at  seven  ; 

1  sit  upon  my  loggia,  where  the  vines 

Spread  their  green  shadow  to  keep  off  the  sun. 

And  there  I  say  my  offices  and  prayers, 

And  in  my  well-thumbed  breviary  read, — 

Now  listening  the  birds  that  chirp  and  sing  ; 

Now  reading  of  the  martyrdom  of  saints  ; 

Now  looking  at  the  peasant  in  the  fields  ; 

Now  pondering  on  the  patriarchs  of  old. 

Then  there  are  daily  masses — sometimes  come 

Baptisms,  burials,  marriages — and  so 

Life  slips  along  its  peaceable  routine. 

"  My  people  here  are  generous  and  kind  ; 

Of  all  good  tilings  they  own  I  have  my  share, 

And  I,  in  turn,  do  what  I  can  to  help, 

And  smooth  away  their  cares,  compose  their  strifes, 

Assuage  their  sorrows.     By  kind  words  alone 

One  may  do  much,  writh  the  Madonna's  aid. 

And  then,  in  my  small  way,  I  am  of  use 

To  cure  their  ailments  :   scarce  a  day  goes  by 

But  I  must,  like  a  doctor,  make  my  calls, 

And  see  my  patients.     After  fifty  years 

One  must  be  a  physician  or  a  fool. 

There's  a  poor  creature  now  in  yonder  house 

I've  spent  an  hour  beside  this  afternoon, 

Holding  her  hands  and  whispering  words  of  faith, 

And  saying  what  I  could  to  ease  her  soul. 

I  know  not  if  she  heard  me — haply  not, 

For  she  is  gone  almost  beyond  the  reach 

Of  human  language — far,  far  out  alone 

On  the  dim  road  we  all  must  tread  at  last. 


56  Italian  Portraits.  [Jan, 

"  Antonio  Bucci  keeps  Iris  lands  here  well ! 

An  honest,  frugal,  and  industrious  man  ; 

And  his  four  daughters, — healthy,  handsome  girls  : 

Vittoria  is  a  little  wryed,  perhaps, 

By  the  Count's  admiration — and,  in  truth, 

She  is  a  striking  creature  ;  but  all  that, 

You  know,  is  nonsense,  and  I  told  her  so. 

llosa  is  married,  as  you  know,  and  makes 

A  sturdy  wife.     She  has  one  little  child, 

With  cheeks  like  apples.     And  Regina,  too, 

And  Fanny — both  are  good  and  honest  girls. 

Per  Bacco  !  take  them  all  in  all,  I  think 

They're  better  for  Antonio  than  four  boys. 

I  see  them  in  the  early  mists  of  morn 

Going  a-fielcl  \  and  listen  !  there  they  are. 

Down  in  the  vineyard,  singing,  as  they  tend 

Those  great  white  oxen  at  their  evening  feed. 

"  Well,  Spitz,  we  must  be  going  now,  or  else 

Old  Nanna'll  scold  us  both  for  being  late. 

Stop  barking  !     Better  manners,  sir,  I  say  ! 

He's  young,  you  see  ;  the  old  one  died  last  spring, 

And  this  one's  over  frisky  for  my  age 

(You  are — you  are  !  you  know  you  are,  you  scamp  !) 

But  with  his  foolishness  he  makes  me  smile. 

As  he  grows  older  he'll  grow  more  discreet. 

('Tis  time  to  have  your  supper  ?     So  it  is  !) 

And  for  mine,  too,  I  think — and  so,  good  night !  " 

So  the  old  curate  lifts  his  hat  and  smiles, 

And  shakes  his  cane  at  Spitz,  and  walks  away, 

A  little  .stiff  with  age,  but  strong  and  hale, 

While  Spitz  whirls  round  and  round  before  his  path, 

With  volleys  of  sharp  barks,  as  on  they  go. 

And  so  Good  night !  you  good  old  man, — good  night  i 

With  your  child's  heart,  despite  your  eighty  years. 

I  do  not  ask  or  care  what  is  your  creed — 

Your  heart  is  simple,  honest,  Avithout  guile, 

Large  in  its  open  charity,  and  prompt 

To  help  your  fellow-men, — on  such  as  you, 

Whatever  be  your  creed,  God's  blessing  lies. 


1865.] 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women. 


CORNELIUS  O'DOWD  UPON  MEN  AND  WOMEN,  AND  OTHER  THINGS 
IN  GENERAL. 


TIIK   FIGHT   OVKIl  THK   WAY. 


LUDWIG  TIECK  has  a  story  of  a 
visit  lie  once  made  to  a  madhouse, 
where  lie  saw  two  of  the  inmates 
engaged  at  chess.  Struck  by  what 
he  imagined  to  be  a  strange  instance 
of  intellectual  activity  in  persons  so 
bereaved,  he  drew  nigh  to  watch  the 
game.  What  was  his  surprise,  how- 
ever, to  perceive,  that  though  they 
moved  the  pieces  about  the  board 
at  random — castles  sidling  along 
like  bishops,  and  bishops  playing 
leap-frog  over  knights — their  intent- 
ness  and  eagerness  all  the  while 
were  fully  equal  to  what  real  players 
might  have  exhibited.  At  last  one 
cried  out  "  Check!"  not  that  there 
was  the  slightest  ground  for  the  in- 
timation, but  he  said  it  boldly  and 
defiantly.  The  other,  in  evident  tre- 
pidation, considered  for  a  while,  and 
moved.  "  Check ! "  reiterated  the  for- 
mer; and  once  more  did  the  assailed 
man  attempt  to  escape.  "  Check- 
mate!" exclaimed  the  first;  and  held 
up  his  hands  in  triumphant  exulta- 
tion ;  while  the  other,  overwhelmed 
by  his  disaster,  tore  his  hair,  and 
gave  way  to  the  most  extravagant 
grief.  After  a  while,  however,  they 
replaced  the  pieces,  and  began  once 
more,  doubtless  to  renew  the  same 
mock  struggle  and  mock  victory; 
the  joy  of  the  conqueror,  and  the 
sorrow  of  the  conquered,  being, 
however,  just  as  real  as  though  the 
contest  had  engaged  the  highest  fa- 
culties that  ever  were  employed  in 
the  game. 

Now,  does  not  this  immensely  re- 
semble what  we  are  witnessing  this 
moment  in  America  ]  There  are  the 
two  madmen  engaged  in  a  struggle, 
not  one  single  rule  nor  maxim  of 
which  they  comprehend.  Moving 
cavalry  like  infantry,  artillery  like 
a  waggon-train,  violating  every  prin- 


ciple of  the  game,  till  at  length  one 
cries  Checkmate ;  and  the  other, 
accepting  the  defeat  that  is  claimed 
against  him,  deplores  his  mishap, 
and  sets  to  work  for  another  con- 
test. 

At  Bull's  Run  the  word  "check" 
almost  began  the  game.  Later  on 
they  played  out  a  little  longer,  but 
now,  they  usually  clear  the  board  of 
a  large  number  of  the  pieces  before 
either  asserts  he  has  conquered.  So 
far  as  results  go,  everything  is  pretty 
much  the  same  as  if  they  had  been 
consummate  players. 

If  it  were  not  that  the  stake  on 
the  issue  is  the  greatest  that  men 
can  play  for  on  earth,  I  doubt 
much  if  War  would  ever  have  held 
that  high  position  men  assign  it.  As 
a  mere  game,  its  inferiority  to  many 
other  games  is  striking  enough.  It 
is  not  merely  that  the  moves  are  few 
and  the  combinations  limited,  but 
that  the  varying  nature  of  the  ma- 
terial it  is  played  with  will  always 
prove  a  source  of  difficulty,  and  a 
great  barrier  against  all  exactitude. 
Imagine  a  game  of  chess  where  the 
pieces  would  have  a  volition — where 
your  castle  might  lie  down  or  your 
pawn  refuse  to  advance  —  where 
a  panic  would  seize  your  knights, 
or  your  bishops  object  to  stand  their 
ground — and  you  have  at  once  an 
image  of  actual  war. 

It  is  this  simplicity  in  the  art  of 
war,  doubtless,  that  has  led  these 
people  to  believe  that  there  is  no- 
thing in  it  at  all — that  its  rules  are 
voluntary,  and  its  laws  optional; 
for  how  otherwise  should  we  see  dry- 
goods  men  converted  into  generals, 
and  country  attorneys  into  briga- 
diers 1  There  is  not  one  of  these 
men  who  unhesitatingly  assumes 
the  command  of  a  corps  or  a  divi- 


58 


Cornelias  0'  Doivd  upon  Jlen  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


sion,  who  would  sit  down  to  a  round 
game,  at  a  high  stake,  which  he  had 
never  seen  played  in  his  life.  He 
would  modestly  own  that  he  did 
not  understand  it  —  that  he  had 
never  even  witnessed  it  before. 
Not  so  with  war;  there,  all  is  so 
easy,  uncomplicated,  and  simple, 
that  any  one  who  ever  mixed  a  julep 
can  lead  an  army. 

Like  Tieck's  chess-players,  then, 
they  have  made  a  game  of  their 
own,  and  it  must  be  owned  there  is 
no  lack  of  earnestness  in  the  way 
they  play  it.  They  sweep  off  the 
pieces  with  a  high  hand,  and  they 
make  a  clearance  on  the  board  just 
as  boldly  as  though  they  were  all 
Philidors.  N~ow  Tieck  remarks,  if 
these  men  had  been  playing  a  real 
game,  wherein  certain  rules  should 
have  been  observed,  and  certain  ob- 
ligations complied  with, their  weari- 
ness would  have  obliged  them  to 
desist  long  before  they  did  so  here. 
The  brain  would  not  have  sustained 
such  incessant  calls  upon  it,  and 
the  man  would  have  needed  rest; 
and  such,  I  opine,  is  the  reason  of 
the  continuance  of  the  struggle  we 
are  now  witnessing.  Each  plays  as 
he  likes,  takes  what  he  likes,  and 
goes  where  he  likes.  The  game  has 
no  laws,  and  there  is  nothing  to 
be  learned.  Any  one  can  cut  in 
that  pleases — cut  out,  too,  when  he's 
sick  of  it. 

Looking  to  this  fact,  nothing  can 
be  more  unfair  than  any  preference 
accorded  to  this  man  over  that. 
Why  Sherman  before  Meade,  or 
Grant  before  McClellan  1  Surely 
the  game  Tieck  tells  of  could  have 
been  played  by  the  whole  asylum. 

Just,  however,  as  I  feel  assured, 
nobody  whoever  played  chess  would 
have  dignified  with  that  name  the 
strange  performance  of  the  mad- 
men, so  am  I  convinced  that  none 
would  call  this  struggle  a  war.  It 
is  a  fight — a  very  big  fight,  if  you 
will,  and  a  very  hard  fight,  too,  but 
not  war.  They  go  at  it  with  a  will. 
That  pacific  creature,  Paddy,  in- 
sures a  considerable  amount  of  ac- 
tivity in  the  pastime.  Its  very  irre- 


gularity pleases  him.  It  is  a  sort  of 
gigantic  Donnybrook,  with  oceans 
of  broken  heads  and  unlimited 
whisky :  and,  like  Donnybrook,  no- 
body knows  what  he  is  fighting  for, 
or  cares  either. 

Such  a  millennium  of  mischief 
poor  Pat  never  dreamed  of  in  his 
most  exalted  moments.  To  have  a 
row  ready  for  him  at  his  landing, 
and  to  be  paid  for  fighting,  is  an 
amount  of  beatitude  that  he  can 
scarcely  realise. 

I  own  I  attribute  a  great  deal  of 
the  persistency  with  which  the  con- 
flict is  carried  on  to  this  element, 
making  a  row  a  career — converting 
a  fight  into  a  livelihood. 

Another  cause  also  contributed 
not  a  little  to  the  continuance  of 
this  struggle — the  immense  noto- 
riety it  has  attracted  throughout 
the  world  to  America  and  the  Ame- 
ricans. These  people,  for  the  first 
time  in  their  lives,  found  them- 
selves an  object  of  European  in- 
terest. Up  to  this  they  had  been 
little  known  as  a  people  at  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic.  A  rare  in- 
genuity in  mechanical  invention, 
and  a  very  curious  taste  in  drinks, 
had  certainly  been  associated  with 
their  name ;  but  beyond  gun-stocks 
and  gin  juleps,  sherry  cobblers  and 
India-rubber  boots,  they  had  not 
been  supposed  to  have  conferred 
much  on  humanity.  To  become 
suddenly  famous  as  a  great  mili- 
tary nation  was  then  an  immense 
bribe  to  national  vanity.  Hitherto 
it  was  their  boast  to  consume  more 
p&te  defoie  yras,  more  champagne, 
and  more  Parisian  finery,  than  any 
other  people ;  but  what  if  they  could 
rival  France  in  glory  as  well  as 
gluttony ! 

Their  pride  was  ever  in  a  certain 
vastness,  which  implied  greatness. 
They  had  the  biggest  rivers,  the 
biggest  corn  -  fields,  the  biggest 
forests,  and  why  not  the  biggest 
battles  and  the  biggest  debt  ] 

Now,  I  am  much  disposed  to  be- 
lieve that  these  people  would  have 
made  peace  long  ago  if  we  had  not 
given  them  so  much  of  our  atten- 


1805.] 


and  other  Things  in  General — Part  XII. 


tion  and  our  interest.  If,  instead 
of  sending  out  our  own  graphic 
correspondent  to  describe,  and  our 
artist  to  draw  them,  we  had  treated 
the  whole  as  a  vulgar  common- 
place row,  from  which  there  was  no 
one  useful  lesson  to  be  learned, 
moral  or  military  : — had  we  ignored 
them  in  our  journals  and  forgotten 
them  in  our  leaders — had  the  pub- 
lic speakers  of  our  platforms  omit- 
ted all  their  dreary  lamentations 
over  "fratricidal  conflict"  and  "de- 
cimating war,"  my  conviction  is,  the 
combatants  would  have  been  chew- 
ing the  cud  of  peace  together  two 
years  since. 

You  made  a  ring  for  them,  and 
what  could  they  do  but  fight  {  You 
backed  this  one  against  that,  and 
they  went  in  with  a  will,  only  too 
proud  to  attract  so  respectable  an 
audience,  and  be  a  matter  of  noto- 
riety to  such  a  well-dressed  com- 
pany. Had  you  really  been  sincere 
you  would  have  turned  your  backs 
on  the  performance.  Had  you  felt 
half  the  horror  you  pretend,  you 
would  have  gone  home  and  declared 
the  sight  too  disgusting  to  look  on. 
You  would  have  had  neither  words 
of  encouragement  nor  rebuke  — 
neither  caresses  nor  censures  — 
•which  could  only  be  provocatives  in 
either  case.  Had  you  been  simply 
HONEST,  you  would  have  said — this 
is  not  War,  nor  are  these  soldiers  ; 
but  if  these  people  imagine  that 
their  undisciplined  valour  is  to  in- 
augurate a  new  era  in  military 
science,  they  will  go  on  slaughter- 
ing each  other  for  half  a  century. 
Let  us  show  them  we  are  not  of 
their  mind,  and  they  will  come  to 
their  senses.  Why,  the  very  mock- 
ery of  the  names  they  apply  to 
their  generals  discloses  the  whole 
nature  of  the  imposition.  The 
young  Napoleon  McClellan  !  The 
Dcsaix  this — the  Wellington  that 
— what  are  all  these  but  the  con- 
fessions of  a  rivalry  that  has  long 
galled  them?  They  would  re-enact 


with  native  performers  the  grand 
battle-pieces  of  the  First  Empire  ; 
and  just  as  all  their  splendour 
and  luxury  are  an  imitation  of  Old 
World  extravagance,  so  would  they 
make  even  their  glory  a  travestie  of 
the  French  article. 

"  Ex  quovis  ligno  non  lit  Mer- 
curius  ; "  and  so  you  cannot  make 
marshals  of  France  out  of  drab- 
coated  Philadelphians  or  pedantic 
Bostonians,  no  more  than  you  can 
make  the  very  names  of  their  battle- 
fields ring  in  verse. 

Think  of  llancocus,  Little  Lick, 
Spottsylvania,  and  Funksville,  and 
ask  a  Yankee  laureate  to  commemo- 
rate them.  What  are  poets  to  do 
with  Murfreesborough,  and  Bull's 
llun,  and  Orange  Court -House, 
redolent  as  they  are  of  "  liquoring 
up  "  and  the  tobacco  quid  I 

In  the  report  of  a  Mansion-House 
speech  of  Lord  Palmerston's,  just 
before  me,  I  see  that  his  Lordship 
says  he  "  trusts  human  nature  will 
not  long  permit  the  deadly  and 
disastrous  strife  to  continue."  Now 
I  am  ready  to  concede  a  much 
larger  knowledge  to  the  noble  Vis- 
count, as  to  what  human  nature  is 
capable  of,  than  any  I  myself  pos- 
sess ;  but  to  what  section  of  human 
nature  he  refers,  and  to  what  pre- 
cise action  it  is  to  take  in  the  pre- 
mises, I  confess  I  am  ignorant. 
There  is  a  very  considerable  element 
of  "human  nature"  engaged  in  this 
same  strife,  and  a  much  larger  one 
outside  even  more  interested  in  its 
continuance.  How  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's other  friends  in  "  human  na- 
ture" are  to  interfere,  I  am  curious 
to  know.  Perhaps,  as  ladies  say 
about  mechanics,  "  it  can  be  done 
somehow  with  a  spring ; "  so  his 
Lordship  may  vaguely  ascribe  the 
same  unlimited  resources  to  this 
agent.  If  so,  I  yield  the  point,  and 
am  quite  ready  to  believe  that  the 
American  conflict  will  cease  when- 
ever "  human  nature "  has  had 
enough  of  it. 


60 


Cornelius  0 ' Dowd  iipon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


TRAVESTIES. 


Travelled  reader,  have  you  ever 
been  in  the  little  German  city  of 
Hesse-Cassel  1  If  you  have,  and 
if  you  have  gone  to  the  theatre 
there,  you  could  not  have  failed 
to  be  struck  by  the  unusual 
splendour  of  the  costumes.  They 
are  not,  it  is  true,  quite  so  fresh  as 
they  once  were,  but  there  is  in  their 
actual  value  and  richness  what  more 
than  compensates  for  a  little  decline 
of  splendour.  The  gold  is  gold,  the 
velvet  is  of  the  richest  pile  of  Lyons 
or  Genoa,  the  lace  is  Valenciennes 
or  "  point  de  Bruxelles,"  the  tassel 
that  hangs  from  the  sword-hilt  is 
bullion  as  honest  as  that  worn  by  a 
marshal  of  France.  In  a  word, 
whatever  delusions  maybe  practised 
elsewhere  there  are  none  about  the 
costumes,  and  the  fall  of  antique 
guipure  that  covers  the  cavalier's 
boot,  or  the  plume  that  droops 
from  his  hat,  might  have  been  the 
wear  of  the  proudest  Keichsgraf  of 
the  Empire. 

I  have  no  desire  to  torment  your 
ingenuity  to  explain  this  strange 
circumstance.  I  will  tell  you  at 
once  how  it  occurred.  There  was 
once  on  a  time  a  certain  Emperor  of 
the  French  called  Napoleon,  who 
invented  kings  pretty  much  as  other 
monarch  s  used  to  cure  the  evil — by 
royal  touch ;  and  amongst  these  he 
once  made  a  king  of  Westphalia 
— a  kind-hearted,  amiable,  and 
rather  fanciful  sort  of  gentleman, 
whose  pleasure  it  was  to  imagine 
himself  descended  from  a  long  line 
of  royal  ancestry ;  and  not  being 
exactly  able  to  demonstrate  this 
fact  he  hit  upon  an  expedient — it  al- 
most sounds  like  "a  bull"  in  action 
— to  appear  ancient,  by  dressing  up 
all  his  court  in  medieval  style ;  and 
as  he  could  not  throw  his  family 
into  antiquity,  he  put  himself  and 
all  about  him  into  the  clothes  they 
wore  ;  and  so,  in  the  century  we  now 
live  in,  he  figured  about  in  a  slashed 
doublet  and  hose,  a  slouched  hat, 
and  a  short  cloak,  that  might  have 


been  the  pink  of  fashion  in  the  year 
1600. 

It  was  a  very  harmless  folly,  and 
it  encouraged  trade,  and  so  his  sub- 
jects liked  it ;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  it  made  him  then  and  there  a 
far  more  popular  monarch  than  if 
he  had  passed  his  nights  over  a  Re- 
form Bill,  a  Habeas  Corpus  Act,  or 
any  other  of  these  blessings,  for  the 
possession  of  which  we  deem  our- 
selves models  for  the  imitation  of 
all  humanity. 

While,  therefore,  his  great  bro- 
ther was  making  war,  this  prince 
masqueraded,  and,  as  the  event 
proved,  just  as  profitably;  for  the 
same  disaster  that  robbed  the  one 
of  his  throne,  despoiled  the  other 
of  his  wardrobe. 

The  restored  princes  were  not 
very  remarkable  either  for  genero- 
sity or  nobility  of  sentiment :  when 
the  tide  of  fortune  had  turned  in 
their  favour,  some  of  them  had  short 
memories,  and  forgot  their  friends ; 
but  there  were  others  still  worse — 
they  had  wonderful  memories,  and 
recollected  all  their  enemies.  The 
Elector  of  Hesse-Cassel  was  one  of 
these ;  he  did  a  variety  of  small  and 
spiteful  acts,  and  amongst  them  he 
decreed  that  he  would  only  grant  a 
concession  to  the  proprietor  of  the 
Hof-theatre  to  open  his  house,  on 
the  distinct  condition  that  he  dress- 
ed his  entire  company  in  the  cos- 
tumes of  the  late  court,  which  were 
then  on  sale.  Of  course  it  was  a 
very  hard  bargain  to  a  man  who 
would  no  more  have  thought  of 
dressing  his  characters  in  real  sables 
and  satin,  than  of  actually  killing 
outright  the  villain  of  the  piece. 
There  was,  however,  no  help  for  it. 
Needs  must,  says  the  adage,  with 
a  certain  coachman  on  the  box ; 
and  hence  it  came  about,  that  they 
who  witness  Don  Carlos,  or  Cabal 
und  Liebe,  on  the  Cassel  stage,  may 
actually  imagine  themselves  at  an 
entertainment  given  by  the  King  of 
Westphalia  ;  and  that  the  supernu- 


1865.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XII. 


61 


meraries,  at  fourpence  a-night,  arc 
all  gentlemen  of  the  bedchamber, 
and  sticks,  gold  or  silver. 

To  such  base  uses  do  we  come 
at  last !  I  have  seen  some  very 
sad  and  some  very  strange  vicis- 
situdes of  this  kind  :  one  occurs 
to  me  as  I  write,  with  a  queer, 
sad  significancy.  There  is  at  this 
day  and  this  hour,  in  the  lunatic 
hospital  of  Dublin  —  Swift's  —  a 
double  significance  in  that  fact, — 
a  carved  oak  bench,  massive  and 
portly,  on  which  the  madmen  sit 
and  chat,  and  this  was  one  of  the 
Peers'  benches  in  the  Irish  House 
of  Lords,  and  on  this  very  bench 
where  these  lunatics  are  now  sit- 
ting, sat  certain  predecessors  of 
theirs — I'll  not  be  rude — and  voted 
the  "  Union." 

But  so  goes  the  world,  and  so  it 
ought  to  go,  nor  should  the  lesson 
be  lost  upon  us  ;  with  regard  to 
these  things,  we  make  our  idols, 
which  become  lumber  in  a  second 

feneration,  and  firewood  in  a  third. 
Vhat  led  me  to  think  of  these  mat- 
ters was  neither  the  King  of  West- 
phalia, nor  Swift's  hospital.  It  was 
an  account  I  read  the  other  day  in 
a  newspaper,  of  a  certain  clergyman 
of  the  Established  Church,  whose 
pleasure  it  is  to  dress  in  the  most 
unseemly,  unwholesome,  and  un- 
cleanly of  all  costumes — the  Friar's, 
and  to  call  himself  Father  Ignatius. 
That  any  man  with  a  dislike  to 
brown  Windsor,  and  a  taste  for  ab- 
surdity, should  desire  to  indulge 
these  leanings,  is  not  very  import- 
ant. There  are  thirty-two  millions 
of  us,  and  we  can  reasonably  spare 
a  few  fools.  What  I  object  to  is, 
that  a  nation  which  assumes  to  take 
the  lead  in  modern  civilisation,  and 
which,  with  reason,  asserts  the  claim 
to  the  purest  form  of  religious  be- 
lief, should,  at  the  very  moment 
when  all  Catholic  Europe  cries 
aloud  against  the  iniquities  of  the 
Papal  system  and  the  corruptions 
of  Rome — should,  I  say,  take  that 
very  moment  to  offer  sanctuary  to 
the  bigotry  of  that  Church,  multiply 
its  religious  foundations,  circulate 


its  doctrines,  and,  worse  even  than 
these,  standing  within  the  pale  of 
a  purer  faith,  mimic  its  masquerade 
absurdities,  and  imitate  its  fantastic 
forms. 

Is  it  probable,  I  ask,  that  in  an 
age  when  chemistry  and  metallurgy 
are  understood  as  they  now  are, 
a  joint- stock  company  could  be 
formed  to  discover  the  philosopher's 
stone  ?  And  it  is  precisely  in  the 
face  of  all  modern  investigation, 
when  the  treacheries  of  Rome  have 
met  their  widest  and  fullest  refuta- 
tion, her  mock  miracles  been  ex- 
posed, her  cruelties  unmasked,  that 
these  men  come  forward  with  all  the 
mummery  of  an  absurd  dress,  to  tell 
us  that  we  must  go  back  centuries 
for  our  civilisation,  and  revert  to 
habits  and  ways  which  can  only  be 
palliated  on  the  plea  of  a  hard  ne- 
cessity and  a  rough  era. 

Is  it  when  Rome  will  be  no  longer 
tolerated  by  Catholic  Europe  —  is 
it  when  kidnapped  children  and 
hired  assassins  are  the  objects  of 
interest  to  cardinals  and  monsignori 
— when  every  corruption  of  all  the 
bad  governments  on  earth  are  mass- 
ed into  one  system — when  tyranny 
is  not  satisfied  with  common  cruel- 
ties, but  seeks  to  sow  the  poison 
of  distrust,  suspicion,  and  dislike 
through  the  channels  of  private 
life — when  men  have  come  to  see,  in 
fact,  that  with  such  a  Church  in 
action  all  liberty  is  vain,  all  the 
gains  of  freedom  nugatory, — is  it 
then,  I  ask,  England  is  to  say,"  Come 
to  me — you  are  too  cruel  for  Italy, 
too  coarse  for  France ;  your  prac- 
tices outrage  even  patient  and  long- 
enduring  Germany ;  but  I'll  receive 
you  !  " 

The  countries  which  have  endur- 
ed you  for  centuries,  and  into  whose 
institutions  you  have  wound  your- 
self so  craftily,  that  to  detach  you 
from  the  stones  is  to  threaten  the 
edifice,  will  endure  you  no  longer ; 
at  any  sacrifice  and  at  any  peril 
you  must  be  got  rid  of.  No  matter, 
come  to  us,  we  are  a  very  tolerant 
people — we  are  intensely  unsuspi- 
cious. Our  self-importance,  indeed, 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


disarms  our  suspicion,  for  we  think 
ourselves  too  great  and  too  rich 
and  too  powerful  to  be  attacked 
by  any  one.  "What!"  cries  John 
Bull,  "  am  I  to  be  frightened  be- 
cause a  few  grimy  monks  and  ill- 
favoured  old  damsels,  in  unbecom- 
ing head-gear,  come  and  settle  here  ? 
Let  them  come,  by  all  means — let 
them  raise  their  monasteries  and 
build  their  chapels — what  can  all 
their  efforts  do  in  the  midst  of  our 
glorious  institutions,  our  free  press, 
and  our  ever-coming  Keform  Bill  ]" 
Be  it  so,  with  all  my  heart.  But 
these  lazy,  lounging  humbugs  are 
not  so  harmless  as  their  sloth,  their 
dirt,  and  their  indolence  would 
bespeak  them.  They  now  and 
then  get  a  footing  in  families. 
There  is  something  in  their  abject 
humility — I  cannot  say  what — that 
women  like.  They  insinuate  their 
doctrines  in  the  very  act  of  their 
mendicancy,  and  when  taking  the 
housewife's  potatoes,  give  back 
some  of  their  own  poison.  A 
very  steady,  though  not  strong,  pro- 
pagand  is  in  progress  amongst  you, 
and  if  it  give  you  serious  trouble 
one  day,  you  have  but  yourselves  to 
blame.  At  all  events — I  am  here 
only  digressing — but,  at  all  events, 
suffer  no  deserters  to  stand  in  your 
ranks,  outraging  your  discipline,  and 
calumniating  your  organisation. 

This  Father  Ignatius — this  man 
of  the  ragged  raiment  and  bare 
feet — assumes  to  belong  to  your 
Church.  Now,  in  what  state  of  dis- 
cipline does  that  Church  exist  if 
a  grotesque  mummer  is  to  stand 
within  its  pale,  and,  by  his  very 
presence,  profane  its  ordinances  ? 
Are  these  evils  incurable,  or  are 
bishops  only  too  lax  or  too  indiffer- 
ent to  repress  them]  With  whom 
the  fault  ?  If  Lynch  law  were  to 


become  popular,  Barons  of  the  Ex- 
chequer would  have  to  look  to  it. 
The  public  would  certainly  not  do 
the  work,  and  pay  others  for  stand- 
ing idle.  Let  the  Church  take  the 
lesson.  If  absurd  pantomimists  of 
religion  are  left  to  be  dealt  with  by 
the  people,  there  may  come  the 
question,  what  do  we  want  with  the 
bishops '? 

When  the  haughty  demand  was 
once  made  to  a  Pope,  on  showing 
him  the  mailed  armour  worn  by 
one  of  his  bishops,  "  Is  this  your 
son's  coat  or  not  1"  the  claim  to  the 
militant  churchman  had  to  be 
abandoned;  and  I  should  much 
like  to  ask  his  Grace  of  Canterbury 
since  when  has  dirt  become  a  Pro- 
testant ordinance  1  which  of  the 
articles  forbids  soap  I  and  where  is 
the  rubric  that  enjoins  a  minister 
of  the  Church  to  make  himself  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  gay,  and  the 
grief  and  shame  of  the  serious  1 

If  this  man's  opinions,  his  mode 
of  life,  his  outward  show,  be  in  con- 
formity with  the  Church,  say  so  : 
it  will  be  matter  of  great  comfort 
to  some  unwashed  and  unkempt 
thousands  abroad,  whom  foreign 
Governments  are  hunting  out  of 
their  territories  as  so  many  vermin, 
to  know  that  free  and  enlightened 
England  cherishes  and  invites  them. 

Statesmen  have  often  remarked, 
that  the  mother  country  has  fre- 
quently shown  herself  more  toler- 
ant than  the  colonies.  Here  is  an 
instance  at  once  in  point  : — Aus- 
tralia demurs  to  receive  convicts  at 
the  very  moment  that  England  of- 
fers a  welcome  to  moh  aired  monks 
and  barefooted  Benedictines.  If  I 
were  a  statesmen,  I'd  offer  a  com- 
promise :  I  would  send  the  friars 
to  Swan  Biver,  and  keep  our 
native  scoundrels  at  home. 


ABOUT  DOCTORS. 


I  read  in  the  French  papers,  un- 
der the  heading  "  Interesting  to 
Physicians,"  that  a  Doctor  has  been 
sentenced  to  fine  and  imprisonment 


for  having  divulged  the  malady  of 
a  patient,  and  in  this  way  occa- 
sioned him  heavy  injury. 

Without  for  a  moment  question- 


1865.] 


and  otfar  Things  in  Cencral. — Part  XII. 


ing  the  justice  of  this  conviction. 
it  appears  to  me  a  curious  trait  of 
our  age  and  manners  that  such  a 
case  should  ever  have  come  to  trial 
at  all.  That  we  make  our  revela- 
tions to  the  Doctor  under  the  seal  of 
secrecy,  is  intelligible  enough;  but 
that  the  law  should  confirm  the 
bond  is,  I  own,  something  new  to 
me.  In  the  honourable  confidence 
between  the  Doctor  and  his  patient 
I  have  never  recognised  anything 
beyond  the  trustfulness  so  essential 
to  a  beneficial  result.  The  Doctor 
seeks  to  cure,  and  the  patient  to  be 
cured,  and  for  this  reason  all  con- 
cealment that  might  mar  or  impede 
this  end  would  be  foolish  and  in- 
jurious ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  ima- 
gine any  amount  of  amour  propre 
that  would  peril  health — perhaps 
life  —  for  the  mere  gratification  of 
its  peculiar  vanity.  The  French 
Code,  however,  takes  care  that  this 
question  should  not  be  left  to  a 
mere  mutual  understanding,  but 
actually  places  the  Doctor  in  the 
position  of  a  Confessor,  who  is 
bound  under  no  circumstances  to 
divulge  the  revelations  that  are 
made  to  him. 

It  is  certainly  a  proud  thought 
to  feel  that  in  the  class  and  status 
of  our  medical  men  in  England 
we  have  a  security  far  stronger  than 
a  statute  could  confer.  I  cannot 
call  to  mind  a  single  case  where  a 
complaint  of  this  kind  has  been 
heard. — and  all  from  the  simple 
fact,  that  with  us  Doctors  were 
gentlemen  before  they  were  phy- 
sicians, and  never  forgot  to  be  so 
after. 

It  is  not  perhaps  the  loftiest,  but 
it  is  the  most  practical  way  to  put 
the  point  —  that  in  the  market- 
price  of  any  commodity  we  have  the 
truest  estimate  of  its  value.  Now, 
between  the  Doctor  whose  fee  is  a 
guinea  and  him  whose  honorarium 
is  two  francs,  there  is  an  interval 
in  social  position  represented  by 
that  between  the  two  sums.  The 
one,  so  far  as  culture,  habits,  tone 
of  thought,  and  manners  go,  is  the 
equal  of  any  he  visits ;  the  other  is — 


very  often  at  least — about  as  well 
bred  as  your  valet. 

The  one  is  a  gentleman,  with 
whom  all  intercourse  is  easy  and 
unconstrained ;  the  other  a  sort  of 
hybrid  very  often  between  cultiva- 
tion and  savagery,  with  whom  it  is 
not  easy  to  say  how  you  are  to 
treat,  and  who  is  by  no  means  un- 
likely to  misinterpret  every  revela- 
tion of  habits  totally  unlike  all  that 
he  is  himself  accustomed  to. 

Now  there  can  be  no  over-esti- 
mating the  value  of  a  congenial 
Doctor.  Instead  of  dreading  the 
hour  of  the  visit,  picturing  it  to 
our  minds  as  the  interval  of  in- 
creased suffering  and  annoyance,  to 
feel  it  as  the  sunny  spot  of  our 
day — the  pleasantest  break  in  the 
long  languor  of  the  sick-bed — is  a 
marvellous  benefit. 

This,  I  am  bold  to  say,  is  essen- 
tially to  be  found  in  England  above 
all  other  countries.  George  IV.,  who 
was  a  consummate  tactician  in  con- 
versation,— all  the  disparaging  esti- 
mates of  him  that  have  been  formed 
— and  some  of  them  I  firmly  be- 
lieve to  have  been  unfair  — have 
never  denied  him  this  gift, — used  to 
say  that  Doctors  were  essentially 
the  pleasantest  talkers  he  had  ever 
met.  They  have  that  happy  blend- 
ing of  knowledge  of  actual  life 
with  book-learning,  which  makes 
them  thorough  men  of  the  world, 
without  the  unpleasing  asperity 
that  pertains  to  those  who  have 
bought  their  experiences  too  dearly. 
For,  be  it  remembered,  few  men 
see  more  of  the  best  side  of  human 
nature  than  the  Doctor ;  and  it  is 
an  unspeakable  advantage  to  get  an 
insight  into  the  secrets  of  the  heart, 
and  yet  not  to  have  attached  any 
stain  to  one's  self  in  the  pursuit,  and, 
even  while  investigating  a  moral 
pestilence,  never  to  have  risked  the 
perils  of  a  contagion. 

If  it  were  not  that  I  should  be 
incurring  in  another  form  the  very 
defect  from  whose  taint  I  believe 
Doctors  to  be  exempt,  I  could  tell 
some  curious  instances  in  which  the 
physician  obtained  knowledge  of  in- 


Cornelius  O'Doivd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


tentions  and  projects  in  the  minds 
of  great  statesmen,  of  which  they 
had  not  at  the  time  fully  determin- 
ed, but  were  actually  canvassing 
and  balancing — weighing  the  bene- 
fit and  counting  the  cost — and  one 
syllable  about  which  they  had  never 
dropped  to  a  colleague. 

What  a  benefit  is  it  to  have  a 
body  of  men  like  this  in  a  country 
where  political  action  is  so  easy  to 
discount  into  gold,  and  where  the 
certainty  of  this  enactment  or  the 
repeal  of  that  could  resolve  itself 
into  fortune  to-morrow !  Xor  is  it 
small  praise  to  a  profession  when 
we  can  say  that  what  in  other 
lands  is  guarded  by  legal  enact- 
ment, and  fenced  by  the  protection 
of  the  tribunals,  can  be,  and  is,  in 
our  country,  left  to  the  honourable 
feeling  and  right-hearted  spirit  of 
true  gentlemen. 

There  is  another  service  Doctors 
have  rendered  society,  and  I  declare 
I  have  never  found  it  either  ac- 
knowledged or  recognised.  Of  all 
men,  there  are  none  so  vigilantly 
on  the  watch  to  protect  the  public 
from  that  pestilence  of  humbug 
and  deceit  which,  whether  it  call 
itself  spiritualism,  mesmeric  agency, 
clairvoyance,  or  any  other  fashion- 
able trickery  of  the  day,  has  now 
resolved  itself  into  a  career,  and  has 
assumed  all  the  outward  signs  and 
dignities  of  a  profession. 

To  all  these  the  Doctor  is  the 
sworn  foe,  and  very  frequently  to 
his  personal  detriment  and  loss. 
Who  has  not  heard  at  the  dinner- 
table  or  the  fireside  the  most  out- 
rageous assertions  of  phenomena, 
alleged  to  be  perfectly  in  accord- 
ance with  natural  laws,  but  of 
which  experience  only  records  one 
instance  or  two  perhaps  in  five  or 
six  centuries,  met  by  the  calm 
wisdom  of  the  physician,  the  one 
man  present,  perhaps,  able  to  ex- 
plain the  apparent  miracle,  or  re- 
fute the  palpable  absurdity?  It 
has  been  more  than  once  my  own 
forttine  to  have  witnessed  such  con- 
troversy, and  I  have  never  done  so 
without  a  sense  of  gratitude  that 


there  were  disseminated  throughout 
every  walk  of  our  social  system 
these  upright  and  honest  guardians 
of  truth. 

It  would  be  a  very  curious  and  a 
very  subtle  subject  for  inquiry,  to 
investigate  the  share  of  the  Doctors 
in  the  political  education  of  society. 
The  men  who  go  everywhere,  mix 
with  all  ranks  and  gradations  of 
men,  talk  with  each  of  them  on  the 
topics  of  the  day,  learning  how 
class  and  condition  influence  opin- 
ions and  modify  judgments,  must 
gain  an  immense  insight  into  the 
applicability  of  any  measure,  and 
of  its  bearing  on  the  different  gra- 
dations of  society.  With  this  know- 
ledge, too,  they  must  be  able  to  dis- 
seminate their  own  ideas  with  con- 
siderable power,  and  enforce  their 
own  opinions  by  arguments  derived 
from  various  sources,  doing  these 
things,  not  through  the  weight  and 
power  of  a  blind  obedience,  as  the 
priest  might,  but  by  force  of  reason, 
by  the  exercise  of  a  cultivated  un- 
derstanding aided  by  especial  op- 
portunity. If  I  were  a  statesman, 
I  would  cultivate  these  men.  I 
say  this  in  no  sense  that  implies 
corruption,  but  I  would  regard  them 
as  an  immense  agency  in  the  gov- 
vernment  of  mankind ;  and  I  would 
take  especial  pains  to  learn  their 
sentiments  on  measures  which  touch 
the  social  relations  of  the  world, 
and  secure,  so  far  as  I  might,  their 
honourable  aid  and  co-operation. 

They  have  replaced  the  Priest  in 
that  peculiar  confidence  men  accord 
to  those  who  are  theirs,  not  by 
blood  or  kindred,  but  by  the  oper- 
ation of  that  mysterious  relation- 
ship that  unites  relief  to  suffering. 

I  say,  again,  I  would  cultivate 
the  Doctors.  They  see  more,  hear 
more,  and  know  more  than  other 
men,  and  it  would  be  my  task  to 
make  them  the  channels  of  opinion 
on  the  interesting  topics  of  the  day, 
by  extending  to  them  the  amplest 
confidence  and  the  freest  access  to 
information. 

I  would  open  to  them  every 
avenue  to  the  truth,  every  access  to 


1865.] 


and  oilier  Things  in  General. — Part  XII. 


the  formation  of  correct  judgment, 
and  leave  the  working  of  the  system 
— and  leave  it  with  all  confidence — 


to  what  I  believe,  and  assert  to 
be,  their  unimpeachable  honour  and 
integrity. 


ON'    CKIITAIN    DUOI.I,   I'EOI'I.K. 


I  wish  there  was  a  society  for 
the  suppression  of  our  droll  people. 
Don't  mistake  me  :  I  do  not  mean 
veritable  wits — men  of  infinite  jest, 
gossip,  and  humour — but  the  so- 
called  drolls,  who  say  dry  things  in 
a  dry  voice,  relate  stories  drama- 
tically, give  imitations,  and  occa- 
sionally sing  songs.  Most  cities 
have  three  or  four  of  these,  and 
drearier  adjuncts  to  social  stupid- 
ity 1  know  not.  First  of  all,  these 
creatures  have  their  entertainments 
as  "  cut  and  dried  "  as  any  stage- 
player.  There  is  nothing  spontane- 
ous, nothing  of  apropos,  about  them. 
What  they  say  or  sing  has  been 
written  for  them,  or  by  them,  it 
matters  not  which  ;  and  in  the  very 
fact  that  they  can  go  on  repeating 
it  for  years,  you  have  the  measure 
of  their  capacity  and  their  taste. 

I  suspect  that  the  institution  is 
an  English  one — at  least,  I  cannot  at 
this  moment  remember  having  ever 
met  one  of  these  people  either  Ger- 
man, French,  Italian,  or  Spanish. 
No  other  nation,  I  am  certain, 
would  endure  the  infliction  but  our 
own.  It  must  be  to  a  people  hope- 
lessly unable  to  amuse  themselves, 
longing  for  some  pastime  without 
knowing  what  it  should  be,  and  train- 
ed to  believe  the  Adelphi  or  the 
Strand  amusing,  that  these  insuffer- 
able bores  could  possibly  be  welcome. 

Our  English  attempts  at  fun  are, 
like  our  efforts  at  statuary,  very 
ungainly  and  awkward,  and  only 
productive  of  laughter  and  ridi- 
cule. We  are  a  dry,  grave,  oc- 
casionally humoristic  people,  and 
so  intently  bent  on  the  practical, 
that  we  require  an  illustration  to  be 
as  efficient  as  the  thing  it  typifies 
— that  is,  we  want  the  shadow  to 
be  as  good  flesh  and  bone  as  the 
substance.  Our  droll  is  therefore 
a  great  boon  to  us  ;  "  he  makes  me 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCI. 


laugh"  is  an  expression  compounded 
of  three  parts  self-esteem  and  one 
part  contempt.  It  is  the  last  word 
of  the  helplessness  of  him  who  never 
yet  amused  any  one,  and  has  yet  an 
expression  of  disparagement  for  the 
effort  made  to  interest  himself.  Yet 
is  the  droll  in  request.  Without  him 
how  is  the  dreary  evening  party  to 
be  carried  through  ?  How  is  that 
hour  to  be  reached  when  it  is  meet 
for  people  to  say  "  good-night," 
without  any  show  of  the  weariness 
that  weighs  on  them  ? 

How  are  the  incongruous  elements 
of  society  to  be  amalgamated  with- 
out this  reconciling  ingredient, 
who,  at  least,  inspires  one  senti- 
ment in  common  amongst  them — 
a  sincere  contempt  for  himself  I 
We  have  agreed  in  England  that 
the  man  who  condescends  to  please 
us  must  be  more  or  less  of  an  ad- 
venturer. Nobody  with  any  honest 
calling  or  decent  means  of  liveli- 
hood would  think  of  being  amus- 
ing. From  this  axiom  it  comes 
that  the  drolls  are  ever  taken  from 
the  hopeless  categories  of  mankind; 
and  thus,  in  the  same  spirit  with 
which  we  give  all  the  good  music  to 
the  devil,  we  devote  the  profession 
of  wit  to  the  poorest  intelligences 
amongst  us.  Drolls  are  therefore 
depreciated — depreciated,  but  culti- 
vated. Our  tone  is,  have  them 
and  maltreat  them.  Now,  I  wonder 
what  would  take  place  in  Great 
Britain  if  the  drolls  were  to  com- 
bine and  strike  work — declare  that 
they  knew  their  social  claims,  and 
felt  their  own  importance  —  that 
until  some  more  liberal  treatment 
should  be  secured  them  by  law,  not 
another  joke  should  be  uttered,  not 
the  shadow  of  a  bon  mot  be  detect- 
ed. Dinners,  dejeuners,  picnics,  and 
routs,  might  go  on,  with  what  mate- 
rial resources  cookery,  confection- 
E 


06 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


ery,  and  a  cellar  could  provide,  but 
as  regards  the  most  ethereal  ele- 
ments there  would  be  a  famine. 
Why,  dancing  without  music  would 
be  nothing  to  it.  The  company 
might  just  as  well  try  to  be  their 
own  orchestra  as  their  own  jester. 
And  is  not  this  a  most  humiliating 
avowal !  Here  you  are,  a  party,  let 
us  say,  of  sixteen  souls  ranged 
round  a  dinner-table.  You  are  well 
fed  and  well  ministered  to,  and  yet 
somehow  the  thing  flags.  The  talk 
is  per  saltum — broken  and  in  jets  ; 
there  is  no  movement,  no  ensemble, 
for  somehow  you  want  the  hardi- 
hood of  a  certain  social  adventurer, 
who  will  "go  in  "  recklessly  to  assert 
something,  contradict  something,  or 
explain  something,  with  a  dash  of 
indifference  as  to  consequences  that 
will  inspire  the  rest  with  some  of 
his  own  hardihood.  The  great 
thing  is  to  shock  Mrs  Grundy;  till 
that  be  done,  her  sway  is  indisput- 
able. This  man  is  quite  prepared 
for  such  a  service.  He  has  a  shot 
that  will  startle  her ;  he  has  a  story 
that  will  stun  her.  Now,  I  ask,where, 
out  of  the  professional  ranks,  are 
you  to  meet  with  these  qualities  ? 
and  if  you  really  want  them — if 
they  be  a  requirement  of  your  age 
and  your  social  system,  why — I  ask 
again — why  not  have  them  of  the 
best1?  why  not  secure  the  good  arti- 
cle, instead  of  putting  up  with  the 
poor  counterfeit  ?  It  is  for  this 
reason  I  say,  suppress  your  present 
drolls,  and  make  a  profession  of  it. 
There  may  come  an  age  in  which 
lawyers  will  defend  prisoners  with- 
out a  fee,  and  physicians  go  forth 
to  cure  the  sick  unrewarded.  In 
such  a  glorious  millennium,  droll 
people  will  doubtless  be  found 
ready  to  be  witty  without  being 
fed.  Till  this  blessed  time  shall 
arrive,  however,  let  us  provide  for 
human  wants  with  human  foresight. 
Our  age  is  a  hard-pressed,  over- 
worked age.  We  come  daily  to  our 
homes  jaded,  wearied,  and  exhaust- 
ed ;  our  money-seeking  is  a  hard 
fight,  and  leaves  us  very  tired  to- 
wards the  close  of  the  day's  battle. 
We  find,  then,  that  we  need  a  re- 


fresher after  it — a  sort  of  moral 
"  schnaps" — that  may  rally  us  into 
that  condition  in  which  enjoyment 
becomes  possible.  To  this  end, 
therefore,  do  I  say,  let  us  not  de- 
stroy our  healthy  appetite  by  a 
corrupted  or  adulterated  liquor. 
Let,  in  fact,  the  wits  who  are  to 
amuse  us  be  really  wits— no  ama- 
teur performers,  no  dilettanti 
"Drolls,"  but  trained,  tried,  and 
approved  practitioners — licentiates 
in  humour,  duly  qualified  to  prac- 
tise in  the  best  society — men  who 
would  no  more  repeat  a  known 
anecdote  than  Francatelli  would 
reheat  a  cutlet.  Trained  in  all  the 
dialectics  of  the  dinner-table,  such 
men  know  the  exact  amount  of 
talk  that  can  be  administered  dur- 
ing a  course  ;  and,  in  their  marvel- 
lous tact,  are  they  able  to  regu- 
late the  discursive  conversational- 
ists around  them,  giving  time  and 
emphasis  and  accent,  just  as  Costa 
imposes  these  qualities  over  an  un- 
ruly orchestra. 

It  is  an  inconceivable  mistake  to 
commit  the  task  of  amusing  to 
the  book-writers.  Men  who  are 
much  versed  in  the  world's  affairs 
have  really  little  time  for  reading 
— they  read  hastily,  and  judge  im- 
perfectly; we  want,  therefore,  a 
society  who  shall  disseminate  the 
popular  topics  of  the  day  —  not 
carelessly  or  inaccurately,  but  neat- 
ly, appropriately,  and  exactly — able 
to  condense  a  debate  into  the  time 
of  the  soup,  or  give  a  sketch  of 
a  popular  novel  in  the  space  of 
an  entree.  What  a  savour  and 
relish  would  such  men  impart  to 
society !  The  mass  of  people  talk 
very  ill.  They  talk  loosely — loose- 
ly as  to  fact,  and  more  loosely  as 
to  expression.  They  mistake  what 
they  read,  mistake  what  they  hear, 
not  from  wilfulness,  but  out  of  that 
sloppy  insipid  carelessness  which  is 
assumed  to  be  a  feature  of  good- 
breeding  —  accuracy  being  to  the 
men  of  fashion  about  as  vulgar  an 
attribute  as  haste  or  hurry.  Now, 
the  example  of  a  professional  talker 
will  have  great  influence  in  sup- 
pressing this  dreary  inanity. 


1SG5.] 


atnl  other  7'/n'ii(/s  in  General. — J'art  .A'//. 


I  know — I  am  well  aware — that 
what  I  propose  will  be  a  deathblow 
to  "haw-haw,"  and  a  fatal  injury 
to  ''you  know;"  but  who  regrets 
them  (  Is  it  not  a  generation  which 
has  grieved  us  long  enough  (  Have 
they  not  lowered  the  national  credit 
for  pleasantry  to  the  verge  of  bank- 
ruptcy ?  Are  we  not  come  to  that 
pass  that  we  mustrepudiatc  ourdroll 
people,  or  consent  to  be  deemed  the 
stupidest  nation  in  Christendom  I 

Add  to  the  Civil  Service  Com- 


mission, then,  an  examination  for 
diners-out.  Make  a  pursuit,  a  regu- 
lar career,  of  the  practice,  and  see 
what  abilities  and  what  excellences 
you  will  attract  to  it.  Abandon- 
ing conversation  to  pretenders, 
is  like  leaving  medicine  to  the 
quacks  or  theology  to  the  street- 
preachers.  I  have  seen  a  deal  of 
life,  and  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it,  amateurs  never  attain  any 
high  excellence,  except  it  be  in 
wickedness  ! 


The  French  have  an  adage,  that 
"  tons  les  gouts  sont  respectables," 
which  must 'be  a  great  comfort  to 
in  any  people,  but  to  none  that  1  know 
of  more  than  that  innocent  section 
of  mankind  who  make  it  their  busi- 
ness to  collect  postage-stamps.  What 
these  people  of  much  leisure  and 
little  ingenuity  mean  by  it  1  never 
could  make  out!  Have  they  dis- 
covered any  subtle  acid,  any  cun- 
ning process,  by  which  the  stamp 
of  disqualification  can  be  effaced, 
and  are  they  enabled  to  cheat  the 
Treasury  by  a  reissue  <  This  would 
be  a  grave  impugnment  of  their 
honesty,  it  is  true  ;  but  while  thus 
accusing  their  hearts  it  would  vin- 
dicate their  heads. 

They  might,  perhaps,  have  heard 
of  that  famous  Dutch  doctor  who 
made  a  great  fortune  by  buying  up 
all  the  sick  and  disabled  negroes  in 
the  West  Indies,  and,  having  cured, 
resold  them,  very  often  to  their  for- 
mer masters,  who  never  recognised, 
in  the  plump  and  grinning  Sambo, 
the  wretched  object  he  had  "  cast" 
a  few  months  before  and  sold  off 
as  a  screw.  Though  the  philan- 
thropic portion  of  this  device — and 
it  is  the  gem  of  its  virtue — could 
not  certainly  be  applied  to  the  pos- 
tage-stamp question,  all  the  profit- 
able elements  offer  a  great  simi- 
larity. With  even  my  very  limited 
knowledge  of  these  collectors,  how- 
ever, I  am  far  from  imputing  to 
them  such  intentions.  I  am  cer- 
tain that  the  pursuit  ia  a  most 


harmless  one,  and  if  I  cannot  vin- 
dicate it  on  higher  grounds,  1  am 
read}7  to  maintain  its  innocence. 

Let  me,  however,  ask,  What  is 
meant  by  it  t  Is  it  the  intention 
to  establish  a  cheap  portrait-gallery 
of  living  princes  and  rulers  '?  Is  it 
to  obtain,  at  a  minimum  cost,  the 
correct  face  and  features  of  the  men 
who  sway  the  destinies  of  their  fel- 
low-men I  If  so,  the  coinage,  even 
in  its  basest  form,  would  be  infi- 
nitely preferable.  The  most  bat- 
tered penny  that  ever  was  bartered 
for  a  gill  of  blue  ruin  is  better  as  a 
medallion  than  is  the  smudged  and 
semi-glutinous  bit  of  dirty  stamp  as 
a  print.  But,  I  ask,  whose  face, 
amongst  all  the  kings  and  kaisers, 
do  we  want  to  know  better  or  more 
intimately  than  we  have  them  in 
'Punch'  \ 

If  you  want  living  resemblances, 
there  is  a  "Commissioner"  every 
day  at  Whitehall  the  very  image  of 
Victor  Emmanuel ;  and  as  for  Louis 
Napoleon,  I'll  show  you  six  French 
Emperors  any  day  you  please,  within 
ten  minutes,  in  Holywell  Street. 
Would  you  desire  the  (.^ueen  of 
Spain? — but  let  us  not  be  ungal- 
lant.  And  now,  again.  I  say,  what 
curiosity  can  any  reasonable  being 
have  to  possess  the  commonplace 
effigies  of  the  most  commonplace- 
looking  people  in  Europe  ? 

If  this  postage-stamp  mania  were 
instructive  in  any  way — were  it 
even  suggestive — I  could  under- 
stand it;  but  it  seems  to  me  the 


68 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


very  bleakest  pursuit  that  ever  en- 
gaged dreary  heads  and  gummy 
fingers. 

Had  these  stamps  borne  some 
heraldic  device,  for  instance,  it 
might  have  been  in  a  certain  small 
way  contributory  to  a  knowledge  of 
national  distinctions;  and  on  seeing 
that  the  Belgian  emblem  was,  like 
the  English,  a  Lion,  one  might  have 
appreciated  the  difference  by  re- 
membering that  the  former  always 
carries  "his  tail  between  his  legs." 

In  the  same  way  the  double- 
headed  eagle  of  Austria  might 
seem  to  emblematise  a  certain  du- 
plicity in  policy  that  an  ungenerous 
public  is  so  apt  to  attribute  to 
that  empire.  But,  I  say,  there  are 
no  such  lessons  for  us.  These 
scraps  of  blurred  and  adhesive 
nastiness  display  nothing  but  a 
gallery  of  European  ugliness,  which 
we  are  only  reconciled  to  by  re- 
membering that  they  are  obliged  to 
intermarry. 

But  once  more  :  if  the  object  be 
to  have  some  reminder  of  mighty 
potentates  and  powers,  why  not 
hit  upon  something  more  charac- 
teristic and  more  distinctive  than 
this  ]  And  easy  to  do  so.  Is  it  not 
certain  that  all  sovereigns,  however 
little  use  of  them  they  may  make, 
occasionally  wear  shoes  and  boots  '? 
Why  not  make  a  collection  of  the 
old  ones  when  they  are  cast-offs  1  I 
take  it  that  even  that  thrifty  prince 
the  ex-Duke  of  Modena,  does  not 
go  beyond  twice  soling  and  vamp- 
ing, and  that  something  must  re- 
main, which,  if  not  available  for 
a  march,  might  be  useful  in  a 
museum. 

Surely  Louis  Napoleon  must  have 
many  pairs  besides  those  he  gives 
to  Victor  Emmanuel ;  and  imagine 
what  a  treasure  would  be  one  of 
the  Pope's  old  slippers,  sanctified 
by  the  countless  kisses  of  true  be- 
lievers! Think  of  the  pride  of  a 
collector  in  showing  the  jack-boot 
with  which  the  Emperor  Nicholas 
kicked  one  of  his  marshals ;  or  the 
shoes  in  which  President  Lincoln 
ran  away  from  Washington  when 
he  heard  of  Lee's  advance !  And 


should  we  descend  to  smaller  "deer" 
and  extend  the  collection  to  great 
celebrities,  it  might  be  curious  to 
have  a  sight  of  that  pair  of  Lord 
llussell's  "high-lows"  which  Mr 
Disraeli  tried  on  in  '59,  and  found 
he  couldn't  walk  in. 

In  a  Avord,  shoes  might  be  emi- 
nently suggestive,  and  there  is  no 
end  to  the  speculation  one  would 
be  led  into  by  a  critical  examination 
of  the  wearer's  mode  of  walking — 
whether  he  went  gingerly  on  his  toes 
like  the  French  Emperor,  stamped 
like  a  Czar,  or  shuffled  like  his 
Holiness. 

In  the  King  of  Prussia's  case  we 
should,  I  am  certain,  find  that  he 
had  occasionally  got  his  "  Bluchers" 
on  the  wrong  foot,  and  that  Victor 
Emmanuel's  progress  was  consider- 
ably impeded  by  his  attempts  to 
wear  some  pairs  that  were  ordered 
for  the  Duke  of  Tuscany  and  the 
King  of  Naples,  and  even  a  pair  of 
satin  slippers  of  the  Princess  of 
Parma's. 

Nor  would  it  be  without  its  les- 
son to  mark  that,  when  in  Poland, 
the  Austrian  Emperor  never  wore 
any  but  Russia  leather. 

Interesting,  too,  to  see  that  pair 
of  strong  shoes  the  King  of  Italy 
ordered  when  he  was  thinking  of 
walking  to  Rome,  but  which  he 
countermanded  when  he  found  he 
should  not  go  farther  than  Florence. 

These,  I  say,  would  teach  us  some- 
thing ;  and  if  there  be  sermons  in 
stones,  there  might  be  homilies  in 
shoes. 

It  is  true  every  one  could  not  so 
easily  be  a  collector  of  these  as  of 
postage-stamps,  but  they  could  be 
photographed,  and  in  this  way  made 
available  to  the  million.  For  all 
purposes  of  interest,  and  as  matter 
for  conversation,  how  much  better 
would  they  be  than  these  shabby 
and  unsuggestive  scraps  of  dirty 
paper !  The  Sultan's  slippers  would 
be  a  chapter  of  the  Arabian  Nights 
at  once ;  and  I  am  only  withheld,  by 
my  characteristic  discretion,  from 
hinting  at  what  wondrous  interiors 
we  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  by 
slipping  on  that  pair  of  Spanish 


1865.] 


and  othtr  Things  in  General. — Part  XII. 


CO 


boots  with  the  red  heels,  and  letting 
them  lead  our  steps  up  certain  back- 
stairs in  the  Kseurial. 

Hut  i  trust  I  have  said  enough 
to  show  that  a  great  mine  of  psycho- 
logical investigation  has  yet  to  be 


worked,  and  a  most  interesting 
museum  to  be  formed,  without  en- 
tailing any  heavy  cost  or  charge,  but 
simply  bearing  in  mind  the  time- 
honoured  apophthegm,  that  there  is 
"  nothing  like  leather." 


TMK    IT.nl'LK    \VIIO    COMF.    I.ATH. 


Will  anyone  tell  me  who  are  the 
people  who  habitually  come  late  to 
dinner?  Are  they  merely  erratic, 
abnormal  instances,  or  are  they,  as 
I  opine,  a  chiss  i  Any  treatment 
that  we  may  adopt  towards  them 
should  mainly  depend  on  to  which 
category  they  belong. 

While  Thuggee  prevailed  in  India, 
it  was  a  considerable  time  before 
it  was  ascertained  that  men  were 
banded  together  for  assassination. 
It  seemed  so  horrible,  that  nothing 
short  of  an  overwhelming  convic- 
tion would  have  induced  one  to  ac- 
cept it  as  a  fact.  At  last,  however, 
the  whole  organisation  was  reveal- 
ed, and  it  was  shown  that  men  were 
led  into  this  fearful  compact,  not 
through  menace  or  threat,  but  of 
their  own  free  will,  and  actually,  at 
times,  with  a  zeal  and  eagerness  that 
savoured  of  insanity.  Xow,  I  am 
curious  to  know  if  our  social  de- 
stroyers be  Thugs.  Are  they  mem- 
bers of  a  secret  society  banded  to- 
gether to  interfere  with  human  hap- 
piness, and  render  what  ought  to 
be  the  pleasantest  portion  of  our 
lives,  periods  of  anxiety,  irritation, 
and  discomfort  ] 

I  have  given  the  matter  much 
consideration,  for  I  have  been 
taught  some  cruel  experiences  of 
its  hardships,  and  I  incline  to  be- 
lieve that  these  men  are  really  a 
distinct  section  of  society  —  that 
they  regard  life  from  the  same  point 
of  view,  take  the  same  estimate  of 
their  own  social  claims,  and  almost 
invariably  adopt  the  same  tactics  in 
their  dealings  with  the  world. 

The  story  of  Alcibiades  and  his 
dog  has  another  reading  from  that 
usually  accorded  it.  When  that 
clever  man  upon  town  cut  a  piece  off 
his  dog's  tail  to  divert  the  scandal- 


mongers of  Athens  from  attending 
to  his  more  serious  derelictions,  he 
showed  how  thoroughly  he  under- 
stood the  fact,  that  men  of  eminence 
will  ever  be  exposed  to  the  libellous 
tongues  of  the  smaller  people  around 
them,  and  that  it  is  a  wise  policy 
to  throw  out  for  them  some  bait,  in 
the  pursuit  of  which  they  may  lose 
sight  of  more  important  booty. 

l>ut  there  are  folk  who  have  no 
resemblance  whatever  to  Alcibi- 
ades— who  are  neither  clever,  nor 
witty,  nor  genial,  nor  amusing  •  and 
when  they  cut  an  inch  off  their  dog's 
tail,  they  do  it  simply  and  purely 
that,  by  this  small  singularity,  they 
may  attract  to  themselves  a  degree 
of  notice  which  nothing  in  their 
lives  or  characters  could  possibly 
warrant  ;  they  do  it  that  they 
may  be  in  men's  mouths  for  a  pass- 
ing moment,  and  enjoy  the  noto- 
riety they  imagine  to  be  fame. 

It  is  to  this  category  your  late 
man  belongs.  He  calculates  coolly 
on  the  ills  his  want  of  punctuality 
produces — the  vexation,  the  dreari- 
ness, the  eutnii.  He  ponders  over 
the  irritation  of  the  host  and 
weariness  of  the  guests  ;  he  feels 
that  he  has  driven  a  cook  to  the 
verge  of  despair,  and  made  an  in- 
tended pleasure  a  positive  penalty  ; 
he  knows  well  how  he  will  be 
canvassed  by  the  company,  his 
merits  weighed,  and  his  claims 
discussed,  and  that  the  "  finding" 
will  not  be  the  decision  of  an  over- 
favourable  jury  ;  and  yet  is  he  re- 
paid for  all  the  censure  and  detrac- 
tion that  awaits  him — for  every 
question  as  to  his  status  and  every 
doubt  of  his  capacity — by  the  single 
fact  that  he  has  made  himself  im- 
portant. (Jreat  crimes  have  been 
committed  through  no  other  incen- 


70 


Cornelius  O'-Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Jan. 


tive  than  the  insensate  passion  for 
notoriety,  and  it  is  the  self-same 
desire  of  small  minds  that  leads  to 
the  offence  I  stigmatise.  These 
creatures,  unable  to  amuse,  incapa- 
ble to  interest,  without  even  one  of 
the  qualities  that  have  an  attraction 
for  society,  are  still  able,  by  merely 
interfering  with  the  pleasure  of 
others,  to  make  themselves  remem- 
bered and  noteworthy. 

That  I  am  not  unwarrantably 
severe  on  them,  I  appeal  to  all  who 
either  give  dinners  or  eat  those  of 
their  friends.  To  the  former  I  ask, 
and  ask  confidently,  Are  not  the 
people  who  keep  you  waiting  al- 
most invariably  the  least  valued  of 
your  acquaintance  ]  Is  not  the  man 
who  arrives  late,  the  man  who  need 
not  arrive  at  all '?  Has  the  creature 
who  has  destroyed  the  fish  and  ruin- 
ed the  entree,  one,  even  one,  quality 
to  indemnify  you  for  the  damage  1 

Take  the  late  men  of  your  ac- 
quaintance, and  answer  me,  Have 
you  ever  met  one  of  them  able, 
by  the  charm  of  his  converse  or 
the  captivation  of  his  manners,  to 
obliterate  the  memory  of  the  dreary 
forty-five  minutes  your  friends  sat 
in  the  condemned  cell  of  your 
drawing-room,  longing  for  the  last 
pang  to  be  over  ? 

If  your  experiences  be  happy  in 
this  respect,  mine  are  not.  I  openly 
proclaim  that  my  late  men  are  the 
bores  of  my  acquaintance.  Tardy 
in  coming,  and  drearier  when  they 
come,  they  open  the  curious  ques- 
tion, whether  one  would  be  sorrier 
if  they  died,  or  more  miserable 
that  they  are  alive  ] 

If  any  doubt  could  be  entertained 
as  to  the  studied  intention  of  this 
practice,  it  is  at  once  dispelled  by 
the  mode  of  the  late  man's  entree. 
It  is  not  in  the  least  like  his  ap- 
proach whose  coming  has  been  de- 
layed by  some  unfortunate  mis- 
chance or  some  unforeseen  casualty: 
there  is  no  confusion,  no  eager 
anxiety  to  explain  or  apologise. 
Far  from  it :  he  makes  a  sort  of 
triumphal  entry,  and,  with  chest 
protruded  and  head  erect,  declares 
the  pride  he  feels  in  being  of  suffi- 


cient consequence  to  have  curdled 
the  milk  of  human  kindness  in 
some  dozen  natures,  and  converted 
a  meeting  for  pleasure  into  a  penalty 
and  a  suffering. 

Next  to  these  in  point  of  annoy- 
ance are  they  who  send  you  their 
apologies  an  hour  before  your  din- 
ner, and  they  too  are  a  class — a  dis- 
tinctly organised  class.  These  peo- 
ple forget  that  in  all  dinners  worth 
the  name,  the  company  are  appor- 
tioned as  carefully  as  the  crew  of  a 
racing-boat,  and  you  can  no  more 
add  to  than  diminish  their  number. 
The  quality  of  the  "bowoar"  cannot 
be  transferred  to  "the  stroke,"  nor 
can  two  be  seated  on  one  bench,  or 
one  place  be  reft  vacant.  To  de- 
stroy the  symmetry  of  your  dinner, 
the  "  trim,"  so  to  say,  of  the  com- 
pany, is  a  serious  offence,  and 
doubly  so  when  committed  with 
prepense  and  malice  aforethought ; 
and  yet  there  are  people  who  do 
this,  on  the  same  calculation  as  the 
"Late  comers,"  that  they  may  enjoy 
the  importance  of  being  arraigned 
for  their  absence,  and  revel  in  the 
consciousness  that  the  company 
they  could  not  have  charmed  by 
their  presence  has  been  totally 
damped  and  dispirited  by  their 
absence — for  so  is  it,  nothing  short 
of  superhuman  geniality  can  con- 
quer the  gloom  of  an  empty  place. 

I  remember  once — it  was  a  long 
time  ago — a  dinner  in  an  Irish  coun- 
try-house, of  which  an  Archbishop 
was  to  have  formed  the  great  gun. 
Besides  his  Episcopal  dignity  he 
was  a  man  of  weight  and  influence, 
which  gave  him  a  standing  in  the 
country  it  behoved  county  mem- 
bers to  look  to.  He  was  also  a 
great  horticulturist,  and  fond  of 
country  life  and  pursuits.  Our 
host  understood  well  all  these  va- 
ried claims,  and  took  great  pains 
to  make  his  dinner-party  of  such 
material  as  might  best  consort  with 
his  great  guest's  humour.  What, 
however,  was  his  discomfiture  to  find 
that  his  Grace's  chaplain  arrived  to 
make  the  Archbishop's  apologies,and 
convey  his  sincere  regret  at  some 
untoward  impediment  to  the  pro- 


11:65.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XI I . 


71 


mised  pleasure  !  He  brought  with 
him,  however,  an  enormous  gourd  or 
pumpkin  grown  in  the  Episcopal 
hothouse;  and  this,  with  an  air  of 
well-assumed  admiration,  our  host 
directed  should  be  placed  in  the 
chair  which  his  Grace  ought  to  have 
occupied,  directing  to  the  comely 
vegetable  much  of  his  talk  during 
the  dinner;  and  when  the  time  of 
coffee  came,  saying  as  they  arose, 
"  In  all  my  experience  of  his  Grace, 
I  never  knew  him  so  agreeable  as 
to-day.'' 

We  are  not,  however,  all  of  us 
able  to  pay  off,  by  a  smart  epigram 
like  this,  our  dreary  defaulters  ;  and 
I  own  I  feel  a  deep  humiliation  at 
the  thought  of  how  much  pleasure, 
how  much  social  enjoyment,  how 
much  actual  happiness,  is  at  the  dis- 
posal of  people  who  can  contribute 
so  wonderfully  little  to  them  all. 

There  is  another  feature  of  the 
case  not  to  be  entirely  overlooked. 
In  the  deference  you  show  by  wait- 
ing for  the  late  comer,  or  in  your 
distress  at  the  absence  of  him  who 
comes  not  at  all,  your  other  guests 
fancy  they  detect  some  deep  sense 
of  obligation  to  the  man  who  usurps 
so  much  of  authority  over  you,  and 
they  infer  at  once  that  he  is  your 
patron  or  your  protector,  that  he 
lias  lent  you  money  or  dragged  you 
out  of  some  awkward  scrape  or 
other,  and  that  you  are  bound  over, 
under  the  very  heaviest  of  recog- 
nisances, to  treat  him  with  all  de- 
ference and  respect. 

I  am  certain  that  I  have  suffered 
once  or  twice  in  my  life,  if  not 
oftencr,  from  this  pleasant  impu- 
tation, audit  has  obliged  me  to  cur- 
tail my  madeira  at  dinner  lest  I 
should  be  seized  with  an  apoplexy. 

In  England,  I  believe,  there  is  no 
hour  for  dinner.  Your  eight  o'clock 
may  be  half-past,  may  be  nine, 
perhaps  ten  ;  but  abroad,  over 
the  Continent  generally,  the  hour 
named  is  the  hour  really  intended, 
and  especially  so  at  Embassies  and 
Legations ;  so  that  the  London  in- 
souciance of  arriving  within  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  of  the  time  is 
simply  bad  manners  or  ignorance. 


I  rejoice  to  say  that  the  impertinence 
of  the  late  man  would  meet  no  tol- 
eration there.  Short  of  royalty,  or 
something  like  its  representative, 
none  would  be  waited  for;  but  still, 
to  be  peremptory  in  such  matters, 
one  must  be  a  man  of  a  certain 
mark  or  standing.  The  Minister 
can  do  with  dignity  what  in  the 
Secretary  would  be  pedantry  or  lire- 
tension  ;  and,  in  fact,  in  small  things 
as  well  as  in  great,  it  is  very  plea- 
sant to  stand  on  a  high  rung  of  the 
ladder  called  life. 

They  who  so  stand,  have  the  law 
in  their  own  hands  ;  and  I  own  I 
rejoice  whenever  I  witness  its  se- 
vere administration,  and  mark  the 
shame  and  confusion  with  which  a 
late  man  shuffles  to  his  place  amongst 
the  seated  guests,  and  tries  to  cover 
by  an  apology  that  which  he  had 
planned  to  execute  as  a  triumph. 

We  had  an  old  Irish  Chief-Baron 
once,  whose  practice  it  was  to  have 
the  late  arrivals  shown  into  a  room 
where  a  dessert  was  laid  out,  and 
informed  that  dinner  was  over,  and 
the  company  had  assembled  in  the 
drawing  -  room.  In  this  way  they 
might  reflect  over  dried  figs  and 
filberts,  and  realise  to  their  own 
conscience-stricken  intelligences  the 
enormity  of  the  offence. 

I  may  close  this  by  a  malapropos 
which  once  occurred  to  Lord  Pon- 
sonby,  at  Vienna.  He  was  to  dine 
at  Prince  Metternich's,  but  arrived 
by  some  mischance  very  late.  There 
was,  however,  one  more  guest  yet 
to  come,  Baron  Seebach.  the  Saxon 
Minister,  with  whom  the  hostess 
was  very  intimate.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly shortsighted  ;  and  as  Lord 
Ponsonby  came  forward,  not  catch- 
ing his  name,  and  believing  him  to 
be  Seebach,  she  met  him  abruptly, 
and  cried  out,  "  Oh  !  vieux  sce- 
lerat,  pourquoi  est-ce  quo  vous  venez 
si  tard  ] "  It  need  not  be  said 
what  were  the  shame  and  confusion 
on  either  side. 

I  conclude  now  with  the  hope 
that,  if  I  have  not  made  the  late 
man  punctual,  I  have  at  least  per- 
suaded his  host  that  he  ought  not 
to  wait  for  him. 


72 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


LIFE      IN      AN      ISLAND. 


THIS  island  is  not  a  desolate 
island,  nor  far  from  the  boundaries 
of  civilisation  ;  neither  is  it  one  of 
the  insulated  fortresses  Avhich  are 
more  of  man's  making  than  God's. 
No  position  under  heaven  can  be 
more  glorious  than  that  in  which 
this  rock  reposes — "  like  a  vessel 
eternally  at  anchor  "  —  regarding 
from  its  lofty  heights  that  bay 
which  once  in  a  lifetime  intoxicates 
every  man  who  looks  upon  it,  and 
rouses  even  the  most  languid  soul 
into  a  sense  of  beauty  ineffable  and 
beyond  description.  It  is  Naples 
which  lies  in  the  depth  of  that 
wonderful  bow,  radiant  in  the  sun- 
shine. It  is  Vesuvius  which  rises 
in  front  of  us,  blue  and  splendid, 
now  and  then  exhaling  out  of  his 
burning  bosom  a  deep  breath  that 
shows  white  against  the  sky  like  a 
man's  breath  in  an  English  Christ- 
mas. That  is  Posilipo,  the  first 
break  in  the  even  arch  of  coast, 
which  afterwards  goes  wavering  out 
and  in,  as  if,  like  the  spectator, 
confused  with  so  much  loveliness, 
widening  out  at  Baise,  casting  forth 
sweet  headlands  here  and  there 
to  secure  its  possessions,  finally 
stretching  into  the  lower  heaven  of 
sea,  the  lingering  Cape  of  Messina. 
Even  there  it  seems  the  admiring 
earth  cannot  have  enough  of  it,  but, 
dropping  Procida  humbly  by  the 
shore,  like  an  apology,  goes  out  re- 
joicing to  another  mountain-head, 
and  there  breaks  off  in  a  climax, 
unable  to  exert  herself  further.  All 
this  we  have  in  daily  vision,  un- 
interrupted, except  by  mists  and 
clouds,  which  often  add  more 
beauty  than  they  take  away,  from 
our  island  at  the  other  arm  of  the 
bay.  And  not  only  this,  but  on 
the  other  side  the  noble  Sorrento 
promontory,  and  the  low  shadowy 
coast  yonder  under  Vesuvius,  where 
Pompeii  keeps  funeral  watch  over 
her  dead.  If  there  is  any  nobler 
combination  in  the  world,  imagina- 


tion, being  overtasked,  cannot  con- 
ceive of  it.  This  is  what  we  con- 
template from  Capri  in  the  blaze 
of  the  early  summer,  in  its  fresh 
morning  tints,  in  its  sunset  splen- 
dours, in  grand  apparel  of  cloud  and 
storm,  in  ineffable  fulness  of  peace. 
So  that  it  is  no  common  lot  to  be- 
gin with,  to  live  thus  suspended 
midway  between  heaven  and  the 
sea  on  this  divine  island,  from 
which,  if  one's  ears  were  but  sharp 
enough,  one  might  still  hear  out  to 
seaward  the  terrible  sweetness  of 
the  Siren's  song. 

The  holiday  travellers  who  tra- 
verse Switzerland  in  crowds,  or 
who  make  an  annual  rush  through 
Germany,  have,  in  most  cases,  a 
different  kind  of  reminiscences  to 
record  from  those  who  linger  about 
Italy — sometimes,  it  is  true,  out  of 
pure  love  of  the  country,  but  oftener 
from  sadder  motives,  in  the  languor 
that  follows  a  great  calamity,  or  the 
acuter  misery  which  precedes  one. 
Even  the  artist  in  his  wanderings  is 
distinct  from  the  tourist — so  that 
there  is  some  excuse  for  the  readi- 
ness with  which  everybody  who  has 
crossed  the  Alps  records  his  expe- 
riences. Life  is  more  leisurely  over 
that  great  boundary-line,  if  not 
among  the  awakened  Italians,  at 
least  among  the  English  visitors,  to 
whom,  even  at  the  utmost  stretch 
of  speed,  it  is  impossible  to  do  the 
country  of  art  in  a  few  weeks.  The 
difference,  indeed,  between  the 
tranquil  incidents  of  Italian  jour- 
neys, and  the  breathless  bustle  into 
which  an  astonished  traveller  drops 
of  a  sudden  who  comes  over  one  of 
the  Alpine  passes  the  wrong  way,  and 
drops  without  any  preparation  into 
Zurich,  or  Lucerne,  or  Geneva,  is  too 
remarkable  not  to  strike  the  most 
casual  observer.  The  crowd  which 
rushed  out  of  London  yesterday, 
and  has  to  rush  back  again  to- 
morrow, is  constantly  thwarting  its 
own  endeavours  to  see  everything 


1865.] 


Lift'  in  an  Island. 


by  its  universal  rush  and  bustle  ; 
and  even  more  enlightened  and  in- 
telligent travellers  so  far  put  them- 
selves at  a  disadvantage  that  their 
thought-;  and  minds  are  still  wholly 
occupied  with  their  own  country, 
and  its  news  and  ways,  while  they 
snatch  a  hurried  glimpse  of  another 
— especially  as  that  other  is  for  them 
almost  exclusively  a  "  geographical 
expression,"  a  mass  of  mountains, 
passes,  lakes,  and  glaciers,  never 
made  into  recognisable  human  soil 
by  any  relationships  between  the 
inhabitants  and  the  visitors  be- 
yond those  of  steady  extortion  on 
one  side  and  violent  objurgation  on 
the  other.  Were  it  not  that  one  is 
deterred  from  lively  ridicule  by  a 
certain  sense  that  one  is  liable  in 
one's  own  person  to  comment  of 
the  same  amusing  description,  there 
is  scarcely  any  exhibition  of  modern 
life  more  absurd  than  the  aspect  of 
an  English  party  in  the  act  of  doimj 
a  famous  point  of  view.  Any  at- 
tempt at  enthusiasm  under  such 
awful  circumstances  is  enough  to 
compromise  the  character  of  the  un- 
happy individual  who  commits  it  for 
half  his  life — and  indeed  the  ortho- 
dox rule  of  behaviour  on  such  occa- 
sions seems  to  demand  that  each  of 
the  company  should  confidentially 
express  to  some  other  his  sense  of 
the  utter  bore  to  which  he  is  being 
subjected,  and  his  profound  convic- 
tion that  fine  scenery  is  a  delusion. 
These  were  thy  sentiments,  dear 
countryman,  on  the  heights  of  the 
Gemini,  on  the  sweetest  August 
morning — thou  whose  accent  breath- 
ed of  Edinburgh,  and  who  carriedst 
"  W.S."  stamped  all  over  thy  sub- 
stantial frame  and  jovial  features. 
But  the  ineffable  sickness  which 
possessed  thce  for  anything  in  the 
shape  of  a  mountain  by-no  means 
impaired  thy  relish  for  the  distant 
glacier,  which  no  one  else  of  discreet 
years  had  ambition  enough  to  scale  ; 
and  the  austere  pathway  grew  plea- 
sant when  it  became  known  to  thee 
that  ears  not  unacquainted  with  the 
gossip  of  thy  beloved  town  were 
at  hand  to  listen.  And  the  fact  is, 


that  to  the  critic  who  writes,  the 
liveliest  impression  which  remains 
of  that  marvellous  pass  is  not  of  the 
lovely  woodland  ways  in  which  it 
commences,  nor  of  the  wonderful 
desolation  of  the  loftier  heights,  nor 
even  of  the  dix/y  slope  of  the  de- 
scent towards  Lcukerbad,  bewilder- 
ing to  look  at,  and  dangerous  to 
tread,  but  of  the  two  men  who 
talked  and  walked  and  looked 
Edinburgh,  who  uttered  gossip  re- 
freshing to  hear,  and  were  as  easy 
to  be  identified  as  if  they  had  carried 
the  emblems  of  their  profession,  like 
the  number  of  a  regiment,  on  their 
dusty  tourist  -  hats.  Though  the 
names  of  our  dear  compatriots  are 
unknown  to  us,  do  not  we  cherish 
their  cheerful  recollection  in  our 
hearts  }  In  fact,  Switzerland  is, 
as  we  have  already  said,  a  geogra- 
phical expression  to  the  wandering 
English — and,  in  addition,  a  place 
where  people  make  acquaintance 
with  their  country-folks;  for  as 
for  human  features,  unless  Alpine 
horns,  black  velvet  bodices,  and 
wood-carvings  may  be  regarded  in 
that  light,  the  country,  as  generally 
seen  and  understood,  has  none. 

Hut  it  is  otherwise  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Alps.  There  the  cnrle^c 
moves  more  slowly,  the  traveller 
lingers  longer,  and  he  is  self-con- 
tained indeed  who  does  not  link 
himself  somehow  in  human  associa- 
tion with  something  Italian.  This 
is  all  a  long  digression  out  of 
Capri,  with  which  we  started,  but 
it  is  in  accordance  with  the  spirit 
of  our  argument  to  take  time  on 
the  way.  Capri  lies  in  the  blue 
Mediterranean,  a  kind  of  ever- 
lasting sentinel  watching  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
The  early  sun  rises  upon  us  in 
the  morning  over  the  wild  height 
of  St  Angelo,  on  the  Sorrento  side, 
and  Ischia  lies  full  in  his  way  to 
the  west,  and  arranges  for  him  a 
magnificent  foreground  for  his  final 
ceremony.  But  Ischia,  and  St  An- 
gelo, and  even  the  heights  of  our 
own  island,  though  more  imposing 
neighbours,  are  not  nearly  so  ready 


74 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


names  upon  our  lips  as  are  the  me- 
lodious names  of  a  crowd  of  good- 
natured,  handsome  people,  who  came 
pouring  down  the  steep  roads  to  give 
us  the  bon  viayyio  when  we  said 
farewell  to  Capri  ;  for  did  not  fare- 
well to  Capri  mean  farewell  to  a 
host  of  Marias  mainly  to  be  distin- 
guished by  secondary  names — to 
Rosina  the  alert  and  skilful,  to 
Carminello  and  Carmiriello's  mother, 
to  ugly  Ilaffael,  and  honest  Luigi, 
and  Feliciello  handy  and  handsome '? 
Such  are  the  kindly  ties  that  link 
even  a  passing  visitor  to  the  dear 
Italian  soil ;  and  indeed,  even  to 
the  most  careless  eye,  the  race  in 
these  regions  is  \vorth  looking 
at.  Capri  is  famed  for  beautiful 
women  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  certain 
number  of  years  ago  several  Eng- 
lish gentlemen,  of  various  degrees, 
making  the  plunge  in  common, 
abandoned  the  usages  of  society 
and  married  Capriote  girls,  pos- 
sessed of  nothing  but  beauty — 
not  even  of  those  universal  facul- 
ties which,  according  to  Dogberry, 
come  by  nature.  The  result  has 
been  sufficiently  successful  in  one 
case  at  least,  where  the  hero  has 
been  rewarded  by  finding  a  notable 
and  buxom  housewife  in  the  nymph 
of  his  choice.  But  since  this  ho- 
locaust of  Englishmen  occurred,  it 
has  been  considered  right  to  say 
that  the  Capri  women  are  beauti- 
ful, an  opinion  enthusiastically 
indorsed  by  a  recent  traveller,* 
who  describes  the  Capriote  girls 
as  resembling  a  procession  of  vir- 
gin queens.  Such  elevated  expres- 
sions can  scarcely  be  applied  to 
our  Marias,  though  among  them 
ranks  a  family  of  three  generations, 
as  good  an  example  of  race  and 
blood  and  handsome  healthfulness 
as  could  be  found  in  any  class. 
Old  Maria  Frederica  is  seventy,  she 
says.  I  fear — I  very  much  fear — 
that  Kaffaelo,  who  is  ugly  as  Satan, 
is  the  youngest  of  her  sons  ;  but 
the  question  has  not  been  subjected 
to  rigorous  proof.  She  herself  is 


as  handsome  an  old  witch  as  any 
painter  could  wish  for ;  a  witch 
benevolent — if  such  a  thing  could 
be — a  benign  sibyl,  who  has  taken 
divination  and  prophecy  in  hand 
in  order  to  wish  with  authority  all 
manner  of  good  things  to  her  clien- 
tele. No  tints  that  can  be  described 
by  ink,  and  few  that  the  richer 
palette  boasts,  could  express  the 
rich  ruddy  russet  brown,  all  lighted 
up  and  sweetened  with  the  crimson 
of  pure  blood  and  perfect  health,  of 
this  old  woman's  face ;  and  to  see 
her  rushing  up  the  long  steep  stony 
stairs — which  are  the  popular  sub- 
stitute for  roads  in  Capri — by  the 
side  of  her  donkey,  not  sparing  to 
urge  that  reluctant  animal  into  a 
trot  if  the  little  signorino  wills  it, 
is  a  sight  to  fill  with  envy  many  a 
man  half  her  age.  Next  to  her 
comes  her  daughter  Maria,  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms,  who  is  not  Maria 
the  third  only  because  that  name 
is  already  claimed  by  the  smiling 
woman-girl,  with  heavy  locks  of 
black  already  twisted  round  the  sil- 
ver spadella, who  holds  the  next  place 
in  the  family,  and  wears,  after  a 
fresher  and  softer  fashion,  the  same 
tints  on  her  cheeks.  The  head- 
dress of  the  old  Maria  consists  of  a 
coloured  handkerchief,  tied  on  in  a 
curious  but  most  simple  fashion, 
forming  the  tiniest  twist  of  turban 
with  three  of  its  corners,  and  per- 
mitting the  fourth  to  hang  down 
behind,  and  veil  her  ancient  parch- 
ment -  coloured  neck.  Maria  the 
second  and  Maria  the  third  wear 
nothing  but  their  hair,  which  is 
black  as  night,  and  reflects  the 
blazing  sunshine,  of  which,  neither 
seems  to  have  any  fear.  This  is  the 
kind  of  beauty  common  in  Capri — 
large  black  shining  eyes,  radiant 
with  fun  and  good-humour,  teeth 
a  great  deal  whiter  than  pearls,  and 
complexion  such  as  itbrightens  one's 
pallor  only  to  look  at.  But  then  such 
a  glow,  which  is  glorious  in  Capri 
against  the  living  blue  of  the  sea 
and  the  wonderful  blaze  of  the  sun, 


'  A  Winter  in  the  Two  Sicilies, '  Ly  Julia  Kavanagh. 


1865.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


mi^ht  make  a  different  impression 
uinid  the  subdued  tones  of  an  Eng- 
lish drawing-room:  and,  on  the 
whole,  we  fear  the  experiment  of 
marriage  is  a  doubtful  one.  i»ut 
that  great  event  of  the  past  has 
not  been  without  its  effect  upon 
public  opinion  and  female  am- 
bition in  our  island.  The  girls  of 
Capri,  in  distinction  to  those  of 
Anacapri,  the  other  village,  which 
is  a  few  thousand  feet  nearer  hea- 
ven, and  less  liable  to  the  incursions 
of  the  Franks  and  Goths,  are  ma- 
liciosa,  Feliciello  says,  and  doubt- 
less he  has  means  of  knowing.  Mn- 
liciosa — apt  to  conduct  themselves 
with  a  mischievous  unwarrantable 
haughtiness,  remembering  the  tri- 
umphs of  their  predecessors  over 
the  Forestieri,  and  not  unhopeful 
of  such  chances  in  their  own  per- 
sons. The  maidens  of  Anacapri 
are  of  less  ambitious  thoughts  ;  and 
there  is  to  be  seen  a  certain  (Jhiara, 
Chiarina,  little  Clara,  clearly  nota- 
ble among  her  peers,  with  hair  of 
Titian's  colour  and  a  head  like  an 
antique  Venus,  who  might  in  a  year 
or  two,  granting  what  is  within  to 
resemble  what  is  outside,  be  worth 
such  a  sacrifice,  if  any  young  beauty 
ever  was — which  is  a  proposition 
one  may  be  permitted  to  doubt. 

The  Capri  men  are  not  all  like 
Feliciello;  but  out  of  our  affection 
for  our  trusty  guide  we  will  let  him 
stand  as  their  representative,  though 
he  comes  from  the  Sorrento  side. 
Feliciello'a  capital  and  stock-in-trade 
consists  of  three  ponies  and  a  wife. 
With  the  first  he  conducts  the  Fo- 
restieri all  over  the  island  ;  and  by 
means  of  the  latter,  a  shrill  and 
nimble  animal  of  burden,  conveys 
the  baggage  of  the  Signori,  and 
many  another  trifle,  up  and  down 
the  steep  and  stony  ways.  If  she 
had  not  been  singularly  ill-favoured, 
it  might  have  been  possible  to  feel 
a  certain  pity  for  Mrs  Feliciello; 
but  that  softer  feeling  was  lost  in 
a  sense  of  indignation  to  find  the 
ugliest  woman  in  the  island,  a  crea- 
ture so  uninteresting  that  we  never 
even  learned  her  name,  in  lawful 


possession  of  our  handsome  guide. 
Alas  !  he  was  not  perfect,  though 
he  was  charming.  It  was  an  inter- 
ested marriage,  our  host  informed 
us  gravely;  not  that  the  poor  wo- 
man possessed  anything-»but  then 
look  at  her  arms  !  none  of  all  her 
compeers  could  carry  such  weights  ; 
and  Felice  had  done  very  well  for 
himself.  His  other  property  was 
equally  serviceable.  A  little  white 
pony,  the  sturdiest  of  his  race,  who 
came  from  Ischia,  and  had  doubtless 
spent  his  baby  days  in  that  cognate 
island,  as  he  spends  his  maturity  in 
Capri,  going  up -stairs  and  down- 
stairs, like  the  goose  in  the  fable, 
was  the  pride  of  Feliciello's  heart. 
Another  of  his  steeds,  whether  by 
means  of  its  saddle,  or  of  something 
characteristic  and  individual  in  its 
physiognomy,  bore  the  most  curious 
resemblance  to  a  dromedary  which 
was  ever  seen  out  of  the  Zoological 
Gardens.  The  third  was  a  fiery 
courser,  which,  when — as  occurred 
at  rare  but  precious  intervals — a 
level  bit  of  road  of  twenty  paces  or 
so  was  to  be  met  with,  could  be 
stimulated  out  of  his  ordinary  com- 
posed pace  into  a  short  and  hard 
trot.  It  was  to  this  spirited  and 
majestic  animal  that  Feliciello  pre- 
ferred his  favourites,  himself  walk- 
ing by  the  stirrup.  Whether  he 
helped  himself  up  the  steep  bits 
of  the  road  by  means  of  the  tail 
I  cannot  attirm,  but  his  assistant, 
Pascorello,  certainly  did;  and  in- 
deed, as  a  general  rule,  preferred 
to  direct  the  good  old  drome- 
dary by  means  of  that  appendage. 
With  this  attendance  how  many 
hills  have  we  climbed,  and  beguiled 
how  many  languid  hours  ! — over 
roads  narrow  and  stony,  and  of  im- 
perial date — the  lioman  roads  that 
once  went  through  the  world — but 
here  all  interspersed  with  stairs, 
and  mostly  hemmed  in  by  Avails, 
over  which  came  heavy  and  sweet 
the  breath  of  the  orange-blossoms 
which  perfume  the  entire  island  ; 
past  cottages  all  white  and  window- 
less,  with  flat  faintly-rounded  roofs 
that  spoke  of  the  Fast,  and  out  up- 


76 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


on  the  free  hillside,  where  all  the 
slopes  were  bristling  with  fantas- 
tic apparitions  of  vegetation,  the 
quaint  and  hideous  prickly  pear. 
But  howsoever  the  road  went,  it  led 
always  to  some  mount  of  vision, 
from  which  the  strangers  could  look 
again  upon  those  unparalleled 
coasts,  the  landscape  which  no 
poet's  imagination  could  surpass, 
and  of  which  even  the  guides  were 
to  a  certain  extent  sensible,  but  in 
a  reasonable  way.  "  Vedi  J\r<t }«>/!, 
e  mori,"  in  humble  quotation  of  the 
proverb,  said  an  English  lady  in  a 
moment  of  enthusiasm.  Feliciello 
stopped  short  by  the  stirrup,  and 
Pascorello  turned  from  his  horse's 
tail.  "  But  why,  signora?"  said  the 
wondering  Capriotes  ;  perhaps  be- 
cause, seeing  Naples  every  day,  they 
felt  no  necessity  for  dying.  With 
peasants,  even  when  they  are  Ital- 
ians, the  sentimental  stands  but 
little  chance.  But  they  were  not 
indifferent  like  the  prosaic  Swiss, 
to  whom  their  mountains  are  a  mat- 
ter of  trade.  A  gleam  of  triumph 
lighted  up  Feliciello's  fine  eyes,  as 
he  found  out  another  and  yet  an- 
other point  of  view.  He  paxised  to 
look  at  it  himself  with  a  certain 
fondness,  grateful,  no  doubt,  to  the 
loveliness  of  nature  which  got  him 
his  living  ;  and  the  landscape  was 
morto  Leila  even  to  the  least  sus- 
ceptible of  the  train. 

It  cannot  be  denied,  however, 
that  they  speak  very  bad  Italian  in 
our  island,  if  we  may  pause  to  say 
so,  and  change  the  /  into  r  with 
ruthless  roughness,  not  to  speak  of 
other  barbarities.  It  would  be  vain 
to  attempt  to  shake  the  popular 
conviction  that  Italian  is  the  most 
musical  and  soft  of  languages, 
though  practically  our  own  opinion 
and  experience  go  against  this 
amiable  fallacy;  but  the  profound- 
est  believer  in  its  beauty  would 
be  startled  to  have  a  villanous 
"  Bash ! "  thrown  at  him  like  a  stone, 
instead  of  the  gentle  "  Basta," 
which  looks  so  well  in  print  ;  and 
would  find  it  hard  to  identify 
"Ashpett"  with  the  liquid  "As- 


petta,"  which  conveys  its  meaning 
in  its  very  sound.  Such  eccentri- 
cities of  popular  diction  are,  how- 
ever, common  to  all  languages  ;  but 
there  is  something  especially  char- 
acteristic in  the  Capriote  affirm- 
ative, "  Niursi,"  which  combines 
respect  and  decision  in  one  of  the 
contractions  dear  to  all  Italians. 
"  Si,  Signore,"  sounds  soft  and 
yielding ;  but  a  woman  who  says 
"  Niursi,"  is  likely  to  know  her 
mind  and  keep  by  her  determina- 
tion. The  same  abrupt  affirmative 
is  to  be  met  with  along  the  Sorren- 
tine  coast,  but  the  Capriotes  pique 
themselves  a  little  on  it  as  their  own 
possession,  and  resent  its  use  by  any 
impertinent  stranger.  It  is,  as  will 
be  seen,  a  simple  compound  of  the 
last  syllable  of  signor  with  the  uni- 
versal si,  according  to  the  Italian 
usage  of  pronouncing  the  respect- 
ful title  first ;  but  the  result  is  a 
response  of  the  most  distinct  and 
uncompromising  sound,  more  like 
a  defiant  negative  than  a  soft  and 
gentle  Yes. 

Those  kind  people  of  whom  we 
have  been  speaking  are  not  badly 
oft'  in  their  way,  though  there  are 
not  above  four  or  five  families  in 
the  community,  according  to  Feli- 
ciello, who  have  meat  on  their  table 
except  twice  in  the  year — at  Easter 
and  Christmas.  Even  maccaroni 
is  food  for  festas.  The  common 
fare  is  wholesome  brown  bread, 
polenta,  beans,  and  vegetables ; 
but  a  family  table  well  supplied 
with  these  substantial  comesti- 
Lili  satisfies  bountifully  the  re- 
quirements of  nature  in  Capri, 
where  life  exists  under  primitive 
conditions.  Manufacture  of  any 
shape  has  not  begun  as  yet ;  but 
there  cannot  be  any  doubt  as  to 
the  patient  and  painstaking  in- 
dustry which  has  brought  under 
cultivation,  up  to  the  very  summits, 
the  steep  hillsides.  To  pass  along 
those  terraced  heights,  where  corn 
and  wine  and  oil  are  being  produced 
upon  tiny  shelves  of  soil  sometimes 
no  broader  than  an  ordinary  table, 
gives  an  impression  of  cheerful, 


Life  in  an  Island, 


77 


steady,  well-rewarded  labour,  which 
I  do  not  remember  to  have  derived 
from  agriculture  on  a  grander  scale. 
It  is  impossible  to  lose  your  way  on 
these  hills,  for  every  little  plateau 
has  of  necessity  its  thread  of  path- 
way, closely  bordered  by  the  brist- 
ling wheat  or  the  heavy  stalks  of 
the  CJran  Turco — under  which  im- 
posing title  maize  is  grown  in  Italy 
— and  its  communications,  more  or 
less  practicable,  with  the  shelf  above 
and  the  shelf  below.  Here  and 
there  precious  olives  give  the  sweet- 
est shade — shade  which  is  at  once 
a  particular  and  a  general  advan- 
tage— Tiot  only  refreshing  the  way- 
farer, but  softening  witli  tranquil 
tones  of  grey  the  brilliancy  of  the 
landscape;  and  vines  run  every- 
where like  the  lizards  ;  and  dewy 
crops  of  flax,  all  starred  with  blue 
blossoms,  wave  softly  about  in  the 
breeze.  If  anywhere  an  ambitious 
landholder  covets  a  hedge  for  his 
possessions,  he  finds  the  prickly  pear 
ready  to  his  hand,  standing  about 
in  all  kinds  of  corners,  like  the 
grotesque  but  faithful  dwarf  of 
medieval  story.  And  over  homely 
cabbages  and  huge  artichokes,  and 
the  heavy-blossomed  spikes  of  the 
lupin,  from  which  comes  the  large 
white  fere  so  popular  in  these  re- 
gions, fall  abrupt  blotches  of  sha- 
dow from  the  fig-trees,  upon  which 
the  green  figs  push  out,  blunt  and 
shapeless,  among  the  half-developed 
leaves.  As  for  the  oranges,  they 
have  gardens  to  themselves,  where 
they  hang  all  the  year  round  in  de- 
licious gradation — the  blossoms  on 
one  bough,  the  ripe  fruit  on  an- 
other, hanging  like  golden  globes 
among  the  shady  leaves.  As  you 
pull  down  the  richest  bough 
hanging  heavy  with  oranges,  you 
can  make  a  long  arm  and  reach, 
if  you  are  so  wanton,  blossoms 
enough  to  crown  a  bride.  And 
there  are  other  perplexities  of 
choice,  since  the  tree  at  one  side  of 
you  bears  the  compact  little  man- 
darins, with  their  peculiar  fragrance 
arid  invariable  sweetness  ;  and  on 
the  other  hang  pale  sweet  lemons, 


which  you  must  eat  for  the  name  of 
the  thing,  though  the  produce  is 
less  satisfactory  ;  and  then  there  is 
the  citron,  with  the  rind  (which  is 
the  best  of  it)  an  inch  thick,  filled 
with  a  meaningless  pulp,  which 
does  not  count  for  much.  These 
orange-gardens  are  walled  in,  and 
have  careful  appliances  for  irriga- 
tion, which  indeed  are  common  to 
all  the  cultivation  of  Capri ;  and 
some  of  them  still  preserve  the 
reservoirs,  built  large  and  deep,  of 
the  everlasting  Ixoinan  masonry, 
which  are  as  old  as  Tiberius — whose 
name,  by  the  way,  reminds  us,  lectors 
ciu-'tMiiiKi,  that  by  dint  of  gossip 
about  our  friends  and  their  mode  of 
living,  we  have  delayed  as  yet  our 
lawful  business  as  cicerone,  and  have 
not  taken  you  to  see  the  sights. 

There  are  in  Capri  four  lesser 
and  one  greater  height,  between 
which  lies  all  the  habitable  and 
fertile  part  of  the  island.  The 
highest  mountain -head  is  Monte 
Solaro,  a  towering  mass  of  limestone, 
on  one  side  of  which,  on  a  larger 
shelf  than  usual,  lies  among  the 
clouds  the  village  of  Anacapri,  al- 
ready mentioned ;  and  under  the 
shelter  of  this  great  hill,  and  de- 
fended east  and  west  by  the  lesser 
heights,  occurs  the  valley,  if  it  can 
be  so  called,  or  rather  the  lower 
ridge,  saddle-shaped,  and  sloping 
down  to  the  sea  on  both  sides,  in 
which  Capri  proper,  with  its  cathe- 
dral, its  dismantled  convent,  and 
indefensible  gates,  occupies  the 
centre  of  the  landscape.  Seaward, 
at  both  ends  of  the  island,  great 
precipices,  1800  feet  or  more  of 
sheer  ascent  from  the  water,  rise 
up  in  perpendicular  austerity,  com- 
municating none  of  the  secrets  they 
hold  in  their  bosom  ;  although  such 
secrets  as  the  Blue  Grotto,  and  the 
scarcely  less  beautiful  Passagio 
Verde,  might  be  worth  bragging  of. 
Between  these  mighty  ramparts, 
looking  towards  Naples,  appears 
the  soft  edge  of  the  Marina,  with 
its  fringe  of  boats,  with  olives  and 
orange-gardens  opening  upward  to 
the  white  line  of  the  village,  which 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


lies  like  a  thread  along  the  ridge. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  saddle,  ex- 
actly opposite  the  Marina  Grande, 
the  Piccola  Marina,  a  smaller  but 
lovelier  nook  of  accessible  shore, 
defended  by  immense  corners  of 
rock,  and  populated  by  a  lesser 
population  of  fishing -boats  and 
fisher  children,  turns  its  face  to- 
wards Sicily,  opening  up,  like  the 
other,  its  gardens  and  terraces 
towards  the  village.  Thus  the 
Capriotes  can  contemplate  the  sea 
on  either  side  of  them  from  their 
airy  position.  Of  the  hills  which 
fence  them  from  the  east  and  the 
west,  the  one  to  which  the  stranger 
is  first  led  is  that  called  by  the  pea- 
sants Tiberio,  upon  which  the  most 
articulate  relics  of  the  terrible  Em- 
peror are  to  be  found.  These  con- 
sist chiefly  of  certain  majestic  round- 
ed arches,  like  those  of  the  Temple 
of  Venus  at  Rome,  which  look  out 
from  the  masses  of  rubbish,  gaunt 
and  vacant,  upon  the  new  and  alien 
world  ;  and  a  careful  antiquarian 
might  follow  out,  if  he  would,  to 
some  extent  the  plan  of  tlie  guilty 
palace,  in  which  were  once  enact- 
ed wickednesses  past  thinking  of. 
There  is  even  a  bit  of  pavement  ex- 
tant, perfect  and  clear  mosaic,  the 
floor  apparently  of  a  passage  once 
leading  to  the  sea,  upon  which  un- 
happy paramours  or  trembling  vic- 
tims might  have  fluttered  yester- 
day, for  anything  the  obdurate 
perfection  of  the  path  can  say 
against  it.  The  topmost  height  has 
been  consecrated  by  a  little  chapel 
to  the  glory  of  Our  Lady  of  Succour 
— Santa  Maria  del Soccorso — which 
in  its  way,  if  one  were  disposed  to 
take  the  world  in  a  mythical  aspect, 
and  treat  the  religions  and  the 
vices  of  humanity  as  equally  acci- 
dental, would  look  a  very  fit  poetic 
justice  and  revenge  of  time.  Here, 
where  the  weak  were  once  groiind 
to  powder,  to  set  up  over  the  dead 
force  of  pagan  Rome  that  meek 
image  of  the  suffering  woman,  the 
mother  pitiful  and  tender,  marks 
a  touching  and  wonderful  revolu- 
tion. One  might  even  imagine,  to 


carry  fancy  a  little  farther,  that  the 
Madonna-worship  throughout  Italy 
was  intended  as  a  kind  of  compen- 
sation to  the  ideal  type  of  woman 
for  all  the  hardship  inflicted  on  her 
kind.  The  soft  Italian  is  scarcely 
more  chivalrous  than  was  the  hard- 
hearted Roman.  It  does  not  strike 
him  as  anomalous  that  his  wife 
should  fetch  and  carry  up  and  down 
these  flinty  stairs  like  a  beast  of 
burden,  while  he  walks  unencum- 
bered, or  rides  the  patient  donkey 
as  far  as  the  village  piazza.  Such  a 
division  of  labour  is  counted  natu- 
ral— at  all  events,  in  Capri ;  but  in 
compensation  to  the  sex,  it  is  to 
a  deified  woman  that  he  addresses 
his  prayers.  It  would  be  curious 
to  observe  whether  the  rule  holds 
among  the  more  devoted  votaries  of 
Mary  throughout  the  world. 

But  there  are  better  things  to  be 
seen  on  this  Tiberian  height.  On 
the  highest  point  in  front  of  the 
chapel  is  a  grassy  platform,  upon 
which  the  meek  hermit  who  has 
charge  of  the  little  sanctuary  places 
chairs  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
Signori  and  the  good  of  the  eleemo- 
sina  box  which  hangs  against  the 
wall.  Niccolo  is  not  by  any  means 
an  austere  or  alarming  anchorite, 
but  a  youth  of  two  or  three  and 
twenty,  a  pensive  soul,  half  fright- 
ened at  his  own  temerity  in  dwell- 
ing up  here  among  the  winds ; 
who  cultivates  meekly  a  little  corn 
and  a  few  vegetables  in  the  ruined 
chambers  of  Tiberius,  and  gets 
his  living  painfully,  like  all  the 
other  peasants  of  Capri,  from  the 
produce  of  his  little  shelves  and 
boxes  of  soil.  This  modest  youth, 
who  might  almost,  with  a  little  ide- 
alisation and  a  fillet  in  his  hair, 
stand  for  one  of  the  deacon-angels 
in  an  old  picture,  wisely  says  no- 
thing about  the  landscape,  but  leaves 
it  to  his  visitors  to  enjoy  for  them- 
selves. It  is,  with  enlargements 
and  appendices,  the  same  beautiful 
vision  which  we  have  already  de- 
scribed. All  the  curving  lip  of  the 
bay  is  traced  in  sunshine  with  a 
continuous  line  of  white  towns  and 


1865.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


villages,  broken  here  and  there  by 
vague  promontories  and  stretches 
of  shadowy  beach — from  Torre  del 
Annunziata,  which  lies  perilous  on 
the  dark  skirts  of  Vesuvius,  to  the 
distant  glimmer  of  human  habita- 
tions towards  I'aiio  on  the  other 
side.  And  if  the  sun  is  verging 
towards  the  west,  it  is  over  the 
mountain-mass  of  Ischia,  towering 
high  out  of  the  dazzling  water,  that 
he  sends  the  mist  of  light  which 
seems  to  weave  itself  into  a  chang- 
ing tissue  of  gold  and  purple  upon 
Mount  Kpomeneo,  and  over  the  low- 
lying  hillocks  of  Procida.  To  the 
east,  the  eye,  if  it  could  ever  tire  of 
the  bay  before  it,  can  escape  to  the 
open  sea,  and  to  the  glorious  coast 
towards  Amain,  which  scarcely  con- 
descends to  slope  its  mountainous 
sides  towards  the  sea,  but  yet  holds 
half-way  up  lines  of  inaccessible 
white  towns  perched  among  thecliffs 
and  facing  the  south — or  inez:/>-tfi<»-- 
110,  as  the  Italians  say,  and  it  is  a 
better  word.  Not  the  south,  the  mere 
quarter  from  which  the  winds  blow, 
but  noon  in  full  impersonation,  the 
blazing  joyous  mid-day,  zenith  and 
crown  of  all  the  hours.  These  same 
towns  secure  to  the  landscape  here, 
as  in  most  parts  of  Italy,  that  un- 
failing charm  of  human  interest 
which,  even  when  historical  asso- 
ciations are  wanting,  gives  an  addi- 
tional delight  to  the  scene.  The 
coast  of  the  Gulf  of  Salerno  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  grand  under 
any  circumstances,  yet  but  for  the 
glimmer  of  yonder  inaccessible  Posi- 
tano  on  the  further  headland,  and 
all  the  touches  of  light  between 
which  mark  the  line  of  human  habi- 
tations, it  would  be  but  a  gloomy 
and  silent  grandeur.  And  tragic 
and  terrible  arc  the  memories  that 
Poetry  has  woven  about  that  coast; 
for  yonder  lie  the  tiny  islets — de- 
tached rocks  greened  over  with  de- 
ceitful verdure — where  the  (Sirens 
sang.  A  little  personal  experience 
of  such  storms  as  change  the  face  of 
heaven  in  a  moment,  and  make  the 
skies  darken  and  the  sea  rise,  gives 
a  reality  to  the  tale,  and  makes  one 


hold  one's  breath.  In  the  sudden 
tumult,  through  the  sudden  gloom, 
with  those  vast  dirt's  looming  in 
the  blackness  under  the  lee,  it  is 
not  difficult  to  conjure  up  the  bro- 
ken notes  of  that  song  which  tempt- 
ed the  mariner  to  his  fate.  But  no 
imagination  could  be  more  utterly 
out  of  accord  with  the  caressing 
sweetness  of  this  daylight  sea. 

The  humble  hermit  stands  at  his 
chapel  door,  and  takes  no  heed  of 
one's  musings  ;  and  unless  it  were 
a  weary  ghost  of  Tiberius's  day,  or 
perhaps  a  more  recent  spectre  of 
one's  own,  there  is  nothing  here  to 
interrupt  the  silence.  The  sea 
comes  very  softly  to  the  foot  of  the 
precipice,  sheer  down  eighteen  hun- 
dred feet,  and  breathes  upwards  a 
compassionate  hush,  so  soft  and 
oft  repeated  that  one  comes  to  feel 
as  if  he  meant  it,  and  had  woven 
the  observation  of  ages,  the  result 
of  all  his  long  spectatorship  of  hu- 
man grief,  into  that  one  compas- 
sionate syllable.  Hush  !  Jf  you  lis- 
ten, you  will  find  that  the  very  air 
has  caught  the  trick,  and  breathes  it 
after  him  in  keys  as  softly  varied  as 
the  tones  of  a  poet.  It  is  not  like  the 
Sirens'  song.  This  still  ocean  has 
no  thrilling  invitation  to  give,  no 
secret  pleasures  to  offer;  but  round 
the  storied  coasts,  where  he  has 
seen  so  much,  and  where,  perhaps, 
by  times,  a  groan  over  human  mis- 
ery has  rent  his  great  bosom,  and 
driven  him  to  passion,  he  comes 
now  in  his  milder  mood  with  a 
dispassionate  but  tender  pity.  Has 
not  he  too  seen  nights  of  sadness 
and  misery,  days  of  tempest  and 
tribulation,  in  which  the  sun  went 
down  at  noon  1  But  still  the 
morning  and  the  calm  returned 
in  their  time.  The  moral  is  too 
vast  for  human  life,  in  which  there 
is  neither  time  nor  space  for  the 
everlasting  renovations  of  which 
nature  is  capable  ;  but  there  is  a  cer- 
tain healing  in  the  sound,  imperson- 
al though  it  is.  Few  human  crea- 
tures could  pause  here  on  Tiberio 
without  an  access  of  thought.  It 
was  here,  close  by,  that  the  vie- 


80 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


tims  of  the  wicked  Emperor  were 
pitched  headlong  from  the  terrific 
Salto  into  the  soft  remorseful  sea. 
And  there,  where  Niccolo's  inno- 
cent gourds  are  growing,  the  walls 
that  confine  the  little  plot  are 
the  walls  of  the  Camarelli,  infernal 
chambers,  which  even  the  lloman 
people,  not  too  scrupulous,  razed 
wellnigh  to  the  ground  for  horror 
of  the  vice  once  practised  there — 
which  has  all  given  place,  as  we 
have  said,  to  the  meek  image  of 
Our  Lady  of  Succour  and  her  lonely 
little  chapel.  And  was  it  not  yon- 
der, on  the  cloudy  skirts  of  Vesu- 
vius, that  in  a  moment,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  a  city  passed 
from  life  to  death  1  The  worst  of 
it  is  that  from  those  big  recollec- 
tions that  belong  to  the  world,  the 
solitary  muser  naturally  turns  to 
recollections  of  his  own,  which 
may,  heaven  knows,  be  as  sad  as 
Pompeii,  but  are  not  equally  inter- 
esting to  other  men.  Wherefore 
let  us  take  into  our  heart,  as  best 
we  may,  that  soft  and  abstract 
compassion  of  the  sea,  which  is  for 
us  and  for  all.  Hush !  What  more 
can  anything  mortal  say  ? 

And  there  are  the  boats  skim- 
ming like  birds  towards  Sicily, 
which  lies  yonder  lost  in  the  blue 
heavens  ;  and  here,  at  our  left  hand, 
the  white  skiffs  from  Sorrento 
linger  underneath  the  cliffs  waiting 
for  the  Forestieri,  who  have  gone 
to  the  Blue  Grotto,  and  stay  there 
so  long  beyond  anybody's  patience, 
that  the  forlorn  boatmen  shout 
"  Maccaronii ! "  to  each  other  as  they 
pass,  by  way  of  keeping  up  their 
spirits — for  is  not  that  a  specific  for 
all  troubles  1  "  Coragc/io  a  voi,  mac- 
caroni  a  noi,"  says  Feliciello,  show- 
ing a  want  of  refinement  in  the  use 
of  the  second  person  plural  which 
wounds  one's  feelings.  As  we  come 
down  the  hill,  it  will  be  worth  your 
while  to  step  aside  to  the  Salto,  and 
watch  the  quick  seconds  whirling 
round  on  your  watch,  while  the  at- 
tendant there  makes  the  usual 
experiment  on  your  behalf  by 
pitching  down  a  stone  sufficiently 


heavy  to  be  heard  as  it  dashes  on 
the  rocks  below.  The  seconds  pass 
quickly,  to  be  sure ;  but  the  sense  of 
time  which  grows  upon  the  listener 
watching  that  noiseless  finger  speed 
round  its  entire  circuit  while  he 
waits  for  the  crash  below,  has  some- 
thing awful  in  it.  How  many 
thoughts  might  have  had  time  to 
rush  through  the  doomed  brain  as  it 
whirled  down  that  awful  abyss  to  be 
dashed  on  the  hideous  rocks  ! — and 
from  that  thought,  somehow,  one's 
mind  leaps,  I  cannot  tell  why,  to 
one  of  the  liveliest  of  modern  con- 
troversies, arid  wonders,  in  the  mat- 
ter of  punishment,  what  does  Lord 
Westbury  think  would  be  a  long 
enough  term  for  such  a  likely  peni- 
tent as  this  same  Tiberius — or  what 
could  be  made  of  him,  if  he  ever 
made  his  way  out  of  the  everlast- 
ing prisons  1  This  is  a  matter  in 
respect  to  which  the  untrained  and 
arbitrary  mind  has  an  advantage 
over  its  superiors  ;  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  it  would  be  a  great 
satisfaction,  in  respect  to  the  Tiberii 
of  all  ages  and  nations,  if  one  could 
hope  that  their  spiritual  necks  were 
broken  over  some  grand  Salto,  and 
themselves  made  a  summary  end 
of  at  once  and  for  ever— which, 
however,  is  an  expedient  which  it 
is  to  be  feared  would  please  neither 
party  in  the  polemical  question. 
In  case  his  victims  by  any  happy 
chance  should  escape  the  rocks 
and  plunge  into  the  sea,  thus  gain- 
ing a  possibility  of  escape,  there 
were  boats  waiting  underneath, 
under  the  awful  upright  gloom 
of  those  noble  cliffs,  with  spears 
ready  for  the  unfortunates,  who 
surely,  if  Dante  had  regulated  the 
business,  would  have  been  pro- 
vided with  a  red-hot  spear  or  two 
to  receive  their  murderer  upon 
when  he  came  to  join  them.  But 
these  images  are  too  gruesome 
for  the  Capri  sunshine,  which  has 
nothing  to  do  with  murder ;  and 
the  best  thing  we  can  do,  when  we 
have  descended  the  hill,  is  to  follow 
the  level  road — the  only  level  road 
in  the  island — which  leads  through 


1865.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


81 


the  heart  of  cultivation  and  civili- 
sation, to  the  point  of  Tregara, 
where,  in  the  full  sea  which  throbs 
away  from  this  sunny  beach  to 
Sicily  and  Africa  and  all  the  sou- 
thern world,  stand  the  gigantic 
rocks  called  the  Faraglioni,  three 
mighty  limestone  towers  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  land.  From  this 
point  all  the  amateur  artists  make 
their  first  sketches,  and  doubtless 
also  many  artists  who  are  some- 
thing more  than  amateurs.  The 
water  beats  dazzling  upon  the  ever- 
lasting foundation  of  these  wonder- 
ful landmarks,  and  sweeps  through 
the  chill  magnificent  arch  which 
pierces  the  heart  of  the  biggest 
rock,  and  above  them  flutter  white 
Hocks  of  sea-birds,  called  monac/ii 
by  the  natives,  which  make  their 
nests  in  the  cliffs.  Nothing  could 
be  more  different  than  the  aspect 
of  affairs  here  and  in  the  scene 
we  have  just  quitted.  On  that 
side  so  much  variety  and  so  many 
associations ;  on  this,  only  the  ab- 
solute and  arbitrary  sea,  with  those 
three  gigantic  rocks  standing  out 
of  it,  and  the  quail-nets  spread 
upon  the  solitary  beach.  The  scene 
could  not  bo  more  peaceful  if  the 
Faraglioni  had  been  put  in  harness, 
as  becomes  their  name,  and  had 
grown  to  be  the  Pharos  of  that 
waste  of  water,  doing  human  ser- 
vice in  the  most  noble  and  touching 
office  which  Nature  can  hold  for 
man.  But  the  dark  rocks  are  more 
congenial  than  any  charitable  beacon 
to  the  tragic  coast  of  the  Sirens, 
and  there  they  stand,  to  warn  if 
anybody  could  see  them,  to  crush 
to  powder  if  any  hapless  little 
vessel  swung  against  their  stony 
masses  in  the  despair  and  blackness 
of  a  storm.  And  now  let  us  go  back 
along  the  flowery  road,  where  the  figs 
and  the  olives  throw  sweet  patches 
of  shadow,  and  all  the  hill  below, 
and  all  the  hill  above,  runs  over  with 
luxuriant  growth,  confusing  the 
lines  of  the  terraces  by  the  profu- 
sion of  vegetation,  and  mantling  up 
all  the  walls  and  steps  in  emerald 
green ;  the  sun  has  gone  down  be- 
VOL.  xcvii. — NO.  i>xci. 


hind  Solaro,  behind  Ischiu,  if  we 
could  but  sec  it;  and  before  we  are 
aware,  the  bell  of  the  Ave  Maria 
rings  out  from  the  old  church,  and 
darkness,  swift  and  sudden,  falls 
upon  earth  and  sea. 

Next  day,  with  a  calm  sea  and 
no  wind  to  speak  of,  we  will  take 
you  to  the  Grotto  Azzurro,  which 
hides  round  the  dark  cliffs  yonder, 
in  a  secrecy  so  great  that  it  is  easy 
to  believe  that  chance  alone  redis- 
covered that  wonderful  fairy  vault. 
The  Mediterranean  is  sweet,  and 
sweeter  still  is  the  Bay  of  Naples; 
but  that  ideal  sea,  upon  which  ordi- 
nary persons  can  launch  fairy  skill's 
and  float  about  for  ever  without 
inconvenience,  is  still  hidden  in 
the  clouds,  like  most  other  ideal 
things ;  and  delicious  as  the  blue 
water  is  to  look  at,  it  would  be  vain 
to  disguise  the  fact  that  those  long 
soft  undulations  are  evidences  of  a 
swell  anything  but  agreeable  to  un- 
practised travellers.  When  we  have 
passed  the  cheerful  Marina,  and  run, 
alarmingly  close,  along  the  base  of 
the  great  precipices  towards  the  west, 
it  is  bewildering  to  see  the  Sorrento 
boats  lie  waiting  opposite  a  huge 
dead  mass  of  rock,  which  looks  as 
impenetrable  as  an  Alp,  and  shows 
no  opening,  unless  that  tiny  pigeon- 
hole on  the  level  of  the  sea,  three 
feet  high,  and  not  much  more  wide, 
should  happen  to  be  the  gateway 
for  which  our  boatman  aims.  There 
is  just  width  enough  for  a  little 
boat  to  pass,  and  you  have  to  crouch 
down  in  the  bottom,  with  your 
head  on  a  level  with  the  seat  you 
have  just  been  occupying,  as  we 
shoot  through  the  narrow  gloomy 
arch.  Within  you  open  your  eyes 
upon  a  scene  too  solemnly  and 
mysteriously  beautiful  to  be  ade- 
quately described  by  the  wondering 
exclamation  of  "Fairyland!"  which 
most  people  make  on  entering;  de- 
noting by  that  word  that  they  are 
altogether  perplexed  and  bewilder- 
ed for  the  moment  by  something 
beyond  what  imagination  has  ever 
conceived.  When  you  have  recov- 
ered your  senses  after  the  first  awe 
F 


82 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan- 


of  that  blue  twilight,  the  outlines 
of  this  strange  temple  of  nature 
grow  clear — that  is,  as  clear  as  any- 
thing can  be  through  the  azure  mist, 
in  which  your  neighbour's  face  is 
as  the  face  of  a  spirit,  and  flesh  and 
blood  grow  white  and  ethereal,  sub- 
limated out  of  all  the  tints  of  life. 
It  is  the  light  that  never  was  on 
sea  or  land  that  dwells  in  this  little 
sanctuary  in  the  bosom  of  the  seas ; 
light  not  of  the  sun  or  the  moon, 
but  something  mysterious  between 
the  two ;  blue  daylight  so  changed 
and  mysticised  by  its  passage  through 
the  blue  water,  that  there  is  no 
familiar  feature  left  by  which  to 
recognise  the  well-known  morning. 
It  is  not  that  the  limestone  arcli  is 
blue,  but  that  the  reflection  from 
the  marvellous  tint  of  the  water, 
which  is  like  the  blue  of  a  forget- 
me-not  or  a  child's  eyes,  floats 
about  it  in  a  magical  haze  of  reflec- 
tion, shrouding  its  austere  propor- 
tions, and  making  the  rugged  grot 
into  a  mystic  chapel.  As  the  boat 
glides  noiseless  over  the  sapphire 
floor,  the  soft  silence  hushes  out 
even  the  joyous  voices  that  are 
hushed  nowhere  else.  Nothing  less 
lofty  than  a  Te  Deum  should  wake 
the  echoes  of  that  solemn  vault. 
In  the  gloom  at  the  upper  end,  the 
swart  boatman,  perched  on  a  ledge 
of  a  rock,  looks  like  a  great  white 
angel,  fit  to  be  there;  and  here, 
from  where  the  altar  should  be,  to 
look  at  the  ever-brightening  blue, 
as  it  opens  to  the  narrow  arch,  is 
like  looking  into  some  blue  door- 
way in  the  sky,  such  as  must  lead 
to  heaven.  Hush  !  here  comes  an- 
other boat,  black  and  noiseless, 
with  bowing  heads,  that  sink  to  the 
level  of  the  sea,  and  one  solemn 
crouching  figure  at  the  prow,  guid- 
ing the  silent  voyage.  Is  it  Charon, 
with  his  fixed  blank  eyes  and  help- 
less passengers  1  or  is  it  only  a 
ruddy  English  party  from  Sorrento, 
with  all  the  roses  quenched  out  of 
their  cheeks  by  what  looks  like  awe, 
but  is  perhaps  only  atmosphere  1 
Away  before  they  recover  them- 
selves and  begin  to  talk,  for  here 


comes  another  and  another  boat ; 
and  again  we  make  our  obeisances, 
and  steal  out  like  banished  souls 
into  the  garish  sunshine  and  the 
unveiled  day. 

One  of  the  scenes  in  Hans  Chris- 
tian Andersen's  novel  of  the  '  Im- 
provisatore,'  a  book  in  which  the 
Swedish  sentimentalist  has  made 
use  of  his  travels,  is  laid  in  this 
Blue  Grotto  ;  and  it  is,  if  we  recol- 
lect rightly,  a  scene  of  mystery  and 
passion,  in  which  the  hero  has  a 
tantalising  glimpse  of  the  heroine, 
and  everything  ends  in  throbbing 
pulses,  breaking  hearts,  and  a  cli- 
max of  vague  and  wordy  excitation. 
But  anything  less  like  passion  or 
excitement  of  any  kind  than  this 
vault  of  misty  azure  can  scarcely  be 
conceived.  He  would  be  a  bold 
man,  and  yet  a  foolish  one,  who 
would  try  love-making  in  such  a 
scene,  much  less  flirtation.  The 
only  feeling  in  the  least  like  its  ef- 
fect which  we  can  remember,  is  that 
sense  of  subdued  sensation,  if  one 
might  use  such  an  expression,  the 
tranquillising  awe  that  steals  over 
a  mind  subject  to  such  influences 
in  a  Gothic  crypt,  more  especially 
one  from  which  all  the  worship  and 
the  decoration  has  departed.  If 
the  Catholic  Church,  always  so 
ready  to  note  and  profit  by  the  ac- 
cidental sanctities  of  locality,  had 
consecrated  the  Grotto  Azzurro,  no 
one  could  have  been  surprised. 
Stoop  down  and  hold  your  breath, 
as  we  shoot  again  all  darkling 
through  the  arch  which  hangs  heavy 
with  salt  sea-dew.  "It  is  not  true 
— it  is  not  real — it  is  a  dream,"  says 
some  one,  and  Feliciello  opens  his 
brown  eyes  a  little  wider,  and  shows 
his  white  teeth  through  his  beard. 
What  next  will  they  say,  these  in- 
credible Forestieri  1  Not  real !  and 
yet  how  many  honest  fellows  make 
their  living  by  it,  and  but  for  this 
little  stealthy  archway  and  the  scene 
to  which  it  opens,  could  no  more 
afford  to  marry  and  multiply  than 
our  guide  himself  could  manage  to 
live  without  Tiberio !  But  though 
Feliciello  smiles,  he  does  not  con- 


1865.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


83 


descend  to  any  other  notice  of  so 
ridiculous  an  exclamation.  The 
Blue  Grotto  i.s  part  of  his  manor, 
and  of  the  estate  of  Antonino  of 
Sorrento,  and  many  another ;  and 
as  for  the  nonsense  uttered  by  the 
Signori  Inglesi  in  their  bad  Italian, 
who  pays  any  attention?  And  now, 
as  the  swell  has  fallen  a  little,  let 
us  pluck  up  a  heart  and  make  our 
way  round  the  island  in  Luigi's 
big  boat,  with  four  stout  rowers, 
who  take  their  business  very  quiet- 
ly. These  four  lithe  brown  figures, 
who  stand  to  their  oars,  propelling 
their  boat,  not  in  our  English 
fashion,  seated,  but  standing,  and 
with  their  faces  to  the  prow,  in 
their  red  Phrygian  caps  and  scanty 
white  under-gannent,  bear  a  char- 
acter more  fitting  the  place  than 
any  decorous  British  boat's  crew, 
though  Luigi  himself,  in  the  blue 
coat  he  wears  on  Sundays,  looks 
twenty  times  more  like  a  Scotch 
elder  than  a  Neapolitan  marinaro. 
Past  the  softened  cliffs,  which  form 
a  bulwark  to  the  high  table-land 
on  which  Anacapri  lies  unseen 
among  the  clouds;  past  the  little 
tower  which  commands  the  one 
accessible  point  on  this  iron-bound 
coast,  the  little  rocky  landing- 
place  at  Limbo  ;  past  the  wild 
bastion  that  confronts  Ischia  and 
the  setting  sun  ;  and  now  again  we 
sweep  along  by  the  foot  of  frightful 
precipices  to  the  south,  rocks  rising 
into  such  a  line  of  rocky  needles, 
sharp  and  gigantic,  as  remind  one 
of  the  Aiguilles  farther  north  among 
the  eternal  snows.  But  it  is  rare 
indeed  that  the  snow  lies  at  Capri, 
and  all  those  peaks  of  rock  burn  all 
day  long  in  the  full  sun.  Down 
below,  at  the  base  of  those  tremen- 
dous cliffs,  lies  the  Grotto  Verde,  no 
secret  and  sacred  place  like  the 
other,  but  a  wonderful  brief  pas- 
sage riven  through  the  rocks,  which 
glow  inside  with  a  sulphureous 
golden  green,  and  throw  upon  the 
water  deep  emerald  reflections, 
strange  to  behold  in  the  midst  of 
that  blue  sea  ;  for  blue  and  green 
are  not  comparative  expressions  in 


the  Bay  of  Naples,  but  mean  to  the 
fullest  extent  the  colour  they  re- 
present :  and  the  green  of  that 
marvellous  opening,  as  our  boat 
pushes  cautiously  through  it,  grind- 
ing on  the  rocks  on  either  side,  is 
greener  than  any  verdure  about 
Capri — green  like  nothing  but  the 
brilliant  profound  tint  of  the  emer- 
ald ;  though  it  requires  but  one  long 
sweep  of  the  oars,  one  bend  of  the 
brown  unanimous  figures,  to  carry 
us  over  patches  of  deep  indigo  into 
the  common  heaven  of  blue,  the 
universal  Mediterranean  colour. 
And  here  now  comes  the  little 
Marina,  and  that  lovely  pool  shut 
in  by  rocks,  and  sweet  with  such 
bewildering  tints  and  gradations  of 
colour  as  would  drive  any  painter 
wild,  which  we  have  christened 
Diana's  Bath.  Most  good  things 
known  in  the  world  are  to  be  had 
in  England,  but  colour  is  one  of 
the  few,  the  wondrous  few,  that  are 
wanting.  It  seems  to  develop  a 
new  sense  when  the  sober  British 
eye  begins  to  take  in  all  this  incon- 
ceivable wealth.  The  water  itself 
gradually  lightening  out  of  its  blue- 
ness,  as  it  steals  along  more  and 
more  shallow  to  the  silver  sand,  co- 
quetting through  every  charming 
subterfuge  of  azure  and  green  and 
grey  before  it  breaks  at  last  upon 
the  little  pebbles,  and  owns  itself 
only  a  limpid  medium  for  all  re- 
flections, colourless  in  itself.  And 
then  the  rocks  that  have  tossed 
themselves  about  as  if  in  sport  to 
secure  these  coy  and  tender  wave- 
lets, throwing  a  stone  or  two  into 
the  shape  of  an  arch,  to  be  sure,  as 
is  the  fashion  of  the  island  ;  what 
cool  tones  of  brown  and  grey — what 
wild  sulphureous  touches  —  what 
russet  stains  that  burn  red  in  the 
sun  !  The  recollections  of  this  day's 
voyage  might  suffice  to  brighten  up 
the  leaden  shadows  for  a  whole 
lifetime  at  home. 

It  is  just  possible  that  on  the  face 
of  the  precipice,  as  we  rounded 
the  rocks  this  morning  from  the 
Marina,  you  might  see  some  faint 
zigzag  lines  scratched  with  an  air 


Life  in  an  Island, 


[Jan. 


of  meaning ;  and  as  the  days  are 
endless  on   paper,   and  fatigue  an 
unknown    accident,    we    will  take 
another   direction   this   time,    and 
show  you  their  signification.     Here, 
for  some  reason  which  we  cannot 
explain,  perhaps  because  it  lies  too 
much  under  the  shadow  of  Monte 
Solaro    for    great    productiveness, 
the  higher  slope  is  left  to  nature, 
and    has   grown    into    a    wild  and 
sweet   thicket   of   myrtle   and    ar- 
butus,   through     which    the    path 
climbs  and  winds  amid  such  a  flush 
of  cistus- blossoms  as  were  never 
seen  before.      A  little   earlier  the 
wood    was    starred    all   over  with 
cyclamens,    and    earlier   still    per- 
fumed the  very  world  with  violets. 
You    may     still     have     fragrance 
enough,  if  you  crush  under  foot  as 
you  pass    by  a   handful   of   those 
abundant  myrtle-leaves.     It  is  here 
our  industrious  friends,  ever  anxious 
to  turn  an  honest  penny,  find  the 
walking-sticks  which  kind  Santella 
sells  —  but  hereafter  you  shall  hear 
about     Santella.       In     the    mean 
time,   let    us    brush    through    the 
fragrant  wood  as  far  as  the  path 
will  take  us.     All  this  time  have 
you  not  been  regarding  with  silent 
wonder  and  dismay  the  path  which 
goes   forward    so   boldly,  as  if   it 
meant  to  lead  to  somewhere,  and 
then  all  at  once  stops  short  before 
those  scratches  on  the  face  of  the 
precipice  1     But  do  not  be  afraid  ! 
To  be  sure,  the  Gem  mi  itself  is  less 
perpendicular  ;  but  you  may  be  sure 
it  is  a  practicable  road,  by  which 
the    lloman  engineers  of  the  im- 
perial days  scaled  the  inaccessible 
height.     It  is  wrong,  however,  to 
call  it  a  road,  for  it  is,  on  the  con- 
trary,  a  great  stair,  five   hundred 
steps  and  more,  turning  from  right 
to  left,  and  from  left  to  right,  in  an 
endless  series  of  sharp  angles,  up 
which  the    ponies    (without   their 
riders,  however)  clamber  almost  as 
nimbly  as  the  women,  who  carry  up 
and  down  all  that  Anacapri  needs 
of  provisions,  and  all  the  wood  that 
is  used  in  the  lower  village.  Steadily 
up  and  down,  without  an  additional 


shade  of  colour  or  a  quickening 
respiration,  they  march  with  those 
great  bundles  on  their  heads,  fag- 
gots of  wood  or  bales  of  "  roba," 
underneath  which  the  faces  glance 
"  maliciosa,"  as  Feliciello  says;  not 
beautiful  faces  in  general,  though 
sometimes  a  straight  and  sullen 
Grecian  profile  strikes  out  against 
the  background  of  rock,  perfect  in 
form,  though  not  so  attractive 
as  the  commoner  type,  which, 
radiant  in  deep  colour,  bright  eyes, 
crisp  hair,  and  pearly  teeth,  goes 
into  developments  of  nose  and  chin 
less  regular  than  the  classic  ideal. 
When  you  have  reached  the  top  of 
the  stair,  here  is  the  table-land  of 
Anacapri,  probably  the  most  fertile 
part  of  the  island,  though,  but  for 
that  stair,  no  traveller  arriving  in  a 
legitimate  manner  at  the  Marina 
could  so  much  as  guess  at  the 
existence  of  the  soft  and  fruitful 
slope  which  embosoms  the  white 
village  in  foliage  more  luxuriant 
than  anything  below.  Here  the 
corn,  the  wine,  and  oil  grow  to- 
gether, emblems  of  plenty;  and  any 
wild  bit  of  soil  that  the  thrifty 
cultivators  may  have  suffered  to 
escape  them,  is  blue  with  rough 
bright  borage  dear  to  the  bees. 
It  is  difficult  to  imagine  anything 
more  Oriental  than  our  Capri  cot- 
tages, both  above  and  below,  which 
are  almost  without  exception  flat- 
roofed,  and  eschew  windows  to 
the  best  of  their  ability,  standing 
mildly  blank  in  a  peaceful  white- 
ness among  their  luxuriant  terraces, 
admitting  little  light  save  by  the 
open  door ;  and  the  narrow  vil- 
lage streets,  where  there  is  scarcely 
room  for  two  people  to  stand  abreast, 
have  something  of  the  same  Eastern 
character.  But  Italy  re-appears  in 
the  little  piazza,  the  universal  vil- 
lage centre,  where  stands  the  church 
and  the  Guardia  Nationale,  and 
the  headquarters  of  the  little  mu- 
nicipality ;  and  where  the  entire 
population  unite  in  directing  the 
eyes  of  the  strangers  to  a  tablet 
in  the  wall,  where  one  reads  in 
English  words  the  record  of  an 


18G5.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


English  soldier's  warfare  and  death 
— Major  Ilamel.  if  our  memory 
serves,  who  had  charge  of  the 
island  and  its  defences  the  last 
time  war  came  Capri-wards.  The 
brave  Englishman  died  for  the 
island  as  used  to  be  our  Kng- 
lish  custom.  One  wonders  what 
had  he  to  do  shedding  honest 
blood  for  the  wondering  peasants, 
who  are  a  great  deal  too  much  ab- 
sorbed, even  in  this  age  of  enlight- 
enment,in  their  own  primitive  busi- 
ness, to  care  much,  now  that  mas- 
sacre and  cruelty  are  no  longer  in 
fashion  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
what  big  kingdom  takes  little  Capri 
in  tow  !  Hut, after  all,  a  man  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  looking  on  at 
everything,  is  scarcely  so  dignified  a 
national  ideal  as  is  even  this  name- 
less Major,  dying  like  a  hero  in 
testimony  of  a  certain  wild  idea,  of 
which  England  was  possessed  once 
upon  a  time,  that  in  the  face  of 
all  big  bullies  and  conquerors  it 
was  she  against  the  world.  Other 
ideas  have  dawned  upon  the  present 
generation  ;  but  still  let  us  be  ex- 
cused if  we  love  our  island  all  the 
better,  because  for  the  sake  of  its 
scarce-regarded  freedom  an  English 
soldier  shed  his  blood. 

This  same  question  of  freedom  ap- 
pears in  a  very  prosaic  light  to  our 
peasants,  who  have,  on  the  whole,  a 
limited  understanding  of  the  whole 
business,  and  speak  with  a  grotesque 
familiarity  of  "  Vittorio,''  whose 
identity  seems  altogether  doubtful 
and  uncertain  to  them.  Even  in 
Capri  the  people  are  aware  what 
the  name  of  Garibaldi  means  ;  but 
Vittorio  is  altogether  an  arbitrary 
sound.  And  liberty  is  dear,  as 
somebody  says — very  de-.ir,  costing 
a  great  deal  more  than  a  paternal 
government;  and  its  advantages  are 
not  so  evident  to  the  honest  man 
whose  affairs  and  interests  are  all 
limited  by  the  precipices  of  Capri, 


as  were  the  advantages  of  another 
exchange  of  government  to  the  so- 
ber Savoyard  in  Chamouni,  who 
explained  that  under  French  rule 
one  could  drink  as  much  as  one 
pleased  and  could  pay  for,  with- 
out any  tyrannical  limit  of  com- 
munal law  to  stop  one's  liquor, 
as  under  the  Italian  regime — a 
sensible  sign  of  liberation,  which 
was  plain  to  the  most  ordinary 
capacity.  15ut  no  such  relaxation 
of  tyranny  has  been  felt  at  Capri, 
where  the  only  thing  quite  certain 
and  apparent  is  that  liberty,  as  we 
have  said,  is  dear.  Nothing  can  be 
more  apparent  indeed,  throughout 
all  this  region  of  Italy,  than  that 
the  political  revolution  is  in  n<> 
sense  a  peasant's  question.  The 
multitude  on  the  lowest  level  has 
been  mute  except  for  Garibaldi  ; 
and  it  is  only  in  the  class  which 
has  attained  at  least  to  the  begin- 
nings of  education,  that  any  real 
comprehension  of  the  matter  is  to 
be  found.  \o  distinction  could 
have  been  more  apparent  than  that 
between  Feliciello's  uninstructed 
peasant-estimate  of  this  question, 
and  the  enlightened  opinion  of  the, 
eldest  member  of  that  brotherhood 
of  talent  which  keeps  the  Cappucini 
Hotel  at  Ainalti.*  Xo  doubt  Mel- 
loni,  as  a  more  responsible  member 
of  the  community,  paid  twice  as 
heavily  for  his  new  privileges  as  an 
Italian  subject  as  our  trusty  Felice 
did.  But  Melloni  belonged  to  the 
middle  class,  and  had  an  eye  be- 
yond the  present  moment,  and  could 
see  with  unquestionable  distinctness 
beyond  the  pictorial  chivalrous  fig- 
ure of  the  Italian  hero  that  altogether 
prosaic  form  of  the  Italian  King, 
which  means  not  only  Victor  Em- 
manuel, but  many  things  unintelli- 
gible to  the  peasant  intelligence. 
The  Amain*  innkeeper  stands  at  the 
lowest  level  of  that  class,  which 
embraces  all  the  intelligence  and 


*  The. youngest  member  of  this  brotherhood,  Francesco,  who  is  tho  cook  of  the 
establishment,  is  not  only  in  that  particular  an  artiste  worthy  <>f  tin<|iialitk*<l 
approbation,  but  is  the  possessor  of  a  tenor  such  as  one  seldom  hears,  with  which 
he  does  not  refuse,  on  due  solicitation,  to  charm  his  guests. 


80 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


enterprise  of  Italy;  and  it  is  by 
this  vast  body,  a  body  at  once  more 
picturesque  and  more  real  than  the 
corresponding  class  in  England,  and 
not  by  the  usual  concomitants  of  re- 
volution, the  peasants  and  the  no- 
bles, that  Italy  has  changed  hands. 
Melloni's  sentiments  on  the  subject 
of  taxation,  the  most  difficult  of  all 
subjects  to  a  people  unaccustomed 
to  personal  sacrifices,  were  such  as 
would  have  filled  any  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  with  gratitude  and 
admiration ;  whereas  the  poor  Cap- 
riotes  groan,  not  blaming  "Vitto- 
rio" — rather,  on  the  whole,  feeling 
a  kind  of  pride  in  him,  as  in  some 
kind  of  unknown  ogre,  who  has 
proved  his  right  to  the  kingdom  in 
the  primitive  way,  by  taking  when 
he  had  the  power — but  quite  un- 
able to  conceive  why  they  should 
pay  so  much  more  for  this  new 
article,  which,  after  all,  at  a  level  of 
life  so  primitive  as  theirs,  is  a  ques- 
tion important  enough  to  swallow 
up  a  good  many  more  visionary 
considerations. 

As  we  thread  the  village  streets 
and  stairs  on  our  way  home,  pass- 
ing various  forlorn  couples  of  old 
soldiers,  invalids  of  the  Italian 
army,  who  inhabit  the  lofty  cham- 
bers of  the  old  Certosa,  or  Carthus- 
ian convent,  let  us  glance  into 
the  cathedral  in  passing,  where 
at  this  moment,  with  voices  that 
rend  your  ears,  the  village  girls  are 
singing  the  Ave  Maria*.  This  volun- 
tary choir,  which  is  huddled  up  on 
its  knees  in  a  corner  of  the  church, 
and  sings,  or  rather  screams,  the 
Virgin's  litany  in  a  voice  something 
between  that  of  a  hoarse  ballad- 
singer  and  a  peacock,  carries  on  its 
devotion  unnoticed  by  any  one ; 
but  in  the  body  of  the  church  are 
seated  a  few  old  people,  principally 
old  men,  half  at  least  old  soldiers — 
passive,  patient  figures,  who  are  al- 
ways to  be  found  here,  as  indeed 
in  most  Italian  churches.  The  wo- 
men who  come  in  make  their  way 
to  pray  at  some  special  shrine,  and 
when  they  have  made  their  rever- 
ence to  the  high  altar  go  away  again, 


having  apparently  relieved  their 
minds  and  made  their  necessities 
known.  But  the  old  men  sit  still 
on  chance  benches,  with  their  faces 
towards  the  altar,  some  glancing  up 
with  dim  eyes  as  the  strangers  en- 
ter, but  most  keeping  quite  still. 
What  can  they  be  doing  here  day 
after  day  and  hour  after  hour  1 
Perhaps  only  taking  shelter  from 
the  hot  sun,  and  resting  their  weary 
old  limbs  on  the  convenient  benches; 
but  there  are  numberless  seats  out- 
side, where  there  is  something  going 
on,  and  people  to  see  and  speak  to. 
Here  the  dim  old  twilight  souls  say 
nothing  to  each  other.  They  carry 
no  rosaries  or  other  implements  of 
devotion,  but  sit  in  a  kind  of  mild 
torpor,  with  their  faces  to  the  altar, 
perhaps  going  over  and  over  the 
long  lives  which  are  now  so  near 
the  ending,  possibly  making  a  feeble 
darkling  attempt  to  trace  God's 
guidance  in  them,  and  offering  a 
mute  thankfulness  or  a  mute  com- 
plaint to  the  sole  eye  which  sees  ; 
but  anyhow,  there  is  something  in 
the  spectacle  of  this  pale  old  age 
finding  peaceful  refuge  unmolested 
in  the  open  church,  which  is  very 
touching  to  look  at.  In  England, 
and  above  all  in  Scotland,  the 
chances  are  that  somebody  would 
try  to  teach  those  torpid  old  souls, 
and  disturb  the  unspeakable  mus- 
ings in  which  they  spend  their 
feeble  remnants  of  life  ;  but  here 
they  are  left  to  themselves,  and  take 
what  share  they  please,  or,  if  they 
please,  no  share  at  all,  in  the  ser- 
vices going  on  at  the  altar.  And  the 
Ave  Maria  shrills  out  from  the  cor- 
ner chapel  at  the  present  moment, 
without  eliciting  the  least  response 
from  these  spectators.  They  are  to 
be  found  throughout  Italy,  wher- 
ever one  goes ;  and  I  cannot  but 
think  it  a  touching  and  tender 
office  of  the  ever -open  church  to 
afford  shelter  and  silence  to  these 
old  worn-out  souls. 

The  cathedral  itself  does  not  con- 
tain anything  very  remarkable,  ex- 
cept a  silver  bust  of  St  Costanzo, 
once  bishop  of  Capri,  which  the 


1865.] 


Life  in  an  Island. 


87 


other  day  was  carried  in  procession 
to  his  chapel,  attended  by  all  the 
priests  and  half  the  women  of  the 
village.  That  was  the  great  festa 
of  the  island ;  for  St  Costanzo 
(though  some  people  think  St  An- 
tonio of  Padua  a  patron  more  gen- 
erally useful)  is  in  right  and  justice 
the  protector  of  Capri,  having  ar- 
rested the  Saracen  boats  in  the  old, 
old  times,  which  were  coming  to 
sack  and  slaughter,  by  lifting  his 
episcopal  arm,  and  holding  out  his 
hand  to  ward  off  the  visitation. 
The  Saracens  could  not,  with  all 
their  strivings,  get  a  boat's  length 
nearer  Capri  in  face  of  that  gesture, 
more  potent  than  the  uplifted  arms 
of  Moses,  and  were  dispersed  and 
dashed  to  pieces  and  driven  to  sea, 
as  happens  habitually  to  the  op- 
pressors of  the  saints.  As  for  St 
Costanzo  himself,  he  looks  bland 
but  helpless  in  his  silver  image, 
which,  being  cut  short  by  the 
breast,  conveys  naturally  an  im- 
perfect impression  of  the  beatified 
bishop  ;  but  all  the  same,  the  spec- 
tators strewed  flowers  in  his  path, 
and  crowded  his  chapel,  and  lighted 
up  the  piazza  at  night  with  fire- 
works in  his  honour,  as  is  the  duty 
of  the  faithful.  Except  these  fire- 
works and  the  service  in  the  chapel, 
which  was  thronged  to  the  very 
door  with  kneeling  worshippers, 
and  much  private  performance  upon 
the  penny  whistle,  that  most  cher- 
ished of  Italian  toys,  I  am  not 
aware  that  there  were  any  other 
means  of  excitement  at  the  festa; 
but  such  as  it  was,  it  answered  all 
the  requirements  of  our  Cypriotes, 
who  are  a  contented  race. 

After  saying  so  much,  however,  of 
the  beauties  of  Capri,  it  may  be 
well  to  warn  the  iinwary  traveller 
of  the  perils  attending  the  arrival. 
When  the  slow  little  steamer  which 
comes  twice  a -week  from  Naples 
(the  tnaladetto  Vapore,  at  which 
Feliciello  swears  all  manner  of  pic- 
turesque oaths)  steams  into  sight, 
a  world  of  excited  people,  chiefly 
women,  rush  with  their  donkeys 
to  the  Marina.  Feliciello  comes 


but  seldom,  and  by  appointment, 
being  a  person  of  pretensions  ;  but 
his  wife,  to  whom  we  have  already 
referred,  is  among  the  throng. 
When  the  little  boat  which  lands  the 
passengers  approaches  the  beach, 
this  crowd  rushes  upon  it  like  a 
horde  of  furies.  Nobody  thinks 
twice  in  Capri  of  kiltiny  such 
scanty  trousers  or  petticoats  as  it 
may  possess,  and  rushing  with 
brown  shapely  limbs  knee- deep 
into  the  water  on  any  emergency  ; 
and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  is  a 
little  alarming  to  be  dragged  head- 
long out  of  the  boat  and  fought  for 
by  a  crowd  of  nondescript  crea- 
tures, naked  and  wet  and  shin- 
ing to  the  knee,  and  with  faces 
gleaming  above  these  startling 
flesh-tints  with  eagerness  that  looks 
intent,  not  upon  conveying  you 
safely  to  the  village,  but  upon  tear- 
ing you  piecemeal — you  and  your 
belongings.  But  there  is  not  the 
least  occasion  for  alarm.  This  con- 
tending mob  has  just  been  gather- 
ing, twenty  strong,  with  glowing 
cheeks  and  crisp  locks,  and  limbs 
veiled  and  decorous,  round  the  two 
English  ladies  yonder  in  the  corner 
of  the  rocks,  who  have  been  taking 
a  lesson  in  spinning  while  they 
waited  for  the  boat.  Deft  llosina, 
who  plucked  you  bodily  out  of  Mrs 
Feliciello's  hands,  rushed  with  the 
same  instinct  of  knowing  how,  like 
a  capable  soul  as  she  is,  to  snatch 
out  of  the  wondering  owner's  grasp 
the  ready  distaff  and  give  the  need- 
ful instruction  ;  and  the  Furies 
closed  around  and  applauded  the 
learner's  unsuccessful  attempts  to 
twirl  the  spindle,  with  shouts  of 
good-luimoured  laughter.  But  I 
allow  they  are  terrific  when,  twenty 
screaming  like  one,  they  catch  at 
the  prow  of  the  boat  and  clutch  at 
you  before  you  have  left  that  sanc- 
tuary. But  all  the  same  I  think  of 
thee  with  a  certain  regret,  Rosina 
mia,  swift  and  skilful  and  cheery 
— as  of  a  lost  opportunity ;  for  in 
good  hands  what  could  not  have 
been  made  of  the  bright  capable 
creature  who  knew  so  well  how  to 


88 


Life  in  an  Island. 


[Jan. 


handle  her  tools  1  and  it  requires 
no  such  handy  serviceable  brains 
as  those  she  carried  under  her  au- 
burn locks  to  convey  blocks  of 
stone  up  and  down  the  Capri  stairs 
—  which  was  the  last  occupation 
we  saw  her  in.  It  was  she  who 
called  loudest  out,  oi'  the  benign 
crowd  who  watched  our  departing, 
the  "Felice  viaggio,  presto  ritorno  !" 
of  primitive  kindness.  Thus  it  is 
that  in  Capri  the  Furies,  after  the 
first  assault,  grow  into  the  kindliest 
domestic  sprites,  genial  and  frolic- 
some, ready  to  enter  into  your 
humour,  though  not  without  a 
smile  at  the  odd  ideas  of  the  Fores- 
tieri,  who  know  no  better.  The  day 
after  your  landing  they  will  come 
round  you  with  their  little  baskets 
of  coral  like  old  friends ;  and  if 
you  are  worthy  of  visiting  Capri, 
you  will  not  be  too  particular  about 
a  franc  or  two,  but  keep  the  pink 
morsels  of  coral  from  the  beach, 
and  the  round  shells  which  they 
call  the  eyes  of  Santa  Lucia,  in 
memory  of  one  of  the  loveliest 
little  atoms  of  stone  and  space 
which  God  has  planted  in  the  sea. 

Though,  to  be  sure,  you  might 
find  more  substantial  memorials — 
like  that  sturdy  pilgrim -staff,  for 
example,  stout  as  an  Irish  bludgeon, 
though  made  of  sentimental  myrtle, 
which  the  stalwart  Scottish  Signer, 
whose  length  of  limb  and  develop- 
ment of  muscle  made  Feliciello  for- 
get his  manners  in  admiration,  car- 
ries with  him  across  the  seas.  But 
these  are  the  private  negozio  of 
Santella,  who  is  our  waiting-maid 
at  the  Villa  Quisisana — a  mild  and 
gentle  hunchback,  whose  face  has 
such  a  light  of  goodness  in  it  that 
it  does  one  more  good  to  look  at  her 
than  even  at  little  Chiara  in  Ana- 


capri,  the  little  beauty.  Gentle 
deformed  creature !  noiseless  and 
serviceable,  good  for  everything 
in  the  house,  how  comes  it  that  the 
common  beauty  has  flowed  around 
her  like  a  perverse  stream,  and  left 
her  such  an  exception  ?  It  is  hard 
to  be  the  exception — to  stand  whip- 
ping-boy for  the  world,  and  teach 
the  fair  and  glad  to  be  thankful  for 
their  advantages  by  the  spectacle 
of  one's  own  deformity  or  sorrow. 
But  thou  and  I,  good  Santella,  will 
shake  hands  on  that ;  and  I  wish  we 
all  bore  our  burdens  half  as  meekly 
and  sweetly  as  does  that  handmaiden 
of  the  good  God.  It  is  pleasant  at 
the  Villa  Qui-si-Sana,*  lectore  caris- 
sima,  where  our  host  speaks  pure 
Italian  with  an  Edinburgh  accent, 
and  knows  everybody  one  knew  in 
the  early  ages  when  one  was  young 
and  lived  among  one's  own  people. 
Go  there,  and  bring  us  word  how  the 
vines  are  growing,  and  be  good  to 
Santella  ;  and  look  at  the  cottage 
on  the  hill  under  the  sweetest 
shade  of  the  olive-trees,  from  which 
you  can  see  the  sun  set,  as  it  were 
by  stealth,  in  that  unthought-of 
break  round  the  lower  shoulder  of 
Monte  Solaro.  If  I  were  ever  rich 
and  secure  and  happy,  and  had  no 
longer  any  dread  in  my  heart  of 
this  dearest,  saddest,  murderous 
Italy,  it  is  there  I  would  go  and 
build  my  tower  of  vision  :  but  that 
time  can  only  be  when  Italy  and 
Capri  have  celestial  names,  and  tho 
City  of  God  has  come  down  out  of 
the  skies,  and  that  hard  division  is 
done  away  with  which  parts  heaven 
and  earth ;  for  I  cannot  think  the 
great  Creator,  even  to  outdo  it, 
could  destroy,  clean  out  of  know- 
ledge, the  loveliest  labours  of  His 
almighty  hands. 


*  We  understand  that  an  account  of  the  history  and  antiquities,  indistinct  and 
much  effaced  as  these  are,  of  this  most  beautiful  and  interesting  island,  is  being 
prepared  by  Dr  Clark  of  the  Villa  Quisisana,  our  kind  and  careful  host. 


1SC5.]  Day  and  Night.  M) 


i»  A  Y    A  N  n    x  i  <;  ii  T. 

TIIK  days  were  once  too  short  for  life  and  me— 

The  sunset  came  too  soon — the  lingering  dawn 

Awoke  the  world  too  late  ;  the  longest  day 

Still  lacked  that  hour  supreme,  which,  flying  far 

On  the  horizon,  beckoned  as  it  fled, 

And  said,  "  L  come,  L  come!"  yet  came  not  yet, 

Though  longed  and  looked  for  still  from  day  to  day. 

Too  short  for  life — too  short  for  hopes  that  made 
Within  the  visible  form  a  larger  life — 
Too  short  for  all  the  joys  that  had  to  be 
Conceived,  and  planned,  and  fathomed  in  their  time. 
And  but  for  glories  sweet  of  stars  and  moon, 
And  dreams  that  were  more  sweet  than  any  stars, 
It  had  been  hard  to  sufi'er  the  long  night — 
The  silent  night,  that  neither  spoke  nor  stirred, 
I'.ut  with  the  shadow  of  its  folded  -wings 
Shut  out  the  ardent  eyelids  from  the  day. 

Tims  was  it  on  the  other  side  of  Time; 

"While  yet  the  path  wound  dubious  up  the  heights 

Through  mists  that  flew  aside  as  the  winds  blew 

Betimes,  and  opened  up,  in  glimpses  sweet, 

A  royal  road  that  clomb  the  very  heavens — 

A  road  divine,  that,  still  ascending,  led 

O'er  virgin  heights  by  no  man  trod  before, 

And  vales  of  paradi.se,  where  vulgar  foot 

Had  ne'er  profaned  the  Mowers  :  a  road  for  kings, 

Worthy  of  one  who  in  his  right  of  youth 

Was  heir  of  all  things  worthy,  and  was  born 

To  be  all  that  was  possible  to  man. 

And  on  that  path  amid  the  rising  mists 
Great  figures  stood,  that,  veiled  from  head  to  foot, 
Waited  the  traveller's  coming;  wondrous  shapes, 
On  whom  hot  Fancy  rushing  forth  before, 
Curious  of  all  things,  blazoned  hasty  names. 
Love  this,  and  that  one  Joy  ;  and  one  beyond — 
( )ne  later  come,  and  of  more  awful  form — 
Grief  :  but  all  veiled,  the  foremost  like  the  last. 

And  on  this  road  there  was  no  need  of  night, 
The  hours  were  tedious  that  detained  and  sealed 
The  curious  eyes,  and  hasty  lips,  and  heart, 
That  kept  the  van,  and  ever  marched  before. 
No  need  of  night ;  but  only  light,  and  space, 
And  time,  to  be  all,  see  all,  learn  and  know 
The  sweet  and  bitter  of  each  unknown  thing, 
And  of  all  mysteries  the  soul  and  heart, 

Now  it  is  changed :  up  to  the  mountain-head 
Now  have  we  climbed  apace,  both  life  and  I. 
The  mists  are  all  dispersed,  the  pathway  clear, 
And  they  who  waited  on  the  road  have  laid 


90  Day  and  Night.  [Jan. 

Their  veils  aside,  and  as  they  know  are  known. 
The  very  air  that  breathes  about  the  height 
Has  grown  articulate,  and  speaks  plain  words, 
Instead  of  the  dear  murmurs  of  old  time, 
And  of  all  mysteries  there  lasts  but  one. 

All  things  are  changed ;  but  this  most  changed  of  all, 

That  I  have  learned  the  busy  day  by  heart, 

And  lived  my  hour,  and  seen  the  marvels  fade, 

And  all  the  glooms  have  oped  their  hearts  to  me, 

And  given  their  secrets  forth.     I  have  withdrawn 

The  veil  from  Love's  fair  face,  and  Joy  has  flashed 

Upon  my  soul  the  sunshine  of  his  eyes, 

And  Grief  has  wrapped  me  in  his  bitter  cloak  ; 

And,  pausing  in  the  midway  of  my  life, 

Like  him  who  once  scaled  heaven  and  fathomed  hell, 

The  path  obscure*  and  wild  has  made  me  fear. 

So  now,  if  there  be  any  praise  to  say, 
Or  song  to  sing,  'tis  of  the  tender  night — • 
The  night  that  hushes  to  her  silent  breast 
All  weary  heads,  and  hides  all  tears,  and  stills 
The  outcries  of  the  earth.     The  watchful  days 
Gaze  in  my  eyes  like  spies  of  fate,  and  laugh 
My  poor  pretence  at  patience  all  to  scorn ; 
But  night  comes  soft  like  angels  out  of  heaven, 
Arid  hides  me  from  the  spying  of  the  light. 

And  I  were  glad,  if  ever  glad  I  were, 

To  think  a  day  was  done,  and  so  could  be 

No  more,  by  any  power  in  earth  or  heaven, 

Exacted  o'er  again ;  and  Night  and  Sleep 

Hold  wide  the  darkling  doorways  of  escape 

From  life  and  the  hard  world :  well  might  it  chance 

They  should  shut  close  behind  my  flying  feet 

So  fast  as  never  more  to  ope  again, 

So  might  I  wake  e'er  I  was  half  aware 

Among  the  angels  in  the  faithful  heavens, 

And  ope  my  eyes  upon  the  Master's  face, 

And,  following  the  dear  guidance  of  his  smile, 

Find  in  my  arms  again  what  I  had  lost : 

Such  are  the  gentle  chances  of  the  night. 

But  the  light  morning  comes  and  wakes  the  world, 
And,  swift  dispersing  all  the  dews  and  clouds, 
Comes  to  my  bed  and  rouses  me  once  more 
To  take  my  burden  up :  and  with  keen  eyes 
Inquisitive,  that  search  into  my  soul, 
Keeps  watch  upon  me  while  I  slowly  fit 
To  my  galled  neck  the  aching  yoke  again — 
As  curious  to  behold  how  souls  are  moved — 
And  mocks,  and  says:  "  Not  yet  escaped?  not  yet 

*  ' '  Nel  mezzo  del  cammiu  di  nostra  vita 
Mi  ritrovai  per  una  selva  oscura 
Che  la  diritta  via  era  smarrita 
Ahi  quanto  a  dir  qual  era  c  cosa  dura 
Questa  selva  selvaggia  ed  aspra  e  forte 
Cke  uel  pinsier  rimiova  la  paura ! " 


1865.]  Day  and  Night. 

Escaped  ]  take  up  thy  cross  :"  and  thus  I  rise 
And  bind  my  cross  upon  me  evermore. 

This  is  the  very  morn,  the  selfsame  morn, 
That  was  so  bright  of  old  ;  the  gladsome  day, 
That  to  my  neighbour  with  a  friendly  voice 
Says  sweet,  "  Arise  !  arise  !  the  sun  is  up, 
And  life  waits  smiling  at  the  chamber  door  ;" 
For  I  am  not  so  rapt  in  my  poor  woes 
As  to  suppose  the  cheerful  world  has  grown 
Dim  with  my  shadow.     "Pis  enough  to  say, 
I  am  so  deep  discouraged  with  my  life, 
Although  I  have  but  thrid  the  maze  half-way, 
That  the  fair  daylight  smiles  and  strikes  at  me 
Like  one  who,  learned  in  all  familiar  ways 
Of  love,  turns  traitor;  and  the  rapid  hours 
Have  none  so  sweet  as  that  which  brings  the  dark  : 
Night,  that  can  blur  the  boundaries  of  time, 
And  open  graves,  and  build  the  fallen  house, 
And  light  the  household  lamp  that  burns  no  more. 

'Twas  sweet  to  live  when  life  was  fresh  and  young ; 

It  would  be  sweet  to  live  if  life  was  old, 

And  watch,  while  the  faint  current  ebbed  its  last, 

With  calm  dim  eyes  through  softened  mists  of  age, 

The  heavenly  headlands  heaving  slow  in  sight. 

But,  pausing  thus  upon  the  mountain-top, 

To  see  the  dizzy  turnings  wind  below 

All  clear  and  bare,  with  nought  that  can  be  hid; 

To  know  that  Love,  fled  from  the  world,  can  pass 

Into  a  helpless  longing  after  love  ; 

To  know  that  Joy  Hashes  his  angel  wings 

A  moment  in  the  sunshine,  and  is  gone ; 

To  know — oh  heaviest  knowledge  of  the  whole  ! — 

That  Sorrow  kills  not,  and  that  life  holds  fast 

Its  sordid  thread  long  after  murderous  blows 

Have  made  of  it  a  very  life-in-death. 

All  this  to  know ;  yet,  to  the  distant  west 

Turning  a  steady  countenance,  to  resume 

The  toilsome  way,  and  bear  the  bitter  cross : 

The  martyr's  passion  were  less  hard  to  bear. 

And  think  ye  not  the  darkling  night  is  dear 
To  one  with  this  chill  landscape  in  his  eyes  ? 
The  gloom  that  blots  the  weary  pathway  out, 
And  the  dear  sleep,  which  still  'tis  possible 
Might  steal  the  traveller  unawares  to  heaven  I 

Thus  nightly  to  the  tender  night  I  make 

A  welcome  in  my  heart  as  sweet  as  death, 

Though  sometimes  sad  as  dying.     Oh  good  night  ! 

Beautiful  night!  that  in  thy  dewry  hand 

Dost  hold  one  sweet  small  blessing  like  a  star  ; 

By  this  dear  gift  I  am  by  times  beguiled, 

In  all  my  heaviness  and  weariness, 

To  hold  myself  beloved  of  God  ;  for  God 

Gives  (He  has  said  it)  His  beloved  sleep. 

M.  O.  W.  O. 


92 


T/ie  Man  and  the  Monkey. 


[Jan. 


THE     MAN     AND     THE     MONKEY. 


WHEN  I  was  at  the  siege  of  Gib- 
raltar  

"  I  say,  old  fellow— 
I  appeal  for  protection  to  the 
chair.  (Hear,  hern:)  When  I  was 
at  the  siege  of  Gibraltar,  my  post 
was  for  some  time  in  the  Queen's 
Battery,  which  immediately  fronted 
the  besiegers'  works.  It  was  my 
special  duty  to  acquire  as  accurate 
a  knowledge  of  those  works,  their 
armament,  position,  defences,  and 
progress,  as  it  was  possible  to  ob- 
tain by  constant  observation  and  a 
very  middling  spy-glass,  while  en- 
veloped in  dust  and  smoke,  choked 
with  sulphur,  and  exposed  to  inces- 
sant compliments  of  shot  and  shell. 
The  knowledge  thus  obtained  I  had 
the  honour  of  imparting  to  our  gal- 
lant Lieutenant-Governor,  General 
Boyd,  when  he  came  out  to  the 
front  from  time  to  time.  This  cir- 
cumstance procured  for  me  the  glo- 
rious distinction  of  going  out  as 
guide  when  we  made  a  sortie  by 
night  for  the  purpose  of  surprising 
the  enemy's  works,  burning  and 
destroying  them. 

I  am  not  going  to  describe  the 
sortie ;  you  will  find  all  about  it 
in  Drinkwater.  Let  me  only  say 
that  it  proved  a  real  surprise  to  the 
enemy;  their  works  were  ruined, 
their  guns  spiked,  and  their  ap- 
proaches in  a  corresponding  degree 
retarded,  which  was  just  what  we 
wanted. 

The  affair  was  nearly  over,  their 
gabions  along  the  whole  front  were 
in  a  blaze;  but  though  outnum- 
bered at  our  point  of  attack,  the 
enemy  fought  stoutly,  and  a  good 
deal  of  savage  skirmishing  was  still 
going  on.  I  was  in  the  thick  of  a 
regular  melee,  hard  knocks  at  close 
quarters,  when  my  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  diminutive  French- 
man, an  officer  in  splendid  uniform, 
who  was  doing  chivalrous  deeds,  as 
if  he  fancied  his  own  arm  might 
yet  restore  the  lost  combat.  He 
was  a  mere  pigmy;  and  his  plucki- 


ness  had  so  won  upon  our  fellows 
that  they  were  bent  iipon  effecting 
an  object  to  which  his  own  valour 
was  the  only  obstacle — that  of  tak- 
ing him  alive.  Flourishing  his 
sword,  he  skipped  about,  facing  every 
point  of  the  compass  in  succession, 
and  thrusting,  with  loud  cries  of 
defiance,  at  every  one  that  ap- 
proached him.  ''  Don't  kill  him  ! " 
the  men  cried.  ''  Take  him  alive  ; 
don't  hurt  the  little  chap;"  though 
the  little  chap  had  already  disabled 
a  sergeant  and  a  private  who  had 
ventured  too  near  him.  I  shouted, 
taking  off  my  hat  and  entreating 
him  for  his  own  sake  to  surrender : 
it  was  clear,  indeed,  that  he  had  no 
chance  left  but  either  to  be  taken 
prisoner  or  to  bite  the  dust.  He 
returned  my  salute,  but  still  main- 
tained the  defensive,  spinning  round 
and  round,  and  lunging  at  the  hori- 
zon. As  we  had  done  our  work, 
and  it  was  high  time  to  get  back 
to  our  Hires  lest  the  enemy  should 
attack  us  in  force,  I  began  to  fear 
it  would  be  out  of  my  power  to 
save  the  little  Frenchman's  life. 
Our  men,  too,  were  beginning  to 
lose  patience,  and  showed  a  dispo- 
sition to  close  upon  him  with  fixed 
bayonets;  in  which  case,  though  lie 
might  very  possibly  have  set  his 
mark  upon  one  or  two  more  of 
them,  the  consequences  to  himself 
might  have  been  far  from  agreeable. 
At  that  moment,  and  just  as  I  was 
thinking,  as  a  last  effort,  of  trying 
what  I  could  do  by  approaching 
him  in  person,  he  seemed  to  awake 
suddenly  to  a  consciousness  of  his 
own  peril,  rushed  towards  me,  threw 
down  his  sword,  clasped  his  hands, 
uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  drop- 
ped on  his  knees  at  my  feet. 

He  was  my  prisoner; — a  very 
grand  capture,  to  be  sure.  In  an 
instant  he  became  calm,  gentleman- 
ly, and  garrulous.  Walking  with 
me  side  by  side  as  our  party  with- 
drew, he  was  kind  enough  to  com- 
mence a  perpetual  stream  of  talk, 


1865.1 


The  Man  and  tlie  ^fonkt'^/. 


5)3 


which  lasted  all  the  way,  and  in 
which  he  found  time  to  tell  me 
who  he  was,  and  all  about  his  own 
family  and  history;  how  he  had 
fought  in  many  battles,  and  always 
came  off  with  more  glory  than  all 
the  rest  of  the  combatants  together; 
not  forgetting  to  mention  how 
much  sooner  Gibraltar  would  have 
fallen — it  was  sure  to  fall  at  last — 
had  only  his  suggestions  been  ap- 
preciated as  they  deserved.  lie 
begged  to  assure  me  that  he  was  a 
person  of  great  importance.  He 
bore,  as  he  was  pleased  to  state,  the 
name  of  Montmaur*;  and  his  nom- 
de-c/nerre,  by  an  inversion  of  the 
syllables,  was  Mormon.  He  was  of 
noble  birth,  and  turned  of  thirty ; 
but  his  distinguished  talents  and 
acquirements  in  the  art  of  war, 
known  throughout  Europe  and  uni- 
versally recognised  in  the  French 
service,  had  so  excited  the  envy  of 
his  military  superiors  that  they  had 
succeeded  by  Jiiiesse  in  preventing 
his  rising  to  a  higher  grade  than 
that  of  lieutenant  in  a  regiment  of 
the  line. 

The  next  day,  when  M.  de  Mont- 
maur  was  presented  before  the  Gov- 
ernor, his  Excellency  seemed  a  little 
nonplussed.  To  shut  up  a  diminu- 
tive object  like  that  in  durance 
would  have  looked  absurd ;  one 
would  as  soon  have  thought  of  im- 
prisoning a  tomtit.  Formally  to 
parole  him  would  have  been  for- 
mality in  a  matter  of  no  importance 
— always  better  let  alone.  The  re- 
sult was  that,  having  far  weightier 
matters  to  attend  to,  his  Excellency 
let  the  business  stand  over,  and 
ended  by  doing  nothing  ;  so  that  M. 
de  Montmaur  remained  a  prisoner 
at  large.  He  rather  attached  him- 
self to  me,  as  his  h'rst  English  ac- 
quaintance, and,  so  far  as  garrison 
regulations  permitted,  used  to  fol- 
low me  about  everywhere.  The 
consequence  was,  that  my  brother 
officers  were  accustomed  to  speak 
of  him  as  my  "  little  dog  Mormon." 
Among  the  officers  lie  soon  be- 
came popular.  I  had  given  due 
publicity  to  his  gallantry  when  cap- 
tured, and  that  was  quite  sufficient 


to  place  him  on  a  good  footing  with 
military  men.  Besides  this,  lie  was 
good-humoured,  clever,  and  always 
lively  ;  could  take  a  joke,  and  repay 
it  with  interest.  As  a  musician, 
both  vocal  and  instrumental,  he 
was  decidedly  above  par ;  when 
casualties  were  brought  in  from  the 
batteries,  he  was  handy  in  assisting 
the  surgeons  ;  and  in  fencing,  danc- 
ing, and  cookery  we  soon  found 
out  that  he  equalled  the  most  highly 
educated  of  his  own  accomplished 
countrymen.  The  consequence  was, 
that  M.  de  Montmaur  was  a  wel- 
come guest  at  every  mess  ;  and 
whenever  an  adventurous  settee 
brought  us  fruit,  or  vegetables,  or 
fish,  or  fresh  meat,  he  was  specially 
invited  to  share  the  feast.  If  he 
sometimes  talked  big,  either  about 
his  prowess,  his  military  attain- 
ments, his  extraordinary  adven- 
tures, his  hairbreadth  escapes,  his 
varied  accomplishments,  or  his  in- 
numerable conquests  among  the 
fair,  this  only  added  to  our  amuse- 
ment; his  vanity  was  so  open- 
hearted  that  we  liked  him  all  the 
better.  His  more  extravagant  sal- 
lies were  generally  received  with 
cheers,  shouts  of  laughter,  and  much 
thumping  on  the  table,  all  which  he 
took  to  his  own  credit,  probably 
unconscious  that  the  said  thumping 
was  a  grim  regimental  pun,  practi- 
cally and  conventionally  signifying 
"  That's  a  thumper  !  "  When  he 
had  succeeded  in  eliciting  a  vocifer- 
ous demonstration,  he  always  went 
home  to  his  quarters  in  a  high  state 
of  exhilaration. 

In  the  garrison,  however,  we  had 
one  individual,  with  whom  M.  de 
Montmaur,  though  it  was  not  his 
own  fault,  never  established  ami- 
cable relations.  This  was  a  foreign 
officer  in  our  service  ;  he  was  from 
the  north  of  Europe — a  Captain 
Schnaub,  who,  though  he  wanted 
neither  courage  nor  capacity,  had 
certainly  failed  in  making  himself 
generally  popular  amongst  us.  He 
was  a  tall,  large,  powerful  man,  his 
stoutness  almost  verging  on  corpu- 
lency. His  manner  was  rough,  so 
were  his  jokes.  Unfortunately, 


Tlte  Man  and  the  Monica/. 


[Jan. 


also,  lie  viewed  all  Frenchmen  with 
hostility,  and  this  feeling  he  had 
no  opportunity  of  exhibiting,  ex- 
cept towards  M.  de  Montmaur, 
whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  treat- 
ing as  ignominiously  as  the  general 
feeling  of  the  garrison  would  per- 
mit. To  me  our  little  prisoner  had 
mentioned  the  subject  more  than 
once,  pompously  remarking  that  he 
feared  he  should  be  under  the  pain- 
ful necessity  of  teaching  "  ce  cher 
Capitaine  Se-che-naubbe  "  a  lesson 
in  "politesse." 

At  length,  in  M.  de  Montmaur's 
opinion,  the  time  for  administering 
this  very  necessary  lesson  arrived, 
and  he  communicated  with  me  in 
due  form.  He  commenced  the 
conference  by  intimating  that, 
"  though  little  in  stature,  he  was 
as  brave  as  a  lion/' 

To  this  I  merely  responded  by  a 
bow.  He  next  went  on  to  state 
that  "  his  sense  of  honour  was  not 
inferior  to  his  bravery." 

In  short,  seeing  that  he  had  a 
communication  to  make,  and  was 
taking  a  very  roundabout  way  of 
coming  to  the  point,  I  brought  him 
to  it  at  once.  He  then  gave  me  to 
understand  that  the  moment  had  at 
length  arrived,  when,  without  ap- 
pearing either  captious  or  precipitate 
— he  would  like  to  see  the  individual, 
present  company  excepted,  whose 
discretion  and  amiability  came  any- 
thing next  his  own — he  felt  himself 
free  to  terminate  a  long  series  of  in- 
solences. Observing  next  the  sea- 
wall, he  said,  a  party  of  officers  in 
conversation,  among  them  "  ce  cher 
Capitaine  Se-che-naubbe,"  he  had 
been  impelled  by  that  courtesy 
which  so  eminently  distinguished 
him  to  approach  and  salute  them. 
His  salute  was  politely  and  smilingly 
returned  by  the  whole  party,  with 
one  exception.  "  Ce  cher  Capitaine" 
gave  no  token  of  recognition  ;  nay, 
worse,  actually  held  up  a  key,  and 
looked  at  him  through  it,  as  if  it 
had  been  an  eyeglass,  thereby  con- 
veying the  offensive  imputation  that 
he  was  so  diminutive,  so  insignifi- 
cant, as  not  to  be  discernible  by  the 
naked  eye.  This  raised  a  laugh 


among  the  gentlemen  present ;  and, 
more  offensive  still,  the  laugh  was 
taken  up  and  audibly  re-echoed  by 
certain  non  -  commissioned  officers 
and  privates  who  were  standing  not 
far  off.  For  this  insult  M.  de  Mont- 
maur felt  himself  entitled  to  prompt 
satisfaction. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  state  the 
case  as  a  party  interested.  Before 
pronouncing  on  it,  I  should  like  to 
ascertain  the  impression,  of  one  or 
two  of  the  officers  present.  Con- 
sidering that  you  and  I  have  been 
so  much  together,  and  that  it  was 
I,  moreover,  who  had  the  honour 
of  receiving  your  surrender,  I  shall 
view  the  insult,  if  any  was  intended, 
as  offered  to  myself.  The  quarrel  in 
that  case  will  be  mine ;  I  am  the  per- 
son to  whom  the  Captain  will  owe  sa- 
tisfaction." (Such,  in  those  days  of 
duelling,  were  our  notions  of  honour. ) 
"  Ah,"  cried  the  little  French- 
man, "that  is  brave !  that  is  noble  ! 
that  is  just  exactly  what  I  knew 
you  would  say  !  But  I  have  anti- 
cipated your  chivalrous  sentiments 
by  equal  chivalry  on  my  own  part. 
My  challenge  is  already  sent ;  I  de- 
spatched it  an  hour  ago ;  and  I  have 
the  Captain's  acceptance  in  my 
pocket.  The  only  favour,  there- 
fore, which  I  now  ask,  is  your  ob- 
liging company  as  my  friend." 

The  affair  came  off; — the  weapons 
rapiers ;  the  time,  that  same  after- 
noon ;  the  field  of  slaughter,  a  re- 
tired spot  beyond  the  barracks,  and 
not  far  from  the  southern  extremity 
of  the  Rock.  Nevertheless,  the  busi- 
ness having  got  wind,  a  few  officers 
lounged  down  to  see  ;  and  several 
other  persons,  civilians  as  well  as  sol- 
diers, stood  looking  on  at  a  distance. 
The  parties  being  placed,  a  few 
thrusts  were  exchanged  without 
effect.  The  Captain  looked  sulky 
enough.  It  was  evident  he  keenly 
felt  his  ridiculous  position  ;  he,  the 
biggest  man  in  the  garrison,  stuck 
up  vis-d,-vis  in  mortal  combat  with 
the  least.  The  poor  man  fenced  as 
if  he  couldn't  help  himself.  The 
little  Frenchman,  on  the  contrary, 
was  all  activity  and  enterprise.  At 
length,  after  a  brisk  passage  of 


1865.] 


The  Man  and  tlie  Monkey. 


arms,  the  two  stood  facing  each 
other  for  a  few  seconds  in  perfect 
stillness,  their  swords  barely  touch- 
ing at  their  extremities.  Suddenly 
the  little  Frenchman  swelled  to 
twice  his  natural  size,  stamped, 
shouted  "  Hah  !"  sprang  forward  a 
yard,  sprang  back  again.  It  was 
done  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
There  he  stood,  just  in  his  former 
attitude,  as  though  he  had  never 
moved.  At  first  I  was  not  aware 
of  any  result ;  but  three  inches  of 
his  sword  had  taken  effect,  just  as 
surely  as  when  a  spider,  having 
netted  a  wasp,  jumps  at  him,  nips, 
and  jumps  away  again.  The  Cap- 
tain had  got  an  ugly  progue  in  his 
sword-arm,  between  wrist  and  elbow. 
The  first  token  was,  that  he  used 
some  shocking  bad  language;  next, 
he  turned  deadly  pale  ;  then  his 
sword  gradually  went  down,  down, 
down  ;  then  the  weapon  fell  from 
liis  grasp — he  could  hold  it  no  lon- 
ger. M.  de  Montmaur,  scorning  to 
profit  by  his  success,  bowed  politely 
to  his  antagonist,  thanked  him  for 
the  honour  of  "  dis  meeting,"  and 
expressed  himself  "  perfect  satisfy." 

The  Captain  was  taken  away  by 
his  second,  growling  thunder,  and 
followed  by  the  doctor.  The  offi- 
cers present,  with  whom  he  was  far 
from  popular,  were  not  sorry  that 
he  had  got  a  lesson,  and  sur- 
rounded the  victor.  A  few  words 
commendatory  of  M.  de  Mont- 
maur's  pluck  and  skill  took  such 
an  effect  that  the  little  lieutenant 
was  quite  beside  himself.  He  ges- 
ticulated, he  wept.  He  called  all 
Olympus  to  witness  that  no  insult, 
however  gross,  should  ever  induce 
him  henceforth  to  draw  his  sword, 
in  single  combat,  against  the  Brit- 
tish  uniform  ;  and  in  proof  of  his 
sincerity  he  entreated,  he  implored, 
that  some  one  present  would  only 
have  the  kindness  to  kick  him  or 
pull  his  nose,  and  see  if  he  wouldn't 
take  it  like  a  lamb.  To  prevent  his 
making  a  more  complete  ass  of  him- 
self ,Igot  him  off  the  field,  gave  him  an 
earlysupper,  with  only  a  short  allow- 
ance of  grog,  and  sent  him  to  bed. 

Captain  Schnaub,  who,  with  all 


his  little  peculiarities  of  character, 
was  a  zealous  officer,  appeared  at  his 
post  on  the  third  day  with  a  slung 
arm,  and  in  a  fortnight  was  well. 

So  ends  the  first  part  of  my 
story.  Much  obliged  ;  no  more 
wine.  I'll  trouble  you  for  a  little  of 
THAT.  Thanks  ;  only  half  a  tumbler 
— thank  you,  thank  you.  I'll  just 
light  another  cigar,  and  proceed. 


Meanwhile  the  siege  went  on. 
Compared  with  their  prodigious 
expenditure  of  powder  and  shot,  the 
enemy  did  us  very  little  damage  ; 
and  the  whole  garrison  felt  con- 
vinced that,  unless  provisions  should 
fail,  which  they  never  did  entirely, 
we  could  keep  out  our  foes  from 
the  fortress  for  whatever  time  they 
chose  to  remain  before  it.  Mean- 
while, vainglorious  and  lively  as 
ever,  M.  de  Montmaur  remained 
with  us  ;  simply,  I  suppose,  be- 
cause the  besiegers  had  no  prison- 
er of  ours  to  exchange  for  him  ;  or, 
if  they  had  a  prisoner,  preferred  ex- 
changing him  for  some  one  else. 

In  process  of  time,  as  the  siege 
proceeded,  my  post  and  duties  were 
altered.  There  was  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  certain  residents  in  Gib- 
raltar, Spaniards,  or  others  who 
favoured  the  foe,  were  in  the  habit 
of  concealing  themselves  in  the 
rough  ground  about  the  summit  of 
the  Rock,  and  from  that  elevated 
position  making  signals  to  their 
friends  outside  both  by  day  and 
night.  One  or  two  delinquents  were 
caught  and  hanged.  I  had  it  in 
charge  to  look  after  this  class  of 
offenders,  while  taking  also  the 
general  superintendence  of  our 
posts  along  the  summit,  and  seeing 
that  our  men  there  stationed  had 
their  eyes  about  them.  Treachery 
is  easy  in  a  place  besieged,  simply 
because  everybody  takes  it  for 
granted  that  everybody  else  is  on 
the  alert,  and  therefore  gives  him- 
self no  trouble.  It  was  also  my 
duty  to  take  note  of  all  the  enemy's 
movements,  and  to  report  upon 
them  as  occasion  required.  The 
arrangement,  so  far  as  it  concerned 


03 


The  Man  and  the  Monkey. 


[Jan. 


myself,  was  not  quite  to  the  liking 
of  M.  de  Montmaur,  who  expressed 
his  regret  that  so  much  of  my  time 
was  occupied  on  the  higher  parts  of 
the  Hock,  which  to  him,  as  a  pri- 
soner, from  prudential  considera- 
tions, were  forbidden  ground. 

One  fine  day,  when  I  was  making 
my  observations  at  the  Rock  Guard, 
a  position  which  vertically  domi- 
nated the  enemy's  lines,  I  was 
unexpectedly  joined  by  Captain 
Sclmaub.  He  was  off  duty,  and 
had  come  up  to  look  about  him. 
Learning  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion that  I  was  on  the  point  of 
visiting  the  Signal-House,  another 
station  on  very  high  ground,  he 
intimated  an  intention  of  going 
there  too.  I  merely  remarked  that 
I  should  be  glad  to  have  the  plea- 
sure of  his  company. 

"  You  will*  not  have  that,"  he 
replied,  in  his  rough  way.  "  We 
shall  go  by  different  paths." 

"  How  so  ]  "  I  asked.  "  I  know 
of  but  one  path  that  is  available 
from  where  we  are — that  along  the 
summit  of  the  ridge.  It  is  not  so 
smooth  as  a  gravel-walk,  but  it  leads 
from  end  to  end." 

"  You  know  of  but  one  ]  "  said 
he  ;  "  but  I  know  of  two.  Go  you 
by  the  summit,  if  you  prefer  it  ;  I 
shall  go  by  the  back  of  the  Rock." 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  bravado. 
Most  people  are  aware  that  the  east 
side,  or  "  back  of  the  Rock,"  is  a 
tremendous  precipice.  Formerly, 
on  the  face  of  this  precipice,  there 
were  certain  narrow  paths  chiefly 
frequented  by  goats,  and  forming 
a  communication,  such  as  it  was, 
between  the  eastern  base  of  the 
Rock  and  its  summit.  But  one  of 
these  paths  having  at  a  previous 
siege  been  actually  made  available 
by  the  enemy,  they  were  all  de- 
stroyed by  scarping  the  Rock  ;  and 
though  there  still  remained  one  or 
two  similar  paths — that  is,  blind 
paths,  as  they  might  be  called — 
paths  which  led  down  from  the 
summit  at  one  point,  and  up  again 
at  another — not  a  single  communi- 
cation between  summit  and  base 
had  escaped  obliteration.  Those 


remaining  paths  I  well  knew,  and 
had  occasionally  tried  ;  but  it  was 
ticklish  Avork.  You  looked  up  on 
the  blank  wall  of  a  precipice,  and 
down  on  the  Mediterranean ;  a 
single  false  step  would  be  destruc- 
tion. To  the  gallant  Captain,  the 
very  bulk  and  breadth  of  his  cor- 
poreal presence  rendered  his  pro- 
posed expedition  doubly  dangerous. 
There  was  every  reason  to  fear, 
even  upon  mechanical  principles, 
that  his  centre  of  gravity  would 
overlap  the  line  of  safety  at  certain 
awkward  points  ;  and  in  the  mild- 
est manner  I  ventured  to  hint  that 
he  would  find  the  usual  path  safer 
as  well  as  more  pleasant. 

"  To  you  it  may  be,"  he  replied, 
scornfully,  "  but  not  to  me.  Let 
me  tell  you,  sir,  I  have  scaled  moun- 
tains to  which  this  Rock  is  a  mole- 
hill. I  have  a  good  head,  and  I 
shall  go.  Take  your  own  way,  and 
give  me  leave  to  take  mine.  I 
don't  ask  you  to  go  with  me,  and  I 
wouldn't  advise  it." 

A  boring,  boastful  man  little  im- 
agines how  disagreeable  he  makes 
himself,  even  to  those  who  wish 
him  well.  In  this  case  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  The 
Captain,  disappearing  over  the 
ridge,  looked  very  much  like  a  man 
stepping  down  into  vacancy. 

Pursuing  my  course  from  the 
Rock  Guard  towards  the  Signal- 
House,  I  had  covered  about  kali 
the  distance  when  I  heard  a  human 
voice.  At  that  solitary  elevation  it 
sounded  odd.  Whence  did  it  come  1 
It  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  left 
or  ridge  of  the  Rock.  So  !  it  was 
the  Captain.  Nothing  visible  but 
his  head;  he  spoke  in  his  iisual  gruff 
key,  somewhat  tremulous,  though  : 

"  Here  !  Lend  a  hand." 

I  helped  him  up.  Hewasblowzed, 
and  prodigiously  sweated ;  we  won't 
say  frightened,  but,  to  use  the  mild- 
est term,  a  little  "  excited." 

He  spoke  vindictively.  "  You 
didn't  tell  me  I  should  meet  any- 
thing! Couldn'tgo  forward,  couldn't 
go  back  ;  and  only  the  breadth  of 
a  knife-board  !  There  I  was  !  Much 
obliged  to  you  ! " 


18C5.] 


The  Man  and  the  Monkey. 


"  A  goat  1  "  I  asked. 

It  was  well  known  in  the  garri- 
son, and  the  Captain  must  have 
known  it  too,  that  the  goats  which 
browse  on  the  Hock,  in  going  from 
one  part  of  the  Hock  to  the  other,  do 
occasionally  use  those  "knife-board" 
paths  along  the  face  of  the  precipice, 
and  when  two  of  them  meet,  as 
there  is  no  room  to  pass,  and  the 
outsider  would  infallibly  be  precipi- 
tated, one  lies  down,  and  the  other 
walks  over  him.  This  led  me  to 
fancy  that  a  goat  had  met  the  Captain, 
and  that  either  he  had  laid  himself 
along  to  be  walked  over  by  the  goat, 
or  the  goat  had  done  as  much  for  him. 

'•  Nonsense  !  goat ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  goat  ]  No, 
sir  !  not  a  goat  ;  a  baboon." 

"  Met  you  at  the  back  of  the 
Hock]  Oh,  one  of  the  Gibraltar 
apes,  I  suppose.  They  hide  up 
here  among  the  crags  and  crevices  ; 
but  I  never  met  one  yet  in  that 
path,  or  in  any  like  it." 

When  anything  disagreeable  has 
occurred,  it  is  quite  natural  that  we 
should  feel  thoroughly  out  of  tem- 
per with  everybody,  and  Justin  the 
humour  for  wreaking  our  vengeance 
on  somebody,  and  so  quarrelling 
with  the  first  person  we  meet. 
Such  seemed  to  be  the  Captain's 
temper  now. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  fiercely,  "  I  did 
not  say  an  ape  ;  I  said  a  baboon — 
and  a  pretty  big  one  too — full  the 
size  of  the  Governor's  wolf-dog. 
Not  so  big  a  baboon,  though,  as 
some  I  have  seen,"  he  added,  with 
an  insulting  glance. 

I  was  on  duty,  and  didn't  want 
to  quarrel.  "  Come,"  said  I,  laugh- 
ing, and  eyeing  his  portly  person, 
"  we  won't  dispute  which  baboons 
are  the  biggest,  or  which  donkeys. 
I  grant  it.  There  is  one  species  of 
apes  on  the  Rock  which  is  consider- 
able larger  than  the  common  sort, 
and  which,  therefore,  may  perhaps 
be  properly  called  baboons.  Well, 
in  passing  along  that  perilous  path, 
one  of  those  baboons  met  you.  It 
was  an  interesting  meeting  to  both 
parties,  and  a  singular  adventure. 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCI. 


Now  please  to  tell  me  fill  particu- 
lars." 

The  Captain,  somewhat  toned 
down  by  the  idea  of  telling,  began 
to  narrate.  For  some  distance  he 
made  his  way  along  the  path  with 
no  obstruction,  save  only  the  want 
of  additional  space.  One  arm 
brushed  against  a  perpendicular 
wall  of  lofty  rock,  the  other  hung 
free  over  the  abyss.  He  owned  he 
didn't  like  it  ;  but  his  coolness  and 
determination,  not  to  mention  the 
impossibility  of  turning  back,  car- 
ried him  forward.  Just  as  he  had 
got  round  a  projecting  ridge,  which, 
once  passed,  return  was  hopeless, 
what  do  you  think  he  saw  in  the 
path  before  him  I  An  enormous 
baboon  !  yes,  sir  ;  not  an  ape,  a 
baboon.  What  was  to  be  done  1, 
lie  could  not  go  back,  and  the  ba- 
boon would  not.  Parsing  was  im- 
possible. There  they  stood  for 
some  seconds,  each  looking  daggers 
at  the  other.  It  was  a  question  of 
life  and  death  !  Presently  the  ba- 
boon began  to  grin — grinned  me- 
nacingly— raised  himself  erect  on 
his  hind -legs,  and  grinned  again, 
advanced  a  few  steps,  and  gave  an- 
other grin !  The  Captain  could 
easily  have  pitched  the  beast  over 
the  ledge,  but  in  so  doing  might  he 
not  have  lost  his  balance,  and  gone 
over  himself  ]  At  this  moment,  a 
bright  idea  occurring  to  the  Cap- 
tain's mind  ;  he  made  a  slight  move- 
ment downwards  with  his  hand, 
hoping  that  the  beast  would  do  as 
goats  do  under  similar  circum- 
stances— i.  c..  lie  down  upon  the 
path,  in  order  that  he,  the  Captain, 
might  walk  over  him.  The  baboon 
took  no  notice.  What  remained  ? 
Only  that,  as  the  baboon  would 
not,  the  Captain  must.  According- 
ly (this  part  of  the  adventure  the 
Captain  narrated  with  a  consider- 
able amount  of  self-vindication),  the 
Captain  laid  himself  along  at  full 
length,  and  the  baboon  walked  over 
him.  So  they  parted ;  each  went  his 
own  way  ;  and  the  Captain  em- 
braced the  earliest  opportunity  of 
transferring  himself  from  the  face 
o 


98 


TJw  Man  and  tJie  Monkey. 


[Jan. 


of  the  precipice  to  the  summit, 
where  I  had  the  honour  of  landing 
him  intheblowzed  andcolliquescent 
condition  already  described,  getting 
no  thanks  for  my  trouble. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you  safe  back 
again,"  said  I.  "  Had  you  missed 
your  footing,  the  result  must " 

Here  our  conversation  was  in- 
terrupted by  a  distant  bugle.  We 
both  knew  the  note  :  it  sounded 
for  some  one  escaping  to  the  ene- 
my's lines.  Then  followed  a  cannon- 
shot  from  the  Queen's  Battery,  then 
a  dropping  fire  of  musketry. 

In  order  to  see  what  was  in  the 
wind,  we  both  made  the  best  of 
our  way  back  to  the  Rock  Guard, 
whence  there  was  a  clear  view,  the 
whole  of  the  "  Neutral  Ground,"  or 
space  between  the  enemy's  lines  and 
our  own,  lying  spread  out  almost 
beneath  our  feet.  At  first  nothing 
was  visible,  save  the  occasional 
striking  of  our  shot,  as  they  knocked 
up  the  sand.  Presently,  however, 
we  distinguished  a  little  black  speck, 
which  was  evidently  making  the  best 
of  its  way  to  the  hostile  lines. 

Our  glasses  were  promptly  in  re- 
quisition. The  party  escaping  was 
at  once  brought  nigh  to  the  Cap- 
tain's eye  as  well  as  mine.  The 
fugitive  ran  well.  No  wonder  ;  he 
ran  for  his  life. 

Presently,  heedless  of  the  fire,  he 
paused,  coolly  faced  round,  laid  one 
hand  on  his  heart,  with  the  other 
took  off  his  hat,  and  made  a  pro- 
found semicircular  obeisance  to  the 
garrison.  He  then  skipped  down 
into  the  enemy's  trenches,  and  was 
lost  to  our  view. 

But  nottillhe  had  been  recognised 
both  by  the  Captain  and  myself. 

"  That  little  wretch  of  a  French- 
man !"  exclaimed  the  Captain. 

The  ludicrous  reality  broke  at 
once  upon  my  mind.  "  THE  BA- 
BOON ! "  I  replied. 

Captain  Schnaub  turned  on  me 
like  a  tiger. 

I  didn't  want  to  hurt  the  Cap- 
tain's feelings  ;  but  the  whole  thing 
was  so  unutterably  comical,  laugh- 
ter was  irrepressible.  So  I  laughed 
heartily ;  there  was  no  helping  it. 


The  Captain's  rage  knew  no  bounds. 
It  was  too  clear : — "  that  little 
wretch  "  had  again  been  too  much 
for  him  ;  had  disguised  himself, 
had  taken  the  path  at  the  back  of 
the  Rock,  had  there  met  the  Cap- 
tain, and  had  got  off  undetected 
and  unsuspected.  The  Captain,  to 
hide  his  wrath  and  mortification, 
was  again  disposed  to  quarrel. 
Perceiving,  however,  that  I  con- 
tinued far  less  inclined  to  wrangle 
than  to  laugh,  he  gradually  toned 
down,  and  turned  sulky.  Savage 
that  the  "  little  wretch"  had  got  off, 
what  chiefly  stung  him  was  one 
particular  incident.  After  some 
minutes'  gloomy  silence  it  at  length 
came  out : — "  To  think  that  I  was 
his  bridge,  and  that  he  actually 
walked  over  me  from  end  to  end  ! " 

"  Never  mind,  Captain,"  said  I. 
"  Considering  your  different  ampli- 
tudes, he  knew  very  well  it  would 
be  a  much  more  serious  business 
if  you  walked  over  him  ;  so  of  two 
evils  he  chose  the  less.  And  now 
let  me  advise  you  to  keep  your  own 
counsel.  Nobody  in  the  garrison 
knows  of  this  little  affair  at  the 
back  of  the  Rock  but  our  two 
selves  ;  and  I  shall  not  mention  it." 

Somewhat  mollified,  the  Captain 
awhile  remained  silent  and  pensive. 
At  length,  growing  confidential, 
and  speaking  low,  "  Do  you  know," 
said  he,  "just  as  he  had  got  his 
beastly  foot  on  the  small  of  my 
back,  he  gave  utterance  to  a  strange 
sort  of  guttural  cry,  which  I  did 
think  rather  odd  as  coming  from 
a  baboon ;  a  kind  of  mixture  be- 
tween a  chuckle  and  the  crowing 
of  a  cock !" 

So,  then,  the  little  Frenchman 
had  felt  such  intense  exultation  at 
the  rich  idea  of  walking  over  the 
Captain,  that,  between  crowing  and 
chuckling,  he  had  nearly  betrayed 
himself,  and  stood  detected  a  man, 
and  no  monkey. 

However,  though  the  joke  would 
have  exhilarated  the  whole  garri- 
son, I  kept  my  promise,  and  did 
not  tell ;  so  the  Captain  was  not 
made  a  laughingstock.  There  was 
a  strict  examination  of  the  quar- 


1863.] 


The  Man  and  the  Monkey. 


9!) 


tens  which  had  been  occupied  by 
M.  de  Montmaur  ;  but  the  search 
brought  nothing  to  light  which  in- 
dicated preparations  for  leaving.  He 
luid  doubtless  been  aided  in  his 
escape  by  some  party  or  parties 
within  the  garrison.  It  transpired 
that  he  had  been  wholly  absent 
from  his  apartment  during  the  four- 
and-twenty  hours  which  immedi- 
ately preceded  his  flight ;  and  for 
not  reporting  this,  the  proprietor, 
a  civilian,  had  to  pay  a  small  pecu- 
niary fine — a  far  lighter  punish- 
ment than  he  deserved. 

Whether  the  baboon  carried  any 
important  information  respecting 
the  state  of  affairs  within  the  for- 
tress to  our  enemies  without,  we 
never  learned.  If  he  did,  it  mat- 
tered little.  A  few  days  after  came 
their  grand  attack.  We  burnt  their 
floating  batteries  ;  and  shortly  after, 
the  siege  was  raised. 

Passing  along  the  sea-wall  the 
second  day  after  the  attack,  I 
noticed  a  brother  officer  with  his 
elbows  on  the  parapet,  blowing  a 
cloud.  I  was  soon  by  his  side, 
doing  as  he  did. 

Our  faces  were  towards  the  water. 
We  saw  the  whole  surface  of  the 
bay  covered  with  fragments  of 
wreck,  the  debris  of  battered  gal- 
leons. And  let  me  remark,  if  we 
had  not  burnt  them  \ve  should 
have  sunk  them,  so  steady  and 
overwhelming  was  the  fire  of  our 
artillery.  True,  we  fired  red-hot 
balls  ;  but  I  quite  agreed  with  the 
remark  of  an  old  artillery  officer, 
"  Sir,  we  could  have  beaten  them 
with  cold  shot." 

Among  the  wreck  that  had  floated 
in,  my  companion  and  1  noticed 
several  human  bodies  'poppling  up 
and  down,  now  visible,  now  disap- 
pearing, as  they  were  rolled  and 
tossed  by  the  waves — the  corpses  of 
our  enemies  who  had  perished  in  the 
attack.  Up  bobbed  a  very  dark  face. 

"  Ah,"  said  my  companion, 
"that's  an  Andaluz.  How  curi- 
ous !  Those  fellows  always  call 
themselves  JManros  :  and  they  are 
only  half  a  shade  lighter  than  the 
Moors  over  there  on  the  other  side." 


"  Look  there,"  said  I ;  "  alas,  a 
poor  priest !  Don't  you  see  his 
shaven  crown  V 

"  See  this  little  one,"  said  he, 
"  close  in  by  the  shore." 

"  A  drummer-boy,"  said  I. 

"  More  likely  a  powder-monkey," 
said  he. 

"  Military,"  said  I. 

"  Naval/'  said  he. 

Each  of  us  begged  leave  to  as- 
sure the  other  that  lie  was  as  blind 
as  a  bat.  The  difference,  of  course, 
led  to  a  wager  ;  and  we  walked 
down  together  to  the  shore,  in 
order  to  ascertain  which  had  won. 

The  sufferer  floated  prone,  with 
his  head  under  water.  A  soldier 
turned  him  over  for  us  with  the 
butt  -  end  of  his  musket.  No 
powder-monkey,  no  drummer-boy  ! 
It  was  my  poor  little  friend,  M.  de 
Montmaur  ! 

On  one  side  of  his  head  and  face 
was  a  tremendous  contusion,  enough 
to  have  killed  a  much  bigger  man. 
At  least,  then,  he  had  escaped  the 
horrors  of  suffocation  or  slow  com- 
bustion, the  lot  of  so  many  Span- 
iards on  the  awful  night  of  the 
attack.  Ah,  the  yells  of  a  thou- 
sand autos-da-fe,  seemed  all  to  be 
concentrated  and  avenged  in  the 
fearful  screams  that  came  in  to  us 
from  the  burning  ships  ! 

I  at  once  took  charge  of  the 
corpse,  and  then  and  there  deter- 
mined to  give  my  little  lamented 
friend  a  soldier's  funeral  according 
to  his  rank. 

Uut  he  had  cut  and  run.  Could 
he  receive  military  honours  ? 

Yes.  He  had  never  given  his 
parole  ;  and  he  had  only  availed 
himself  of  every  prisoner's  right  by 
all  the  laws  of  war,  to  escape  if  he 
can. 

The  funeral  was  very  generally 
attended  by  the  officers  of  the  gar- 
rison, amongst  whom  M.  de  Mont- 
maur had  been  laughed  at  and 
rather  liked.  It  was  not  alto- 
gether to  the  liking  of  Captain 
Schnaub  ;  but  that  gallant  officer 
also,  yielding  to  my  persuasive 
powers,  was  present  with  the  rest. 


100 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan, 


NILE     BASINS     AND     NILE     EXPLORERS. 


IT  is  a  singular  feature  in  the 
construction  of  the  human  mind, 
that  the  most  violent  passions 
should  always  be  excited  by  the 
consideration  of  problems  impos- 
sible of  solution.  Plain  facts,  sus- 
ceptible of  proof,  have  no  charm 
to  dogmatists,  for  one  can  only 
dogmatise  where,  from  the  nature 
of  the  point  at  issue,  the  major 
proposition  must  always  remain  a 
matter  of  opinion,  or  of  faith.  In 
theology,  controversies  of  this  de- 
scription have  always  existed ;  in 
science,  though  taking  the  form  of 
moral  rather  than  physical  violence, 
the  most  bitter  animosities  are  per- 
petually being  engendered.  Silu- 
rian and  Cambrian  have  been  the 
under-strata  of  many  a  dispute  ; 
there  is  hardly  an  instance  of  an 
officer  ever  having  tried  to  get  to 
the  north  pole  without  being  put 
under  arrest.  "  The  species  "  can't 
discuss  its  "  own  origin,"  without 
becoming  so  violently  excited  as  to 
endanger  its  peace  of  mind  ;  and  if 
it  is  any  satisfaction  to  those  who 
are  still  maintaining  a  bitter  con- 
troversy as  to  "  the  source  of  the 
Nile"  to  hear  it,  we  can  assure  them 
that  they  may  fight  about  it  for 
ever,  for  it  is  as  impossible  to  dis- 
cover in  a  precise  form  the  source 
of  a  mighty  river  as  the  origin  of  a 
race.  We  are  quite  prepared  to 
maintain  that  no  man  knows  the 
source  of  the  Thames,  or  ever  will 
know  it  •  that  the  seven  \vells  in 
which  it  is  popularly  supposed  to 
take  its  rise  are  not  as  far  by  water 
from  the  mouth  of  the  river  as 
another  spring  we  know  of,  but 
decline  to  mention  ;  and  we  have 
great  pleasure  in  throwing  down 
to  the  querulous  company  of  Afri- 
can geographers  old  Father  Thames 
as  a  much  more  exciting  bone  of 
contention  than  old  Father  Nile,  as 
it  will  have  the  advantage  of  en- 
abling a  much  larger  number  of 


persons  to  take  an  active  share 
in  the  dispute.  If  that  eminent 
geographer,  Mr  M'Queen,  would 
lead  an  expedition,  with  his  friend 
Captain  Richard  Burton  as  second 
in  command,  into  the  interior  of 
the  Cotswold  Hills,  how  entertained 
we  should  all  be  with  their  quarrel 
when  they  got  back,  for  we  should 
be  able  to  enter  into  their  argu- 
ments, and  appreciate  their  little 
personalities,  whereas  now  the  sub- 
ject is  so  involved-  that  we  fail 
sometimes  to  see  the  point  of  the 
opprobrious  epithet,  or  to  estimate 
at  its  full  value  the  covert  sneer. 
The  prospect  of  what  this  Nile 
controversy  may  lead  to  socially  is 
too  horrible  to  contemplate.  Is 
the  fact  of  being  interested  in  the 
source  of  the  Nile  synonymous 
with  being  unscrupulous  in  one's 
hatreds  1  Are  we  to  go  about  the 
world  saying,  on  a  first  introduc- 
tion to  a  man,  "  Do  you  care  about 
the  Nile,  or  do  you  not  agree  with 
me  that  Africa  is  a  bore  rather 
than  otherwise '?  for  unless  you 
do,  I  really  cannot  ventiire  to  cul- 
tivate your  acquaintance;"  or  is 
the  fact  that  we  entertain  a  certain 
curiosity  about  unsolved  African 
problems  to  justify  us  not  only  in 
libelling  our  living  foes,  but  in 
holding  up  to  contempt  the  memo- 
ries of  those  who  were  lately  with 
us  and  are  now  no  more  1 

Here,  for  instance,  is  a  specimen 
of  the  ingenious  way  in  which  Cap- 
tain Burton  drags  into  the  light  of 
day  a  gentleman  against  whom  he 
entertains  a  grudge,  wraps  him  up 
in  a  mystery  of  wickedness  by  in- 
nuendo, and  borrows,  probably  be- 
cause he  is  afraid  of  being  libellous, 
Mr  Disraeli's  sarcasm  with  which 
to  impale  his  enemy  upon  the  Nile 
controversy.  The  immediate  sin  of 
which  his  victim  is  guilty  is  in  hav- 
ing combined  with  the  civic  autho- 
rities at  Southampton  to  pay  Captain 


1805.] 


Xile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


101 


Spekc  the  compliment  of  receiving 
him  on  his  arrival  in  Kngland,  an 
honour  which  his  jealous  rival  had 
apparently  coveted  in  vain.  "  At 
Southampton,"  he  says,*  bitterly, 
"  Captain  Speke  was  received  by 
the  civic  authorities  and  sundry 
supporters,  including  a  Colonel 
Uigby  of  the  Bombay  army,  ex- 
Consul  of  Zanzibar,  who  had  taken 
a  peculiar  part  in  promoting,  Im- 
purely private  reasons,  the  propos- 
ed Nyanza  expedition  of  Captain 
Speke  nrsus  the  Mombas  Nile 
expedition  proposed  by  myself." 
Then  comes  the  quotation  in  a  neat 
and  appropriate  footnote  : — 

"  All,  that  harsh  voice,  that  arro- 
gant style,  that  .saucy  superficiality 
which  decided  on  everything — that 
insolent  arrogance  that  contradicted 
everybody  !  it  was  impossible  to 
mistake  them  ;  and  Coningsby  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  reproduced 
before  him  the  guardian  of  his 
youth,  Nicholas  lligby." 

Although  we  could  not  go  down 
to  Southampton,  we  share  the  fate 
of  the  gallant  Colonel  for  the  same 
reason.  "  A  welcome  to  Captain 
Speke  was  put  forward,  in  August 
1863,  by  '  Blackwood's  Magazine,'  a 
periodical  from  which,  for  reasons 
best  known  to  myself,  and  wholly 
unworthy  of  being  put  before  the 
public,  I  have  never  of  late  years 
expected  to  receive  justice."  That 
Captain  Burton  should  allow  us  to 
infer  that  he  felt  regret  at  poor 
( Captain  Speke's  ever  emerging  alive 
from  the  interior  of  Africa,  does  not 
astonish  us,  considering  the  manner 
in  which  he  attacks  his  memory  in 
the  work  before  us  ;  but  that  he 
should  consider  it  a  personal  insult 
in  others  that  they  did  not  share 
his  sentiment  upon  the  occasion,  is 
surely  pushing  partisanship  beyond 
the  limits  even  of  African  contro- 
versy; while  the  singular  tendency, 
which  he  is  not  ashamed  to  exhibit, 
to  "  stab  in  the  dark,"  partakes 
somewhat  of  the  character  of  Asia- 


tic vindictiveness.    Fortunately  the 
weapons    which     Captain    Burton 
might  use  with  effect  against  those 
he  wished   to    injure   in  a   savage 
country,  will  only  cut  the  hands  of 
their  employer  in  a  civilised  land, 
and    we    cannot    defend    ourselves 
more  completely  than  by  giving  all 
possible  publicity  to  his  sentiments. 
Had   he  confined   himself  to  at- 
tacking   the    living,    however,    we 
should  not  have  thought  it  worth 
while  to  pay  him  even  this   com- 
pliment; but  the  decencies  of  so- 
ciety   may  not    be    outraged   with 
impunity  beyond  a   certain  point, 
and   we     can     only    put    Captain 
Burton  in  his  true  light  before  the 
public,  by  showing  that  his  real  ob- 
ject in  publishing  the  work  before 
us,  and  calling  it  the  'Nile  Basin,' 
is,  to  discredit  not  the  discoveries 
of  an  explorer,  but  the  memory  of 
a  deceased  fellow-traveller.    Would 
it  not  have  been  the  instinct  of  a 
generous  mind  to  have  allowed  the 
very  controversy  to  slumber,  rather 
than   to  excite   it  by  allusions  in- 
dulged in  to  the  disparagement  of 
one  who  was   no   longer   alive   to 
defend  himself  1   Can  it  now  pos- 
sibly afford  satisfaction  to  any  one, 
to  be  told  that  "  Captain  Speke's 
mind  could  not  grasp  a  fact,"   or 
that  "  he    did   not    know  the  use 
of  words;"  or  that,  at  the  special 
meeting  held  by  the  Geographical 
Society  to  receive  Captain  Speke, 
"  the  windows  were  broken  in  by 
an  eager  crowd,  who  witnessed,  it 
is    said,    a    somewhat    disenchant- 
ing  exhibition."       Still    less    was 
there    any   occasion    to    republish 
in    a    collected    form    the    articles 
which   appeared  in  the  '  Morning 
Advertiser'  from    the   pen  of   Mr 
M'Queen    during    the    lifetime   of 
Captain    Speke ;    and   which   con- 
tain expressions  written  during  the 
heat  of  controversy  which  we  feel 
sure  their  author  would  not  have 
penned  now.      We  will  spare  our 
readers  more  quotations  than   are 


1  The  Nile  Basing     By  Richard  F.  Burton,  F.R.G.S.     London,  1864. 


102 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


absolutely  necessary  from  this  part 
of  the  volume,  as  neither  argu- 
ments nor  abuse  of  Captain  Speke 
personally  throw  any  light  upon 
the  Nile  question,  merely  remark- 
ing, that  if  the  contents  of  the 
Nile  basin,  which  has  yet  to  be 
discovered,  are  half  as  offensive  as 
the  contents  of  that  basin  which 
Captain  Burton  has  here  presented 
to  us,  we  do  not  envy  the  discoverer. 
There  is  only  one  more  announce- 
ment we  would  make  in  connection 
with  this  very  disagreeable  topic,  but 
it  is  one  for  which  our  readers  will 
be  so  little  prepared  that  we  have 
reserved  it  until  now :  in  the  pre- 
face to  the  work  of  which  we  have 
shown  the  scope  and  tendency, 
Captain  Burton  says,  that  "  he 
does  not  stand  forth  as  an  enemy  of 
the  departed,"  as  he  "  knew  him  for 
so  many  years,  and  travelled  with 
him  as  a  brother."  In  other  words, 
our  author  wishes  us  to  understand 
that  he  is  writing  of  Captain  Speke 
as  he  would  of  a  departed  friend 
and  brother.  Our  imagination  fails 
to  convey  any  idea  of  how  he  would 
under  these  circumstances  deal  with 
the  memory  of  his  enemy.  But  we 
cannot  give  Captain  Burton  a  better 
illustration  of  how  a  man  ought  to 
write  of  his  friend  and  fellow- 
traveller  than  by  quoting  a  page 
from  the  simple  narrative  of  Captain 
Grant : — 

"My  acquaintance  with  Captain  Speke 
commenced  as  far  back  as  1847,  when 
he  was  serving  in  India  with  his  regi- 
ment. We  were  both  Indian  officers, 
of  the  same  age,  and  equally  fond  of 
£eld  -  sports,  and  our  friendship  con- 
tinued unbroken.  After  his  return  from 
discovering  the  Victoria  Nyauza,  he  was, 
as  is  well  known,  commissioned  by  the 
Koyal  Geographical  Society  to  prosecute 
his  discovery,  and  to  ascertain,  if  pos- 
sible, the  truth  of  his  conjecture — that 
the  Nile  had  its  source  in  that  gigantic 
lake,  the  Nyanza.  I  volunteered  to  ac- 
company him ;  my  offer  was  at  once  ac- 
cepted ;  and  it  is  now  a  melancholy 


satisfaction  to  think  that  not  a  shade  of 
jealousy  or  distrust,  or  even  ill-temper, 
ever  came  between  us  during  our  wan- 
derings and  intercourse." 

With  an  intuitive  shrinking  from 
the  very  semblance  of  a  controver- 
sial title,  Captain  Grant  calls  his 
book  '  A  Walk  across  Africa ;  or, 
Domestic  Scenes  from  my  Nile 
Journal,'*  and  from  the  beginning 
of  it  to  the  end  no  word  of  bitter- 
ness escapes  him  ;  with  a  tender- 
ness which  only  a  really  brave  man 
can  feel  does  he  touch  upon  the 
memory  of  his  lost  friend,  and  in 
these  few  lines  of  deep  sentiment 
does  he  give  us  the  key  to  the  gentle 
spirit  which  pervades  the  book,  and 
which  more  effectively  silences  his 
adversaries  than  the  bitterest  re- 
tort : — 

' '  At  this  point  of  rny  narrative  I  was 
arrested  by  startling  intelligence  :  the 
first  dark  cloud  connected  with  our 
African  joxiruey  had  suddenly  appeared. 
In  a  moment,  without  warning,  the  de- 
voted leader  of  the  expedition  was  cut 
off  in  his  prime,  and  just  as  he  had  told 
the  wondrous  tale  of  his  adventurous 
life  !  On  the  17th  of  September,  when 
engaged  as  usual  in  transcribing  from 
my  Journal,  my  apartment  was  entered 
by  my  brother-in-law,  the  Rev.  Peter 
Mackenzie,  whose  countenance  wore  an 
unusual  expression  of  grief.  It  was  to 
break  to  me  the  sad  news  that  my  fel- 
low-traveller—  poor  Speke — had  been 
shot  by  the  accidental  discharge  of  his 
own  gun.  I  could  not  realise  the  fact. 
Could  he  possibly  be  dead  ?  Was  there 
no  hope  ?  The  telegraph  gave  us  none. 
A  few  days  only  had  elapsed  since  he 
and  his  brother  invited  me  to  their  home 
in  Somersetshire  to  be  present  at  the 
meeting  of  the  British  Association  at 
Bath,  and  had  I  gone  thither  and  been 
with  my  friend,  this  calamity  might 
have  been  averted.  Innumerable  such 
thoughts  hurried  through  my  mind  on 
the  first  shock  of  the  melancholy  tid- 
ings. It  was  hard  to  believe  that  one 
who  had  braved  so  much  had  thus  fal- 
len, and  that  his  career  of  usefulness  was 
run  !  I  reproached  myself  for  having 
silently  borne  all  the  taunts  and  doubts 


*  'A  Walk  across  Africa;  or,  Domestic  Scenes  from  my  Nile  Journal.'  By 
James  Augustus  Grant,  Captain  H.M.  Bengal  Army.  William  Blackwood  & 
Sons,  Edinburgh  and  London. 


1865.] 


A\Tile  basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


103 


thrown  upon  hi.s  great  discovery,  the 
truth  of  which  will  ultimately  be  ac- 
knowledged by  all  but  those  deter- 
mined to  cavil.  We  had  corresponded 
on  the  .subject,  and  agreed  that  contro- 
versy on  my  part  was  to  be  avoided. 
Any  attempt  of  the  kind  might  only 
weaken  his  cause,  and  I  felt  that  no 
assertions  of  mine  were  necessary  to 
bear  out  the  facts  which  he  had  re- 
corded. Truth  in  time  would  conquer, 
and  bear  down  all  gainsayers,  while 
that  grand  reservoir  of  twenty  thou- 
sand miles— the  Victoria  Nyanza,  with 
its  fountains  and  tributaries  —  would 
speak  for  itself.  Knowing  that  on  our 
travels  my  attention  was  more  directed 
to  the  habits  of  the  people  than  to  the 
geography  of  the  country,  he  expressed 
a  wish  that  I  should  write  an  account 
of  our  camp  life  in  Africa.  I  complied, 
and  part  of  this  narrative  lay  on  his 
table  on  the  day  of  his  death.  It  now 
goes  forth  without  his  revision  or  sug- 
gestions— a  public  loss ;  for  my  fellow- 
traveller  had  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  country,  loved  its  inhabitants,  was 
a  practical  ornithologist,  and  would 
have  aided  me  with  his  views  ou  all 
topographical  questions.  Added  to  a 
singular  adaptation  for  the  work  he 
had  made  choice  of,  —  arising  partly 
from  his  imperturbable  temper  and 
great  patience, — Captain  Speke  was, 
in  private  life,  pure-minded,  honour- 
able, regardless  of  self,  and  equally 
self-denying,  with  a  mind  always  aim- 
ing at  great  things,  and  above  every 
littleness.  He  was  gentle  and  pleasing 
in  manner,  with  almost  childlike  sim- 
plicity, but  at  the  same  time  extremely 
tenacious  of  purpose.  This  was  strik- 
ingly displayed  in  his  recent  efforts  to 
trosecute  his  work  in  Africa,  which, 
ad  he  lived,  he  would  ultimately  have 
accomplished.  But  C.od  has  ordained 
it  otherwise.  His  will  be  done !  To 
Captain  Speke's  mourning  relatives  and 
friends,  there  remains  the  consolation 
that  though  he  died  in  the  prime  of  life, 
he  had  attained  to  immortal  fame,  and 
now  rests  in  his  own  beautiful  native 
district,  lamented  by  all  who  knew 
him,  and  a  brilliant  example  to  the 
youth  of  future  generations.  His  re- 
mains were  laid  with  those  of  his  an- 
cestors in  the  family  vault  of  the  parish 
church ;  and  had  the  toll  of  the  funeral 
bells  reached  the  shores  of  the  Nyanza 
as  it  touched  the  hearts  of  those  in  the 
valley  of  Ilminster,  there  is  one  at  least 
—  the  King  of  Uganda  —  who  would 
have  shed  a  tear  for  the  untimely  death 
of  the  far-distant  traveller  who  Lad 


sought  and  found  his  protection.  I 
must  now  resume  the  course  of  my  nar- 
rative, which  has  been  so  painfully  in- 
terrupted." 

Wisely  has  Captain  Grant  judged 
that  such  a  tribute  to  hi.s  friend's 
memory  was  the  be.st  answer  to 
those  who  still  continue  to  assail 
it,  nor  can  he  honour  it  more  high- 
ly, or  defend  it  more  successfully, 
than  by  adhering  to  Captain  Speke's 
request,  that  his  companion  should 
not  become  involved  in  this  painful 
controversy.  On  all  occasions,  there- 
fore, Captain  Grant  has  avoided  al- 
luding to  Captain  Burton — a  fact 
which  the  latter,  who  is  as  indig- 
nant at  being  let  alone  as  dissented 
from,  cannot  allow  to  pass  unno- 
ticed. "  Captain  Grant,"  he  says, 
"  has  not  (1  refer  to  his  printed 
paper  on  the  native  tribes  visited 
by  Captains  Speke  and  Grant  in 
Equatorial  Africa,  read  before  the 
Ethnological  Society,  June  30, 
1863)  owned  the  vast  benefit  which 
the  second  expedition  derived  from 
the  first." 

To  the  general  reader  the  absence 
of  the  controversial  element  in  the 
work  before  us  is  its  greatest  re- 
commendation. It  would  seem  that 
"  the  source  of  the  Nile"  lias  a  ten- 
dency to  produce  a  species  of  mono- 
mania in  the  mind  when  it  is  long 
dwelt  upon,  and  it  is  an  absolute 
relief  to  find  that  Captain  Grant 
has  escaped  the  disease.  AVe  shall 
only  enter  upon  the  controversy 
sufficiently  to  show  that  the  argu- 
ments contained  in  the  'Xile  Basin' 
are  based  entirely  upon  the  strong 
personal  animus  which  its  authors 
entertained  towards  Captain  Speke. 

Forasmuch  as  there  is  no  general 
rule  by  which  the  source  of  a  river 
can  ever  be  determined,  there  is 
nothing  easier  than  to  deny  that  it 
has  been  discovered,  or  more  im- 
possible than  to  prove  that  it  has. 
In  some  rivers  the  source  of  the 
river  is  derived  from  its  direction, 
and  not  either  from  its  length  or 
its  volume,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Mississippi,  which  is  neither  so  long 
nor  so  large  as  its  tributary  the 


104 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


Missouri.  In  others  it  is  derived 
from  volume  alone,  and  in  others 
from  its  length ;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  the  Nile  has  a  great 
many  sources,  and  there  will  be  a 
great  deal  to  be  said  in  favour  of 
each  of  them.  Captain  Burton  and 
Mr  M'Queen  will  probably  be  able 
to  choose  one  apiece. 

When  rivers  run  out  of  large  lakes, 
which  are  supplied  by  numerous 
streams  of  various  sizes  running  into 
them,  and  conscientious  geogra- 
phers insist  upon  calling  one  of 
them  the  source  of  the  river  that 
flows  from  the  lake,  they  may 
squabble  for  ever.  For  ourselves, 
we  think  it  a  most  remarkable 
achievement  that  two  men  should 
have  entered  Africa  at  Zanzibar, 
discovered  an  enormous  lake,  the 
shores  of  which  are  inhabited  by 
most  singular  and  interesting  races, 
heretofore  totally  unknown,  and 
found  that  it  was  emptied  by  a 
large  river  flowing  in  a  northerly 
direction,  which,  though  they  can- 
not follow  it  throughout  every 
mile  of  its  course,  they  presume 
to  be  the  Nile ;  and  that,  after 
an  absence  of  nearly  three  years, 
these  adventurous  explorers  should 
emerge  from  Africa  at  Alexandria. 
Captain  Burton,  whose  journey  to 
Tanganyika  with  Captain  Speke 
was  a  mere  holiday  pastime  in 
comparison  to  the  one  achieved  by 
his  companion  without  him,  and 
which  he  is  now  engaged  in  dis- 
paraging, cannot  resist  publishing 
the  opinion  of  Mr  M'Queen  upon  the 
subject.  "  Finally,"  says  this  gentle- 
man, "  we  deeply  regret  the  miser- 
able termination  which  this  great 
African  exploration  has  had.  We 
regret  it  on  the  part  of  the  public, 
and  we  deeply  lament  the  result  on 
account  of  Captain  Speke  himself. 
It  might,  it  ought  to  have  been 
different  ;  but  the  only  person  to 
blame  for  the  poor  results  is  Captain 
Speke  himself." 

We  can  understand  a  feeling  of 
petty  jealousy  seeking  to  detract 
from  the  merit  of  the  most  bril- 
liant exploratory  exploit  of  the 


century  by  diverting  attention  from 
its  magnitude  to  an  insignificant 
detail,  which  Captain  Burton  calls 
"  a  gigantic  ignis  fatuus,"  and 
which  can  never  be  settled ;  but 
it  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  any 
one  should  exist  with  a  judgment 
so  biassed  by  the  above  unworthy 
sentiment  as  to  pronounce  so  great 
an  achievement  a  miserable  failure. 
In  '  The  Nile  Basin/  Captain 
Burton  gives  us  two  maps — one  on 
his  own  projection,  and  one  on 
Captain  Speke's.  In  the  former, 
the  Nyanza  Lake  is  indicated  in 
patches,  as  Captain  Burton  denies 
its  existence,  and  insists  that  Cap- 
tain Speke  knows  nothing  more 
of  the  lake  than  what  he  actually 
saw.  But  exactly  the  same  may 
be  said  of  the  "  so-called  Tangan- 
yika" Lake,  discovered  by  Captains 
Burton  and  Speke,  which  is  never- 
theless carefully  defined  in  his  own 
map  all  round,  with  one  river  run- 
ning into  it  and  another  running 
out  of  it,  neither  of  which  either 
he  or  any  one  else  has  ever  seen,  but 
which  he  has  in  the  most  unblush- 
ing and  barefaced  way  altered  from 
his  own  original  map,  published 
in  his  '  Lake  Begions  of  Central 
Africa,'  where  a  river  called  the 
Rusizi  is  made  to  run  into  the 
lake  from  the  northward.  In  the 
map  before  us,  this  river  is  made 
to  run  out  of  the  lake  to  the  north- 
ward, and  ultimately  to  become 
the  Nile.  It  is  only  due  to  Cap- 
tain Burton  to  say,  that  the  theory  of 
making  Lake  Tanganyika  the  Source 
of  the  Nile  did  not  originate  with 
him  but  with  Mr  Findlay — a  fact, 
however,  which  did  not  prevent 
Captain  Burton  from  deliberately 
adopting  it  as  his  own,  without 
acknowledgment,  for  the  first  time, 
in  a  paper  read  a  few  weeks  ago  at 
a  meeting  of  the  Geographical  So- 
ciety. His  opinions  when  he  was 
on  the  spot  were  very  different 
from  the  wild  theory  he  has  con- 
structed more  than  five  years  after 
he  has  left  it.  In  his  '  Lake  Re- 
gions '  he  describes  having  arrived 
to  within  ten  miles  of  the  northern 


1865.1 


Nile  7i(isins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


105 


end  of  the  Lake  Tanganyika.  Here, 
he  and  Spoke  were  stopped,  but  he 
made  the  fullest  inquiries  from  the 
natives.  "  The  subject  of  the  mys- 
terious river  issuing  from  the  lake 
was  at  once  brought  forward.  They 
all  declared  they  had  visited  it ; 
they  offered  to  forward  me,  but 
they  unanimously  asserted,  and 
every  man  in  the  host  of  bystanders 
confirmed  their  words,  that  the  Ku- 
sizi  ilows  into,  and  does  not  ilow 
out  of  the  Tanganyika.  I  felt  sick 
at  heart."  Why  did  he  feel  sick  at 
heart,  if  it  was  not  that  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  this  river  was  not  the 
source  of  the  Nile?  and  what  has 
happened  since  to  restore  the  action 
of  his  heart  .<  Is  it  the  fact  that  the 
only  man  who  was  with  him,  and 
could  speak  to  the  point  at  issue, 
is  no  longer  alive  to  do  so  ?  For- 
tunately, we  have  his  own  book 
written  before  the  new  theory,  the 
whole  tendency  and  evidence  of 
which  goes  to  upset  it.  "  The  gen- 
eral formation  of  the  Tanganyika," 
lie  says,  "  suggests,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  the  idea  of  a  volcano 
of  depression, — not  like  the  Nyanza, 
a  vast  reservoir  formed  by  the  drain- 
age of  the  mountains."  This  was 
before  he  had  an  idea  that  he  would 
one  day  write  a  book  to  prove  that 
the  "  vast  reservoir  "  called  the  Ny- 
anza did  not  exist  at  all.  In  his 
first  book  Captain  Burton  devotes  a 
chapter  to  maintain  his  then  theory 
"  that  the  Tanganyika  has  no  efflu- 
ents ; "  these  are  his  own  words. 
Five  years  after  he  writes  a  book  to 
prove  that  his  first  book  is  wrong 
in  every  detail,  that  the  Tanganyika 
has  effluents, that  the  range  of  moun- 
tains at  the  head  of  the  lake,  which 
lie  thus  describes — "  opposite  us 
still  rose,  in  a  high  broken  line, 
the  mountains  of  the  inhospitable 
Urundi,  apparently  prolonged  be- 
yond the  head  of  the  waters" — 
does  not  exist  at  all.  The  very  idea 
of  their  existence  at  last  excites 
his  indignation.  Two  papers, 
he  complains,  were  published  in 
'Blackwood's  Magazine,'  by  Captain 
Speke,  in  September  and  October 


1859,  "  and  accompanied  by  a 
sketch-map,  in  which,  to  my  asto- 
nishment, appeared,  for  the  first 
time  in  print,  a  huge  range  estimat- 
ed to  rise  GdOO  to  80()0  feet,  and 
dubbed  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 
At  first  the  segment  of  a  circle,  it 
gradually  shaped  itself  into  a  colt's 
foot,  or  a  Lord  Chancellor's  wig, 
and  it  very  effectually  cut  off  all 
access  from  the  Tanganyika  to  the 
Nile."  J'oor  Captain  Speke  had  as 
little  idea  as  Captain  Burton  him- 
self at  that  time  that  the  latter 
would  ever  endeavour  to  ignore 
the  mountains  he  said  he  saw, 
to  turn  "  affluents  "  into  "  efflu- 
ents," and  "vast  reservoirs"  into 
"sundry  lagoons,"  all  to  suit  a  new 
theory,  based  not  upon  a  geogra- 
phical conviction,  but  on  a  sentiment 
of  envy. 

After  all,  supposing  even  that 
Captain  Burton  is  right,  and  that 
Lake  Nyanza  is  t\vo  or  three  lakes, 
the  worst  that  can  be  said  of  Cap- 
tain Speke  is,  that  he  discovered 
two  or  three  lakes  instead  of  one  ; 
and  supposing  that  Captain  Burton 
is  right,  and  that  the  river  running 
out  of  the  lake  which  Captain 
Speke  followed  for  miles  is  not  the 
Nile,  then  the  worst  that  can  be 
said  of  Captain  Speke  is,  that  he 
has  discovered  the  most  remarkable 
river  in  the  globe ;  for  if  the  Nile 
rises  in  Tanganyika,  passing  through 
the  Luta  Nzige,  according  to  this 
new  hypothesis,  then  this  river  of 
Captain  Speke's  has  no  choice  but 
to  cross  Captain  Burton's  river,  take 
no  notice  of  it  whatever,  just  as  one 
street  crosses  another,  and  run 
away  into  the  heart  of  Africa  and 
be  never  more  heard  of.  The  man 
who  has  discovered  such  a  river 
deserves  immortality  ;  and  we  can 
only  hope,  for  Captain  Speke's 
sake,  that  this  singular  hypothesis 
of  Captain  Burton  may  turn  out 
correct.  At  the  risk  of  calling 
down  on  our  own  devoted  heads 
the  wrath  of  this  dangerous  class 
of  men,  whose  anger  we  deprecate, 
and  whose  vengeance  we  feel  will 
be  terrific,  we  hazard  a  conjecture, 


106 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


but  we  are  not  the  least  wedded  to 
it,  and  will  set  the  example  if  need 
be,  hitherto  unknown  to  African 
geographers,  of  admitting  we  are 
mistaken,  should  Mr  Baker  or  any 
one  else  so  determine.  Our  theory 
— we  call  it  ours,  because  it  is  the 
correct  thing  in  African  matters  to 
have  your  own  theory,  and  be  very 
positive  about  it ;  but  the  truth  is, 
it  is  not  original,  indeed  very  much 
the  reverse,  rather  commonly  en- 
tertained— still  we  will  venture  to 
state  it,  and  call  it  ours.  Our 
theory,  then,  is,  that  there  are  three 
principal  sources  of  the  Nile  rising 
out  of  three  large  lakes — one  dis- 
covered by  Captain  Speke,  and 
flowing  out  of  the  Lake  Nyanza, 
which  joins  a  small  one  flowing 
out  of  the  Lake  Luta  Nzige,  the 
existence  of  which  we  hope  Mr 
Baker  may  determine ;  and  one 
called  the  Asuan  or  Eastern 
branch,  flowing  out  of  the  Lake 
Bahari  Ngo,  the  size  of  which  we 
know  from  Captain  Speke's  per- 
sonal observation.  Of  these  three 
the  one  discovered  by  Captain 
Speke  is  unquestionably  the  longest 
and  the  largest ;  but  which  of  the 
innumerable  rivers  that  run  into 
this  lake  is  to  be  considered  the 
river  that  runs  out  of  it,  will,  as  we 
have  already  remarked,  probably 
remain  a  subject  open  to  discussion 
in  all  ages. 

But  we  have  lingered  over  '  The 
Basin'  longer  than  we  intended,  or 
than  has  been  at  all  pleasant, 
though  we  shall  have  to  return  to 
it.  What  we  really  desire  to  do  is 
to  congratulate  Captain  Grant  on 
the  production  of  a  more  than 
usually  readable  African  book. 
We  can  best  describe  it  in  the 
words  of  Captain  Speke,  who 
asked  him  to  write  it,  and  whose 
wishes  in  this  respect  have  been 
most  admirably  fulfilled — 

"79  ECCLESTON  SQUARE, 

1st  June  1864. 

"M.Y  BEAR  GRANT, — I  really  wish 
you  would  write  your  experiences  in 
Central  Africa,  from  Kaze  to  Gondo- 
koro.  In  doing  so,  try  as  much  as 


possible  to  give,  relatively,  a  corre- 
sponding valuation  to  each  succeeding 
country,  in  the  order  in  which  you 
passed  through  them — I  mean,  as  re- 
gards the  products  and  the  capabilities 
of  the  countries,  the  density  of  their 
populations,  and  the  different  natures 
of  the  people,  as  well  as  the  causes 
affecting  them.  Personal  anecdotes, 
especially  illustrative  of  the  supersti- 
tious inclinations  of  the  people,  will  be 
most  interesting.  But  nothing  can  be 
of  such  permanent  value  to  the  work 
as  a  well-defined  account  of  the  rainy 
system  and  its  operation  upon  vegetable 
life,  showing  why  the  first  three  de- 
grees of  north  latitude  are  richer  than 
the  first  three  in  the  south,  and  how  it 
happens  that  the  further  one  goes  from 
the  equator,  the  poorer  the  countries 
become  from  want  of  moisture.  I 
maintain  that  all  true  rivers  in  Africa 
— not  nullahs — which  do  not  rise  in 
the  flanking  coast  ranges,  can  only 
have  their  fountains  on  the  equator ; 
but  the  people  of  this  country  have 
not  learned  to  see  it  yet. — Yours  ever 
sincerely, 

"  J.  H.  SPEKK." 

Captain  Grant's  style  is  easy  and 
natural ;  he  neither  wears  one  out 
with  long  African  names  and  ex- 
pressions, nor  bores  one  with  unin- 
teresting details  of  disputes  and 
quarrels,  but  describes  in  a  lively 
graphic  manner  the  habits  and 
customs  of  the  people,  while  his 
minute  observation  of  both  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  nature  renders 
his  work  a  really  valuable  addition 
to  the  stock  of  knowledge  we  had 
already  obtained  through  the  pub- 
lications of  Captain  Speke  about 
this  part  of  Africa.  The  man  who 
writes  his  travels  in  a  collected 
narrative  has  always  an  immense 
advantage  over  him  who  feels 
bound  to  convey  the  result  of  his 
experiences  in  the  disjointed  form 
of  a  personal  diary.  In  cases  like 
the  present,  it  was  scarcely  possible 
for  Captain  Speke  to  do  otherwise 
than  adopt  the  latter  plan,  as  he 
felt  it  his  duty  to  render  an  ac- 
count of  each  day's  proceedings  to 
those  who  had  sent  him  out,  and 
his  object  was  rather  to  convey 
precise  information  and  instruction 
than  mere  amusement.  Captain 


1865.] 


Xile  flats  ins  and  Xile  Ej-)>lorers. 


107 


Grant  feels  that  this  has  now  been 
done,  and  that  he  was  free  to  write 
as  pleasant  and  amusing  a  book  as 
he  could,  leaving  out  all  dry  de- 
tails, and  confining  himself  to  the 
novel  and  the  graphic  incidents 
of  his  journey  ;  but  even  he  finds 
that  sometimes  a  better  idea  is 
conveyed  of  the  nature  of  their 
mode  of  life  by  quotations  from 
his  diary,  than  from  mere  descrip- 
tions, and  he  makes  these  selections 
with  good  judgment.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  picture  of  life,  as  en- 
joyed by  the  African  traveller  : — 

"8th  Nov.  '60.  — Peters  reported  ill 
yesterday  ;  teeth  clenched,  eyes  rolling, 
bmly  rigid,  pulse  1'20  ;  wouldn't  speak; 
had  been  asleep  in  the  sun.  I  recom- 
mended bleeding.  To-day  he  had  rid- 
den the  march  on  a  donkey,  but  could 
not  sit  up  ;  hail  to  be  lashed  to  the 
beast.  He  now  lay  on  the  ground 
seemingly  unconscious,  his  stomach 
violently  heaving.  At  3  r.  M.  the  cara- 
van was  under  way  again.  Lashed 
Peters  on  the  saddle  like  a  Ma/eppa  ! 
Fever  still  upon  me."  "  November 
Oth.  — '  The  man  is  dead, '  said  the  cor- 
poral, while  we  were  busy  painting. 
We  were  all  shocked.  He  had  died 
calmly  without  the  knowledge  of  his 
comrades.  I  had  fever  to-day."  "No- 
vember l()th. — Funeral,  5  A.M.  The 
body  sewed  up  in  an  American  cloth  ; 
carried  in  a  blanket,  four  Tots  with  a 
corner  each.  The  corporal,  Speke,  and 
myself  formed  the  procession,  the  cor- 
poral carrying  a  hatchet  and  two 
sword-bayonets  to  extend  the  grave  if 
necessary.  Found  only  a  grave  one 
foot  deep,  and  partly  rilled  in  with 
grass.  Hatchets  and  bayonets  were 
used,  and  we  got  a  place  large  enough. 
I  read  the  service,  and  afterwards  re- 
turned to  camp.  Sketched  a  '  GoocUe  ' 
tree.  Had  fever,  no  ague,  but  mind 
wandering  ;  very  drowsy  ;  disturbed 
rest.  All  the  niggers  exceedingly  jolly 
— singing,  playing  bells,  horns,  drums, 
&c." 

Captain  Grant  gives  an  amusing 
and  graphic  account  of  his  two 
months'  residence  at  Kazeh  as  a 
guest  of  Moossah,  an  Indian  trader, 
whose  mode  of  life,  occupations, 
and  domestic  arrangements  seem 
to  have  been  extremely  original : — 

' '  The  harem  department   presented 


a  domestic  scene.  At  dawn,  women 
in  robes  of  coloured  chintx,  their  hair 
neatly  plaited,  gave  fresh  milk  to  the 
swarm  of  black  eats,  or  churned  butter 
in  gourds,  by  rocking  it  to  and  fro  in 
their  laps.  By  seven  o'clock  the  whole 
place  was  swept  clean.  Some  of  the 
household  fed  the  game  fowls,  or 
looked  after  the  ducks  and  pigeons — 
two  women  chained  by  the  neck 
fetched  firewood,  or  ground  corn  at  a 
stone.  Children  would  eat  together 
without  dispute,  In-cause  a  matron 
presided  over  them  ;  all  were  quiet, 
industrious  beings,  never  idle,  and  as 
happy  as  the  day  was  long." 

This  seems  rather  odd  as  applied 
to  the  two  women  chained  by  the 
neck,  but  the  African  race  is  re- 
markable for  its  buoyancy  of  tem- 
perament, its  indifference  to  phy- 
sical suffering,  or  even  to  the  ap- 
proach of  death.  Captain  Grant 
gives  an  account  of  an  execution, 
over  which  he  was  obliged  to  pre- 
side, at  Zanzibar,  of  two  of  the  na- 
tives concerned  in  the  murder  of 
Dr  Koscher.  The  two  prisoners 
squatted  outside  the  fort-wall  with 
perfect  composure,  naked  from 
head  to  foot,  except  a  waist-cloth, 
neither  tied  nor  handcuffed,  and 
guarded  carelessly  by  a  few  jesting 
soldiers.  These  men  manifested  no 
emotion  when  led  to  the  place  of 
execution,  and  waited  with  uncon- 
cern for  the  final  sentence. 

"  A  twig  of  grass  pinioned  each  man, 
and  they  were  made  to  sit  on  the 
ground,  speaking  calmly,  while  the 
crowd,  all  crushing  around,  joked  as  if 
at  a  holiday-rout.  Another  delay  oc- 
curred, no  one  had  given  the  order. 
On  being  asked  might  it  commence?  1 
replied,  '  Yes,  certainly,  proceed.'  The 
executioner  at  once  took  his  place,  drew 
his  sword,  weighed  it  in  his  hand,  threw 
up  his  sleeves,  and  slipi>ed  his  feet  out 
of  his  shoes,  while  the  dense  mass  all 
seemed  breathless.  The  executioner 
was  a  small  man,  respectably  dressed, 
looking  like  an  Indian  Nnbbeebux. 
The  prisoners  sat  three  yards  apart, 
one  slightly  in  advance  of  the  other. 
The  foremost  was  then  ordered  to  bend 
his  head,  when  with  one  stroke  the  back 
of  his  neck  was  cut  to  the  vertebra?. 
He  fell  forward,  and  lay  breathing 
steadily,  with  his  right  cheek  in  hia 
own  blood,  without  a  sound  or  struggle. 


108 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


The  executioner,  after  wiping  his  sword 
on  the  loin-cloth  of  the  (lying  man, 
coolly  felt  its  edge.  The  other  victim 
had  seen  all,  and  never  moved  nor 
spoke.  The  same  horrible  scene  was 
again  enacted,  but  with  a  different  re- 
sult ;  the  man  jerked  upwards  from  his 
squatting  position,  and  fell  back  on  his 
left  side,  with  no  sound  nor  after  strug- 
gle. Both  appeared  as  if  in  a  sweet 
sleep.  Two  chickens  hopped  on  the 
still  quivering  bodies,  and  the  cows  in 
the  open  space  lay  undisturbed." 

As  this  scene  was  enacted  within 
a  few  days  after  our  author's  ar- 
rival in  Africa,  he  was  evidently 
struck  with  it.  His  subsequent 
experiences,  however,  rendered  him 
familiar  with  African  indifference 
to  pain  and  the  infliction  of  it,  and 
had  the  above  episode  occurred  at 
Gondokoro  instead  of  Zanzibar,  the 
picture  here  presented  to  us  would 
probably  have  lost  some  of  its  vivid 
colouring.  It  is  a  singular  thing 
that  the  British  public  should  waste 
so  much  of  its  sympathy  upon  the 
slaves  in  the  Southern  States  of 
America,  and  reserve  so  little  for 
those  who  are  in  Africa.  No  one 
who  has  visited  the  two  countries 
can  doubt  in  which  the  negro  en- 
joys the  greatest  happiness.  Un- 
fortunately for  him,  we  have  pro- 
nounced slavery  to  be  inadmissible 
in  practice  in  the  West  ;  and  there 
cannot  be  the  slightest  doubt  in 
principle  that  we  were  bound  to  do 
so  ;  but  our  well-meaning  philan- 
thropy sacrifices  the  happiness  of 
millions.  We  deprive  the  negro  of 
all  chance  of  getting  a  civilised  and 
humane  Englishman  for  a  master, 
and  condemn  him  either  to  the 
horrors  of  the  middle  passage  to 
evade  our  cruisers — to  the  most 
cruel  sufferings  in  barracoons  on 
his  own  coast — or  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  captors  in  his  own  coun- 
try, whose  cruelty  and  barbarism 
know  no  limits,  and  in  comparison 
with  whom  Legree  would  have  been 
an  angel  of  light.  Our  author's  evi- 
dence is  very  strong  on  this  point : — 
"  Mohinna,"  he  says,  "  took  offence 
at  us,  probably  because  he  was  re- 
quested not  to  beat  so  brutally  his 


women-slaves,  who  one  day  came 
weeping  and  wailing  to  us  at  Kazeh 
for  protection.  The  result  of  our 
good  -  natured  advice  was  that, 
though  he  promised  he  should  not 
again  offend,  the  poor  women  got 
another  and  more  severe  beating, 
and  were  put  in  the  stocks  to  pre- 
vent their  coming  near  iis  to  com- 
plain." The  gangs  of  slaves  fre- 
quently seen  by  our  travellers  were 
all  chained  together,  and  the  chains 
were  never  unfastened  day  or 
night.  One  day,  a  woman-slave, 
on  seeing  their  cook  cast  away  the 
head  of  a  fowl  he  had  just  killed, 
picked  it  up  and  gave  it  to  a  poor 
convalescent  slave,  who  grasped  it 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  dog.  On 
another  occasion,  Speke  procured 
the  liberation  of  a  man  wrho  had 
been  five  years  in  chains  : — "  His 
chains  were  struck  off  with  a  ham- 
mer while  he  lay  calmly  with  his 
head  on  a  block.  His  life  had 
been  hazardous,  as  proved  by  the 
spear-wounds  in  his  body  ;  he  had 
been  captured  by  the  Watuta,  who 
had  cut  off  several  of  his  toes,  and 
also  some  of  his  toe-nails.  This 
man  never  deserted  us  the  whole 
journey.  It  was  his  good  fortune 
to  reach  Cairo  with  the  character 
of  a  faithful  servant."  If  he  is 
wise,  this  lucky  individual  will 
avoid  Mrs  Beecher  Stowe  and  the 
Rev.  Ward  Beecher,  as  those  chari- 
table negrophilists,  to  preserve  him 
from  the  risk  of  being  kidnapped 
in  their  own  country,  would  ship 
him  back,  if  they  had  their  own 
way,  to  the  Watuta  without  loss 
of  time.  In  Karague  Captain 
Grant  makes  friends  with  a  slave- 
merchant,  whom  he  endeavours  to 
turn  from  the  error  of  his  ways  : — 

"  On  reading  the  ten  command- 
ments," he  says,  "to  my  friend  Jumah, 
who  dealt  in  slaves,  ivory,  &c.,  often 
complaining  that  his  slaves  were  under 
no  control,  he  shook  hands  with  me 
after  each  commandment,  saying  how 
true  and  excellent  they  were  ;  he  be- 
lieved in  them  all.  '  But  do  you  prac- 
tise them  ? '  T  asked.  '  Read,  Honour 
thy  father  and  thy  mother,  and  tell 


1865.] 


Nik  Basins  and  Nile 


109 


rne  how  can  the  slaves  honour  their 
fathers  and  mothers  if  you  tear  them 
away  from  their  families?'  'Oh,  I  am 
a  father  to  them  !  '  '  How  can  you  l>e 
a  father?  Are  the  affections  of  a  par- 
ent not  as  strong  in  Africa  as  else- 
where ? '  He  felt  the  force  of  the  argu- 
ment, asked  me  to  desist  from  pressing 
the  matter,  as  it  was  not  convenient  to 
adopt  these  sentiments  at  present.  He 
would  return  to  Zanzibar,  never  again 
keep  slaves,  study  the  Bible,  and  go 
to  England." 

"While  Captain  Spoke  was  inde- 
fatigably  engaged  in  endeavouring 
to  overcome  the  obstacles  to  their 
progress  by  the  most  unremitting 
personal  exertion — now  walking 
sixty  miles  to  carry  his  own  mes- 
sage in  one  direction,  now  walking 
a  hundred  and  eighty  in  another 
to  look  for  porters — Captain  Grant 
was  necessarily  left  in  charge  of 
the  material  of  the  expedition  ; 
this  obliged  him  to  reside  for  a 
considerable  period  in  different 
countries  on  the  route,  and  fur- 
nished him  with  opportunities  of 
narrowly  observing  the  manners 
and  customs  of  those  with  whom 
he  dwelt,  as  well  as  the  natural 
productions  of  their  country.  Evi- 
dently impressed  with  a  sense  of 
his  duties  in  this  respect,  our  author 
enters  with  minute  and  curious  de- 
tail into  all  he  saw  and  heard,  never 
for  a  moment  ceasing  to  interest, 
eschewing  anything  like  embellish- 
ment or  exaggeration,  without  ever 
becoming  formal  or  precise. 

•  Thus,  he  gives  us  the  result  of  a 
four  months'  residence  at  Ukuni,  as 
the  guest  of  its  Sultan,  in  a  most 
entertaining  form,  where  life  seems 
to  have  passed  agreeably  enough, 
until  the  time  came  for  him  to  leave 
his  entertainer,  whose  hospitality 
was  to  be  measured  by  the  number 
of  presents  he  received.  Among 
other  curious  customs,  it  seems 
that  this  potentate  never  makes  a 
royal  speech  without  a  most  singu- 
lar accompaniment  : — "  For  an  hour 
the  Sultan  addressed  the  crowd, 
sometimes  stopping  to  think,  and 
pulling  out  hairs  from  his  face 
with  iron  tongs.  There  were  bursts 


of  laughter  at  his  jokes,  and  when 
he  had  finished,  a  general  conversa- 
tion began."  The  natives  of  Un- 
yanyembe,  where  Captain  Grant 
now  was,  seem  a  cheerful  jovial 
race,  much  given  to  dancing  and 
festivity,  and  not  unskilled  in 
witchcraft — indeed,  they  have  the 
traditional  respect  fora  broomstick 
in  connection  with  the  black  art 
that  prevails  among  ourselves.  It 
seems  that  when  a  person  is  pos- 
sessed, an  old  woman  is  appointed 
to  wrestle  with  her  fora  broomstick 
which  she  carries,  and,  finally,  the 
stick  is  left  in  her  hand.  Late  in 
the  afternoon  a  change  is  wrought ; 
she  appears  as  in  ordinary,  but  with 
her  face  curiously  painted,  her  fol- 
lowers being  also  painted  in  the 
same  way.  She  sits,  without  smil- 
ing, to  receive  offerings  of  grain, 
with  beads  or  anklets  placed  on 
twigs  of  the  broomstick,  which 
she  holds  upright ;  and  this  over, 
she  walks  among  the  women,  who 
shout  out  Gnombe !  or  some  other 
ridiculous  expression,  to  create  a 
laugh.  This  winds  up  the  cere- 
mony on  the  first  day;  but  two 
days  afterwards,  the  now  emanci- 
pated woman  is  seen  parading  about 
with  the  broomstick  hung  with 
beads  and  rings,  and  looking  her- 
self again,  being  completely  cured. 
The  vanquished  spirit  has  been 
forced  to  tly.  Query,  on  the  broom- 
stick-1  because  if  so,  this  is  a  most 
remarkable  instance  of  the  ana- 
logy of  popular  superstitions,  and 
an  argument  that  it  is  no  su- 
perstition at  all,  but  that,  in  conse- 
quence of  our  want  of  faith,  witches 
are  no  longer  seen,  as  of  old,  career- 
ing through  the  air,  astride  the  be- 
som. Perhaps  this  is  as  well,  or  we 
should  deal  with  professors  of  the 
black  art  after  the  manner  of  our 
ancestors,  or  as  they  do  now  in  Un- 
yanyembe.  Captain  Grant  says 
that  a  cowherd,  who  had  sold  him 
some  fish,  died  very  suddenly. 
One  of  his  two  wives  was  suspected 
of  having  poisoned  him  ;  and  being 
tried,  she  was  convicted  and  con- 
demned : — "  She  was  taken  to  the 


110 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


dry  bed  of  a  stream,  and  was  killed, 
by  having  her  throat  cut  from  ear 
to  ear."  As  no  hyena  touched  the 
body,  the  belief  was  confirmed  that 
she  was  guilty.  He  also  saw  a  lad 
and  woman  apprehended  on  suspi- 
cion of  having  bewitched  the  Sul- 
tan's brother.  The  woman  escaped, 
but  when  our  author  went  to  see 
the  body  of  the  lad,  nothing  re- 
mained but  blood  and  the  ashes  of 
some  hair  by  a  fire. 

Captain  Grant  at  last  escaped 
from  the  clutches  of  the  rapacious 
Sultan  with  whom  he  had  been  so 
long  staying,  and  in  company  with 
Captain  Speke  reached  Karague. 
Here  he  lived  from  the  25th  of 
November  1861,  to  the  14th  of  April 
1862,  and  though  laid  up  for  five 
months  with  a  bad  leg,  has  man- 
aged to  give  us  an  equally  full  and 
interesting  account  of  its  popula- 
tion of  milk-bibbers,  of  fat  women, 
the  flesh  of  whose  arms  hung  down 
"  like  the  sleeves  of  a  fashionable 
dress,"  and  of  Rumanika,  their 
amiable  ruler.  His  account  of  the 
medical  treatment  he  underwent, 
of  the  agonies  he  endured,  of  the 
charms  which  were  tried  without 
avail,  and  of  the  different  remedies 
applied,  are  harrowing  and  wonder- 
ful to  read  :  first  he  endeavoured, 
in  vain,  to  extract  what  was  sup- 
posed to  be  venom  from  his  leg,  by 
putting  on  "  a  poultice  made  of 
cowdung,  salt,  and  mud  from  the 
lake,"  then  "a mild  gentle  peasant 
of  the  Wanyambo  race  came  with 
his  wife,  a  young,  pleasant  person," 
and  made  small  cuts  all  over  the 
limb  with  a  penknife,  while  the 
wife  moistened  some  black  paste  in 
her  mouth  and  rubbed  it  into  the 
cuts,  and  a  piece  of  lava  was  dan- 
gled against  his  leg,  and  tied  as  a 
charm  round  his  ankle  ;  all  these 
producing  no  effect,  new  charms  of 
wood  and  goat's  flesh  were  tied  on, 
and  "paste  very  like  gunpowder 
was  rubbed  into  fresh  cuts."  All 
this,  says  our  author,  naively,  "was 
repeated  without  any  result,  though 
the  charms  had  been  on  for  two 
days."  Still  he  was  not  discour- 


aged, but  showed  an  amount  of 
faith  in  the  native  doctors  worthy 
of  a  disciple  of  the  Davenport 
Brothers  ;  "  M'nanagee,  seeing  his 
medical  adviser  had  failed,  sent  an 
herb  to  soak  in  water  and  rub  over 
the  part  ;  it  had  a  very  soothing 
effect,  but  did  not  allay  the  pain. 
He  had  seen  me  apply  the  leaves 
of  the  castor-oil  plant  as  a  hot 
bandage,  and  forbade  their  use  a 
second  time  as  being  injurious, 
having  given  me  a  delirious  fever, 
and  causing  a  counteraction  of  pro- 
fuse discharge  of  water  from  the 
limb."  The  wonder  is  that  "  the 
limb  "  ever  pulled  through  at  all. 
"  By  the  fifth  month,"  says  our  au- 
thor, "  the  complaint  had  exhausted 
itself," — small  thanks  to  M'nanagee 
or  the  "  mild  gentle  peasant," — and 
Captain  Grant  is  carried  in  a  litter 
to  Uganda,  whither  his  companion 
had  preceded  him ;  and  lest  any 
blame  should  attach  to  Captain 
Speke,  his  friend  hastens  to  apolo- 
gise for  the  seeming  heartlessness 
of  having  left  him  behind. 

"At  first  sight,"  says  Grant, 
"  this  appeared  to  some  persons 
at  home  as  an  unkind  proceeding, 
leaving  a  helpless  brother  in  the 
heart  of  Africa,  but  my  companion 
was  not  the  man  to  be  daunted  ;  he 
was  offered  an  escort  to  the  North, 
and  all  tender  feelings  must  yield 
to  the  stern  necessities  of  the  case  ; 
strike  while  the  iron  is  hot,  applies 
more  appropriately  to  Africa  than 
to  any  other  country  I  know  ;  an- 
other such  opportunity  might  ne- 
ver occur,  and  had  the  traveller's 
determination  of  character  been 
softened,  and  had  he  not  proceeded 
without  me  at  that  time,  we  might 
never  again  —  so  little  upsets  the 
mind  of  an  African  chief — have  had 
the  road  opened  to  us."  Bright 
exception  to  the  general  rule  of 
African  explorers  !  Whatever  may 
have  happened  to  Captain  Grant's 
legs,  he  has  come  out  of  Africa  with 
a  heart  as  large,  and  as  sound,  and 
as  healthy  as  when  he  went  in ;  and 
we  most  earnestly  hope  he  will  let 
the  Nile  Basin  alone  in  all  future 


1865.] 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


Ill 


time  :  he  is  too  good  for  it.  Not 
that  we  would  wish  to  disparage  his 
kind  entertainers  at  Karague  or 
Uganda — they  are  worthy  of  him — 
or  that  we  should  fear  for  him  the 
spear  of  the  African  Watuta  ;  it  is 
tiie  envenomed  shaft  of  the  British 
Watuta  which  will  be  his  greatest 
annoyance  ;  and  we  cannot  wish  our 
greatest  enemy  a  harder  fate  than 
to  risk  life  and  limb,  to  endure  an 
intermittent  fever  every  second  day 
at  10  A.M.  for  "  eleven  hundred  and 
forty-six  days,"  to  have  your  legs 
cut  open  with  penknives,  to  pass 
weeks  in  a  state  of  gentle  delirium, 
to  be  robbed,  cuffed,  and  ill-used  in 
A  f  rica,  and  at  last,  after  having  borne 
all,  accomplished  wonders,  and  reach- 
ed home  safely,  to  be  cuffed  and  ill- 
used  here  too,  for  no  other  reason  than 
for  having  achieved  a  success  where 
others  had  encountered  failure. 

We  cannot  resist,  by  way  of  illus- 
trating the  truth  of  these  remarks, 
(piloting  Captain  Burton's  account 
of  Captain  Speke's  discovery  of 
the  great  river  flowing  out  of  the 
lake,  as  compared  with  that  of  Cap- 
tain Grant  :—"  On  July  19,  1862," 
says  Burton,  "  Captain  Grant,  with- 
out valid  apparent  reason,  was  sent 
to  the  headquarters  of  King  Kam- 
rasi,  of  Unyoro,  lying  in  1°  37'  N. 
lat.,  to  the  N.W.,  and  away  from 
the  lakes.  Captain  Speke,  appar- 
ently determined  alone  to  do  the 
work,  marched  from  Urondogani 
southwards  to  the  place  where  the 
river,  which  he  believed  to  be  the 
White  Nile,  issued  from  the  Nyanza 
Lake."  Then  follows,  as  usual,  the 
footnote  with  the  sting.  The 
'  Westminster  Review  '  remarks  of 
this  feat  : — "  But  Grant  will  have 
little  to  regret,  and  Burton  will  be 
more  than  avenged,  should  Tan- 
ganyika and  not  Nyan/a  prove  to 
be  the  head  of  the  Nile." 

We  must  differ  from  the  '  West- 
minster Review,'  and  doubt  if  Cap- 
tain Burton  would  even  then  feel 
himself  sufficiently  avenged,  since 
the  death  of  his  rival  had  failed  to 
satisfy  him.  Now,  let  us  hear  what 
account  this  much  ill-used  Grant 


gives  of  his  bad  treatment  by 
Speke  : — "  Speke  asked  me  whe- 
ther I  was  able  to  make  a  flying 
march  of  it  with  him,  while  the 
baggage  might  be  sent  on  towards 
Unyoro.  At  that  time  1  was  posi- 
tively unable  to  walk  twenty  miles 
a-day,  especially  miles  of  Uganda 
marching,  through  bogs  and  over 
rough  ground.  1  therefore  yielded 
reluctantly  to  the  necessity  of  our 
parting  ;  and  I  am  anxious  to  be 
explicit  on  this  point,  as  some  have 
hastily  inferred  that  my  companion 
did  not  wish  me  to  share  in  the 
gratification  of  seeing  the  river. 
Nothing  could  be  more  contrary 
to  fact.  My  state  of  health  alone 
prevented  me  from  accompanying 
Speke,  to  set  at  rest  for  geographers 
the  latitude  of  the  interesting  lo- 
cality, as  to  which  we  were  perfect- 
ly satisfied  from  native  report."  So 
the  ill-natured  attempts  of  their 
enemies  at  home  to  set  these  two 
sterling  friends  by  the  ears,  has  sig- 
nally failed,  and  resulted  only  in  their 
own  discomfiture.  Here  is  another 
very  instructive  parallel  between 
( 'aptain  Grant's  description  of  the 
Lake  Nyanza  as  it  is,  and  Captain 
Burton's  internal  perceptions  of 
what  it  can't  possibly  be,  because 
Speke  discovered  it: — "The  now 
famous  Victoria  Nyanza "  (this  is 
Grant),  "  when  seen  for  the  first 
time,  expanding  in  all  its  majesty, 
excited  our  wonder  and  admiration. 
Even  the  listless  Wanyamuezi  came 
to  have  a  look  at  its  waters  stretch- 
ing over  ninety  degrees  of  the  hori- 
zon. The  Seedees  were  in  raptures 
with  it, fancying  themselves  looking 
upon  the  ocean  which  surrounds 
their  island  home  of  Zanzibar,  and 
I  made  a  sketch,  dotting  it  with 
imaginary  steamers  and  ships  rid- 
ing at  anchor  in  the  bay."  In  an- 
other place  he  says  that,  according 
to  Arab  information,  this  lake  has 
never  been  crossed,  and  he  skirted 
its  margin  for  100  miles  without  ever 
seeing  an  opposite  shore.  ''  In  the 
sketch-map  prefixed  to  these  pages" 
(this  is  Captain  Burton)  "I  have 
shown  all  that  is  actually  known  of 


112 


Nile  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


the  so-called  VictoriaNyanza.  There- 
suit  is  a  blank  space  covering  nearly 
29,000  miles,  and  containing  possi- 
bly half-a-dozen  waters.  The  dis- 
appearance is  startling,  but  it  has 
not  been  made  to  disappear  without 
ample  reason."  Not  the  least  start- 
ling. We  are  not  at  all  surprised  at 
Captain  Burton  rubbing  a  lake  out 
of  the  map,  for  "  the  ample  reason  " 
that  he  did  not  discover  it.  Captain 
Speke  never  pretended  to  lay  down, 
except  from  report,  the  shores 
which  he  never  visited.  Nothing 
will  satisfy  his  adversary  except  to 
deny  that  it  has  any  shores  at  all. 
But  in  endeavouring  to  establish 
this  position  a  certain  amount  of 
accuracy  is  very  essential.  Here, 
for  instance,  Captain  Burton  says  of 
Speke,  "  His  actual  inspection  of 
the  Nyanza  was  about  50  out  of  the 
450  miles  ;  all  the  rest  was  hear- 
say. He  travelled  with  the  convic- 
tion that  the  lake  was  on  his  right, 
but  he  never  verified  that  convic- 
tion." What  is  Grant's  evidence 
iipon  this  point  ]  "  The  country  be- 
tween the  Kitangule  (where  Captain 
Grant  first  struck  the  lake)  and  the 
Katonga,  a  distance  of  100  miles, 
is  a  parallel  series  of  grassy  spurs 
tapering  down  to  the  lake's  shores 
on  the  east.  There  are  many  beau- 
tiful spots  on  the  route  ;  high 
grounds  from  which,  for  a  quarter 
of  the  horizon,  are  seen  the  ivaters 
of  the  lake;"  and  when  at  last  he 
reaches  Katonga  Bay,  "  he  descends 
tol  the  edge  of  the  bay,  where 
our  men  were  amusing  themselves, 
and  where  five  or  six  canoes  were 
ready  for  the  party."  These  ca- 
noes had  been  sent  by  the  King 
of  Uganda  to  convey  him  by 
water  to  Murchison  Creek,  which 
had  already  been  visited  by  Speke, 
and  which  was  about  fifty  miles 
distant  ;  but  a  counter  order, 
obliging  him  to  make  the  journey 
by  land,  prevented  him  from  veri- 
fying this  piece  of  coast.  Still  we 
think,  in  the  face  of  all  this  evi- 
dence, it  is  a  greater  stretch  of  ima- 
gination on  the  part  of  Captain 
Burton  to  say  that  "the  Victoria 


Nyanza  Lake  consists  of  sundry  la- 
goons," than  that  it  is  a  large  lake. 
Probably  if  Captain  Grant  had 
known  that  any  doubt  was  going 
to  be  cast  upon  such  an  indisputa- 
ble fact,  he  would  have  given  us  at 
greater  length  his  personal  evidence 
upon  the  matter.  But  perhaps  the 
most  curious  reason  that  Captain 
Burton  gives  for  not  believing  in 
the  existence  of  this  lake  is  "  the 
native  report  that  the  Mwerango 
lliver  rises  from  the  hills  in  the 
centre  of  the  so-called  lake."  Now 
Captain  Speke  says  on  this  sub- 
ject— 

"I  drew  Bombay's  attention  to  the 
current,  and,  collecting  all  the  men  in 
the  country,  inquired  of  them  where 
the  river  sprang  from.  Some  of  them 
said  from  the  hills  to  the  southward, 
but  most  of  them  said  from  the  lake. 
I  argued  the  point  with  them,  for  I  felt 
quite  sure  so  large  a  body  of  flowing 
water  could  not  be  collected  in  anyplace 
but  the  lake.  They  then  all  agreed  to 
this  view,  and  further  assured  me  it  went 
to  Kamrasi's  palace  in  Unyoro,  where  it 
joined  the  Nyanza,  meaning  the  Nile." 

To  Captain  Grant  they  reverted 
to  their  original  statement,  and 
told  him  that  it  rose  "  from  rocks 
one  day's  journey  to  the  S-S.W.  of 
Namagoma,"  the  place  at  which 
Speke  was  when  he  made  his  in- 
quiries. Upon  what  "  native  re- 
port "  Captain  Burton  relies,  or  why 
his  should  be  accurate  when  the 
travellers  themselves  admit  the 
difficulty  of  finding  out  the  truth 
on  the  spot,  or  what  the  Mwerango 
lliver,  which,  after  all,  is  only  twelve 
yards  broad,  by  six  or  seven  feet 
deep,  has  to  do  with  it  more  than 
any  other  river,  with  reference  to 
which  there  may  be  absurd  native 
rumours,  we  fail  to  discover, — we 
only  quote  these  arguments  as  a 
specimen  of  numerous  others  upon 
which  he  bases  his  scepticism  of 
the  existence  of  Lake  Nyanza,  but 
which  we  will  not  inflict  upon  our 
readers. 

Captain  Speke's  account  of  Ugan- 
da, the  most  interesting  of  all  the 
countries  visited  by  our  travellers, 


1605.] 


Nile.  Basins  ami  Nile  Explorers. 


113 


was  so  very  full,  that  Captain  Grant 
only  devotes  a  few  pages  to  it,  but 
these  are  among  the  most  curious 
in  the  book.  It  is  diflicult  to  re- 
alise the  extraordinary  combination 
of  civilisation  with  barbarism  which 
prevails  here.  For  instance,  Cap- 
tain Grant  was  not  allowed  to  ap- 
pear at  court  in  the  costume  in- 
variably worn  by  an  original  friend 
of  ours  on  the  moors,  and  who, 
considering  that  he  has  as  much 
right  to  show  one  part  of  his  leg 
as  another,  wears  instead  of  a  kilt 
knickerbockers  and  socks.  The 
King  of  Uganda's  propriety  was 
.shocked  at  this  display  of  calf ;  and 
yet  in  some  respects  his  Majesty 
does  not  seem  particular.  One  day, 
when  four  of  his  women  were  going 
to  execution,  at  an  audience  given  to 
the  travellers,  some  maidens,  with 
nothing  on  but  grease  and  beads. 
were  offered  to  his  harem.  "  As 
was  customary,  the  King  sat  on  the 
knees  of  the  matron-like  women 
who  had  presented  the  maidens," 
itc.  The  royal  brothers  run  about 
as  well  as  they  can  in  handcuffs ; 
and  a  royal  page  told  Captain  Grant, 
who  inquired  one  day  what  sport 
the  King  had,  "that as  his  Highness 
could  not  get  any  game  to  shoot  at, 
he  shot  down  many  people."  Cap- 
tain Grant  bears  testimony  to  the 
great  influence  which  Captain  Spekc 
had  acquired,  and  which  he  used  to 
good  purpose,  having  succeeded  in 
saving  the  lives  of  many  victims. 
Mutilation  prevails  to  a  great  ex- 
tent ;  Captain  Grant  says  that  men 
whose  ears  have  been  closely  shaved 
off  "  have  the  sharp  look  of  pug 
dogs." 

At  last  our  travellers  start  from 
Uganda;  and  while  Captain  Speke 
is  satisfying  himself  by  personal 
inspection  that  a  large  river,  which, 
to  spare  the  feelings  of  his  op- 
ponents, we  will  not  call  the  Nile, 
was  issuing  from  some  stagnant 
water,  which,  for  the  same  reason, 
we  will  not  call  the  Great  Lake, 
Captain  Grant  was  endeavouring 
to  push  through  with  the  heavy 
baggage  to  the  capital  of  the  country 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  PXCI. 


of  Unyoro,  and  the  residence  of  its 
sovereign,  Kamrasi.  In  this  he 
failed  on  that  occasion,  but  suc- 
ceeded in  rejoining  Speke,  who 
had  been  absent  a  month,  and 
whose  account  of  what  he  saw  we 
will  quote  from  his  own  book,  in 
order  to  do  proper  justice  to  Mr 
M'Queen  : — "  We  were  well  reward- 
ed ;  for  the  '  Stones,'  as  the  "NVaganda 
call  the  falls,  was  by  far  the  most 
interesting  sight  I  had  seen  in 
Africa.  Everybody  ran  to  see  them 
at  once,  though  the  mar.-h  had  been 
long  and  fatiguing  ;  and  even  my 
sketch-book  was  called  into  play. 
Though  beautiful,  the  scene  was 
not  exactly  what  I  expected  ;  for 
the  broad  surface  of  the  lake  was 
shut  out  from  view  by  a  spur  of 
hill,  and  the  falls,  about  twelve  feet 
deep  and  400  to  500  feet  broad, 
were  broken  by  rocks.  Still  it  was 
a  sight  that  attracted  one  to  it  for 
hours — the  roar  of  the  water,  the 
thousands  of  passenger-fish,  leaping 
at  the  falls  with  all  their  might — 
the  Wasoga  and  Waganda  fishermen 
coming  out  in  boats  and  taking  up 
their  position  on  all  the  rocks  with 
rod  and  hook — hippopotami  and 
crocodiles  lying  sleepily  on  the 
water — the  ferry  at  work  above  the 
falls,  and  cattle  driven  down  to 
drink  at  the  margin  of  the  lake," 
all  combined  to  make  up  what  Mr 
M'Qucen  calls  •'  the  absurd  result 
of  finding  the  source  of  the  great 
river  Nile  placed  in  a  narrow 
ravine,  where  not  a  drop  of  water 
is  to  be  found,  except  that  which 
drops  from  the  clouds  during  the 
periodical  rains,  nay  chiefly  the 
fresh  water  which  rushes  into  this 
ravine  from  the  flooding  of  the 
lake  to  the  northward,  and  which 
Hows  in  an  opposite  direction  to  the 
current  of  the  true  Nile  stream." 
Why  Mr  M'Queen  should  call  a 
sheet  of  water  500  feet  wide  a 
narrow  ravine  ;  why,  if  it  was  a 
narrow  ravine,  there  should  be  any- 
thing "absurd"  in  the  Nile  rising 
in  it,  though  in  point  of  fact  it 
does  no  such  thing,  but  only  Hows 
through  it  ;  what  he  means  by 
II 


114 


Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


there  not  being  a  drop  of  water  to 
be  found  except  that  which  drops 
from  the  clouds,  considering  that 
there  is  both  a  lake  and  a  river ; 
and  Avhat  conceivable  idea  he 
wishes  to  be  conveyed  in  the  curi- 
ously constructed  passage  beginning 
"  nay  chiefly  "  and  ending  "  Nile 
stream,"  are  all  an  additional 
series  of  "  Nile  problems  "  which 
we  present  to  our  readers  for 
solution.  But  if  the  great  river 
looks  absurd  to  Mr  M'Queen,  who 
never  saw  it,  even  in  its  "  narrow 
ravine,"  it  produced  a  very  different 
impression  on  Captain  Grant,  who, 
with  his  companion,  finds  himself, 
some  days  later,  floating  down  its 
stream  : — 

"  We  were  upon  a  river  a  thousand 
yards  wide,  and  in  certain  parts  so  large 
that  we  had  a  sea-horizon.  The  waters 
struggling  past  myriads  of  moving  and 
stationary  islands  made  the  naviga- 
tion very  exciting,  particularly  when  a 
strong  head-wind  blew,  and  hippopo- 
tami reared  their  heads  in  the  water. 
Having  passed  these,  there  was  no  per- 
ceptible current ;  but  by  watching  the 
floating  islands  rolling  round  and  round 
like  a  tub  in  the  water,  we  saw  that  the 
stream  moved  about  a  mile  an  hour. 
During  a  smart  breeze,  and  with  all 
their  vegetation  yielding,  and  lying  over 
to  the  wind,  they  looked  like  a  fleet  of 
felucca-rigged  vessels  racing  and  con- 
tinually changing  their  relative  posi- 
tions. No  sight  could  have  been  more 
striking,  as  the  crests  of  the  waves  dash- 
ed against  them,  and  the  sky  looked 
black  and  stormy." 

If  Mr  M'Queen  objects  to  nar- 
row ravines  as  being  absurd,  here  is 
the  great  river,  in  the  most  obliging 
way,  doing  the  dignified  thing  al- 
most immediately  after  leaving  its 
ravine.  True,  it  narrows  again  at 
the  lovely  Falls  of  Karuma,  at 
which,  after  a  nine  days'  voyage 
from  Kamrasi's,  our  travellers  ar- 
rived. At  this  point  they  left  the 
river,  and  struck  across  to  Faloro, 
the  ivory  station  of  the  trader  De 
Bono,  where  they  came  once  more 
into  contact  with  the  evidences  of 
civilised  life.  After  a  most  annoy- 
ing detention  here,  they  succeeded 
in  once  more  pushing  on.  and 


reached  the  banks  of  the  Nile 
again.  The  impression  which  their 
second  view  of  the  great  river  makes 
upon  Captain  Grant  is  important, 
as  differing  in  some  degree  from 
that  conveyed  by  his  companion, 
who  tells  us  that  the  river  ''  was  not 
as  full  as  when  we  crossed  it  at  the 
Karuma  Falls."  But  our  travellers 
having  no  means  of  gauging  the 
volume  of  water,  this  estimate  was 
merely  one  of  eye  ;  and  we  may 
judge  of  the  impossibility  of  arriving 
at  anything  like  accuracy  from  the 
account  of  Captain  Grant : — "  We 
heard  from  the  heights  on  which 
we  stood  the  White  Nile  sounding 
below  us  like  the  ocean."  And 
again — "  Looking  across,  an  island 
covered  with  grass  and  aquatic  ve- 
getation hid  the  other  branch  of  the 
river.  For  a  quarter  of  a  mile  at  this 
point  no  boat  could  live  at  any 
season  ;  it  would  be  dashed  to  pieces 
on  the  bed  and  sides  of  sunken 
rock,  and  the  immense  body  of 
water  is  so  strong  that  no  boat  could 
sail  up  it."  From  Captain  Grant's 
description  of  the  Nile  at  the  Falls 
of  Karuma,  we  should  not  have 
imagined  it  to  have  been  a  larger 
stream  than  the  one  he  is  now  look- 
ing on,  and  it  is  evident  that  the 
possibility  of  these  being  separate 
rivers  never  occurred  to  our  travel- 
lers, the  principal  reason  being  that 
the  one  they  had  left  could  be 
no  other  than  the  one  they  now 
struck ;  it  could  not  have  turned 
sharp  round  to  the  left,  and  flowed 
to  the  southward,  upon  Captain 
Burton's  hypothesis,  Avithout  get- 
ting so  much  entangled  in  the  lakes 
Luta  Nzige  and  Tanganyika,  that  it 
would  of  necessity  become  Captain 
Burton's  river.  It  is  difficult  to 
imagine  what  the  state  of  that  gen- 
tleman's feelings  would  be  if  it 
should  turn  out  that  Captain 
Speke's  river  should  flow  into  and 
out  of  Captain  Burton's  pet  lake 
Tanganyika.  But  we  need  not  con- 
template such  a  horrible  contin- 
gency. No  one  would  be  more 
ready  to  pronounce  such  a  catas- 
trophe physically  impossible  than 


1865.] 


A' He  liasins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


115 


Captain  Burton  himself;  and  if  it 
does  not  go  there,  where  else  can  it 
go,  except  where  Captains  Speke 
and  (Jrant  found  it  ?  In  order  fur- 
ther to  depreciate  the  river  discov- 
ered by  our  explorers,  Captain  Bur- 
ton gives  the  following  account  of 
the  Asuan  branch  : — "  The  Bahari 
Ono  drains  the  mass  of  high  lands 
between  the  equator  and  :JJ  S.  lati- 
tude, and  sends  forth  what  M. 
Miani,  the  discoverer,  calls  the  Ascia, 
or  Acioa,  Captain  Grant  the  Aswa, 
and  Captain  Speke  the  I'sua,  or 
Asua.  1  believe  it  to  be  the  real 
White  Nile,  the  so-called  Nyanza 
efHuents  being  of  minor  import- 
ance.'' Captain  Grant  says  of  it: — 
"  At  the  ninth  mile  of  this  march 
we  suddenly  dropped  into  the  bed 
of  the  Asua  river,  and  crossed  to  its 
right  bank.  Our  first  remark  was, 
Is  this  the  Asua  we  have  heard  so 
much  of  \  The  fording  was  lifty 
yards  across,  waist-deep  in  the 
strong  middle  current,  over  sharp, 
slippery  rocks.  During  December 
this  river,  judging  from  the  appear- 
ance of  sand  lying  above  its  present 
water-mark,  must  be  a  wild  torrent, 
impossible  to  cross ;  but  we  were 
disappointed  with  its  small  appear- 
ance when  we  came  to  cross  it." 
And  Captain  Speke  says,  "  No  ves- 
sel could  ever  have  gone  up  it,  and 
it  bore  no  comparison  with  the  Nile 
itself.  The  exaggerated  accounts 
of  its  volume  given  by  the  expedi- 
tion sent  up  the  Nile  by  Mehemet 
AH  did  not  surprise  me,  since  they 
had  mistaken  its  position ;  for  we 
were  now  3° 42'  north,  and  therefore 
had  passed  their  furthest  point 
twenty  miles." 

Though  we  might  multiply  in- 
stances of  this  tendency  both  on 
the  part  of  Captain  Burton  and  Mr 
M'Queen  to  colour  facts — to  put  it 
in  the  mildest  form — for  the  pur- 
pose of  supporting  their  own  lately 
formed  views,  we  will  content  our- 
selves with  one  more  specimen,  and 
then  leave  the  characters  of  the 
living  and  the  dead,  as  well  as  their 
discoveries,  with  perfect  confidence 
in  the  hands  of  our  readers. 


"A  little  l)oyon<l  Apuddo,  in  l;it.  ',•>" 
,'{4'  .'!.'{",  near  the  confluence  of  the  Asuu 
and  the  White  Nile,  Captain  Speke 
went  to  see  the  tree  said  to  have  In-cn 
eut  l>y  an  Knglishman  some  time  before, 
and  lie  found  something  like  the  letters 
M  I.  In  the  map  it  seems  placed  to 
the  west  of  the  Nile.  M.  Miani,  an 
Italian  traveller  who  has  lately  orga- 
nised a  fresh  expedition  for  exploring 
the  Asua  river,  marked  his  extreme 
l>oint  1"  34'  33"  or  94 />  miles  further 
south.  He  says  distinctly  (Commercio 
d'Kgitto  of  Cairo,  September  '2-_M  and 
*24th), — '  My  name  as  marked  upon 
Captain  Speke's  chart  does  not  occur 
at  the  position  assigned  to  it,  but  much 
further  to  the  south,  in  fact  at  the  2il 
degree  of  N.  latitude,  on  tltf  rnsfi  rn 
hank  of  the  river,  in  the  country  of  the 
Galufii,  whereas  they  (Captains  Speke 
and  (Jrant)  place  it  on  the  left  or  western 
bank,  'without  naming  any  adjacent 
city.' " 

M.  Miani  further  declares  that 
some  envious  person  pointed  out  to 
the  explorers  the  tree  where  it  was 
not.  Fortunately  Captain  Grant  is 
extremely  precise  upon  this  point, 
and  gives  us  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  the  tree  in  question  : — 

"Within  sight  of  Apuddo  stands  a 
tamarind-tree,  three  or  four  miles  from 
the  right  bank  of  the  Nile,  at  V  34£'  N. 
lat.  and  32"  E.  long.  The  Turks  in- 
formed us  that  a  European  had,  two 
years  previously,  accompanied  them 
from  (londokoro  as  far  as  this  point, 
and  had  returned  to  Egypt  from  hence. 
because  the  rains  were  heavy,  and  he 
had  not  sufficient  escort  to  push  further 
south.  They  did  not  know  his  name, 
but  they  described  him  as  having  a  long 
beard,  and  said  we  should  find  his  name 
cut  upon  the  tree.  My  notes  on  the  1st 
February  1S(>3  arc  as  follows  regarding 
it  :  '1  visited  the  tree  on  which  a 
European  had  cut  some  letters,  but  they 
were  so  indistinct,  that  I  walked  twice 
round  it  before  I  could  distinguish  them, 
• — they  were  grown  over  with  a  thorny 
creeper  and  bark,  and  had  been  merely 
scratched  in  the  wood.  They  appeared 
like— AIAA;  the  centre  letters  were  L 
and  A,  and  the  outer  ones  either  A  with- 
out I/K  tstr<»k<\  or  part  of  W.  Nails  seem  to 
have  been  extracted,  and  to  read  it  pro- 
perly, I  had  to  stand  upon  some  lower 
branches.'  1  at  once  concluded  that 
the  traveller  was  not  English,  because 
his  letters  were  not  deeply  cut  into  the 
tree  as  an  Englishman  would  have  done 


lit) 


Nile,  Basins  and  Nile  Explorers. 


[Jan. 


it,  .anil  also  because  the  letters  were 
curiously  formed.  The  illegible  letters 
without  strokes  were  scored  in  thus — 
yy^ — as  a  foreigner  writes  the  capital 
letter  M.  Not  until  we  reached  Khar- 
toom  did  we  tiiid  out  for  certain  who 
this  traveller  must  have  been.  His 
name  was  MIAMI  (Miani),  a  native 
of  Venice,  who  has  protested  against 
our  Nile  being  the  proper  Nile,  because 
we  have  placed  his  tree  in  a  position 
of  latitude  and  longitude  (obtained  by 
daily  observations)  different  to  what  he 
made  it,  without  scientific  instruments. 
His  assertion  is  bold,  considering  the 
above  evidence  ;  but  as  M.  Miani  is 
trying  to  organise  another  expedition,  I 
have  no  doubt  he  will  discover,  and 
perhaps  ultimately  acknowledge,  his 
error.  In  the  mean  time,  Mr  S.  Baker 
will  in  all  likelihood  have  passed  the 
spot,  and  taken  the  exact  position  of  the 
tree  and  river." 

A  case  must  be  bad  indeed  when 
it  is  sought  to  discredit  a  great 
achievement  and  the  veracity  of 
those  who  accomplished  it  by  re- 
sorting for  a  champion  to  this  un- 
known Italian,  and  making  the 
dispute  turn  upon  the  exact  posi- 
tion of  a  tree  upon  which  he  had 
cut  his  name. 

We  have  now  brought  our  tra- 
vellers to  within  a  week's  march  of 
their  immediate  destination,  Gon- 
dokoro,  where  they  were  cheered 
by  finding  Baker  waiting  with  open 
arms  to  receive  them.  Captain 
Grant  devotes  three  or  four  lines  to 
defending  the  memory  of  his  friend 
against  the  violent  attack  made 
upon  him  with  reference  to  his 
complaint  of  Petherick's  conduct, 
which  it  is  quite  unnecessary  for  us 
to  allude  to  farther  than  to  say, 
that  in  this  book  of  Captain  Bur- 
ton's no  less  than  forty  pages  are 
devoted,  not  so  much  to  defending 
Mr  Petherick  for  not  having  suc- 
coured Spoke  and  Grant,  as  to 
abusing  Speke  for  having  repre- 
sented in  England  the  failure  on 
the  part  of  Petherick  to  adhere  to  his 
engagements  with  the  subscribers  to 
the  Speke  and  Grant  relief  fund. 
As  to  the  money  question  between 
Mr  Petherick  and  the  Geographical 
Society,  which  is  also  fully  dis- 


cussed in  'The  Nile  Basin,'  with 
which  it  has  nothing  to  do,  we  have 
no  doubt  that  that  learned  body  is 
quite  capable  of  taking  care  of  it- 
self, and  we  have  no  desire  to  preju- 
dice the  opinion  of  the  public  upon 
the  matter.  Our  only  object  has 
been  to  contrast  the  spirit  in  which 
Captain  Grant's  book  is  written 
with  that  which  pervades  Captain 
Burton's,  and  to  assure  our  readers 
that  they  will  find  nothing  in  the 
former  to  offend  their  sense  of  pro- 
priety ;  while  the  ill-natured  tone 
of  the  latter  is  certainly  not  com- 
pensated for  by  its  logic.  "  I  will 
conclude,"  says  Captain  Burton, 
"  with  a  statement  which  to  some 
may  seem  paradoxical,  namely, 
that  the  real  sources  of  the  Nile — 
the  great  Nile  problem — so  far  from 
being  settled  for  ever  by  the  late 
exploration,  are  thrown  farther 
from  discovery  than  ever."  Now 
we  will  conclude  with  a  statement 
which  to  Captain  Burton  may  seem 
paradoxical — that  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  written  a  book  more  con- 
clusively settling  the  great  Nile 
problem  in  exactly  the  opposite  way 
to  the  one  he  intends,  than  that 
which  he  has  now  placed  before  us. 
Before  it  was  written  there  was  just 
a  possibility  that  the  river  Captain 
Speke  had  discovered  might  flow 
away  to  the  westward  or  southward 
into  the  heart  of  Africa  ;  but,  with 
a  degree  of  simplicity  which  we 
should  have  scarcely  thought  com- 
patible with  Captain  Burton's  cha- 
racter, he  brings  a  river  of  his  own 
down  from  the  southward  and  west- 
ward, cutting  off  all  escape  for  Cap- 
tain Speke's  river  in  that  direction, 
and  positively  compelling  it  to  be 
one  of  the  main  sources  of  the  Nile. 
We  challenge  him  to  take  the  map 
and  produce  any  other  alternative, 
except  that  of  forcing  it  to  disappear 
altogether  in  a  tunnel.  We  con- 
fess to  feeling  but  little  pity  for 
Captain  Burton,  when  we  take  our 
last  look  at  him,  impaled  upon  the 
horns  of  that  dilemma  which,  with 
the  assistance  of  Mr  M 'Queen,  he 
has  so  ingeniously  contrived. 


ISC.').] 


fiasins  and  Xile  Explorer*. 


\  I 


Finally,  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  re- 
ceive, in  closing  Captain  Grant's 
book,  the  same  impression  of  the 
thorough  honesty  and  veracity  of 
the  author,  which  was  so  striking  a 
feature  in  the  works  of  his  lament- 
ed companion.  It  may  be  that  the 
books  of  both  these  gentlemen  are 
open  to  literary  criticism,  and  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  some  of 
those  hypotheses  which  have  been 
based  upon  their  discoveries  may 
turn  out  to  be  erroneous.  Nay, 
more,  we  are  ready  to  admit  that, 
with  every  desire  to  be  accurate, 
some  of  their  observations,  made 
with  imperfect  instruments  and 
under  great  difficulties,  may  be 
faulty;  but  the  highest  qualities. 


not  merely  of  explorers,  but  of 
valuable  public  servants,  both  these 
gentlemen  possess  ;  and  it  is  im- 
possible to  read  the  record  of  their 
experiences  without  feeling  that  it 
is  the  reflection  of  minds  singularly 
pure  and  guileless,  that  they  have 
performed  their  duty  with  unflinch- 
ing courage  and  endurance,  and 
with  the  conscientious  desire  scru- 
pulously to  present  to  their  country- 
men, on  their  return,  an  exact  and 
true  picture  of  the  unknown  coun- 
tries they  had  visited.  It  is  this 
strict  accuracy  which  imparts  to 
their  works  their  highest  value, 
and  constitutes  their  authors' 
strongest  claim  to  the  admiration 
and  gratitude  of  their  countrymen. 


TJie  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


THE     EUROPEAN     SITUATION. 


THE  year  1864,  which  opened 
somewhat  stormily,  has  come  to 
a  peaceful  close ;  nor,  so  far  as 
outward  appearances  would  seem 
to  indicate  to  the  superficial  ob- 
server, is  there  any  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  the  year  18G5  will  be 
even  so  pregnant  with  events  of 
political  interest  as  the  one  which 
has  departed.  Croakers  are  always 
ready  to  call  a  calm,  the  lull  which 
precedes  the  storm ;  and  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  if  the  period  of  the 
duration  of  the  lull  is  not  specified, 
they  are  always  right,  for  without 
the  repose  which  forms  the  contrast, 
we  should  not  know  what  a  storm 
was.  So  for  the  last  three  years  we 
have  been  having  the  lull,  and  if 
the  force  of  the  storm,  when  it 
comes,  is  to  be  calculated  by  the 
time  it  takes  brewing,  it  will  be 
more  of  the  nature  of  a  typhoon 
than  a  squall.  Meantime,  in  order 
to  form  some  estimate  of  the  ele- 
ments at  work,  and  of  the  dangers 
which  are  likely  to  trouble  the 
peace  of  Europe,  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  take  a  political  retrospect  of 
the  year  which  will  bring  us  up  to 
the  latest  phase  of  politics,  as  con- 
nected with  the  principal  countries 
of  Europe.  On  the  1st  of  last 
January,  the  two  biggest  clouds 
upon  the  political  horizon  were 
the  Polish  and  the  Schleswig-Hol- 
stein  questions — the  one  was  in  its 
last,  the  other  in  its  first  (active) 
stage.  The  only  Government  which 
really  understood  how  to  utilise 
these  two  questions,  was  that  of 
which  Herr  Von  Bismarck  is  not 
merely  the  head,  but  the  body  and 
soul.  In  the  autumn  of  the  year  be- 
fore last,  the  first-class  Power  lowest 
in  the  scale  of  political  estimation 
in  Europe  was  Prussia  ;  that  we 
should  in  so  short  a  space  of  time 
have  been  able  to  change  places 
and  occupy  the  position  which 
Prussia  has  abdicated,  shows  al- 
most as  much  ingenuity  on  the  part 


of  Lord  Russell  as  of  Herr  Von 
Bismarck.  To  succeed  in  a  few 
short  months  in  seriously  depreciat- 
ing an  influence  and  a  prestige 
which  it  has  been  the  labour  of 
our  ablest  statesmen  for  years  to 
cherish  and  confirm,  and  yet  to 
retain  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
foreign  affairs  of  the  country  while 
it  is  placidly  contemplating  its  own 
political  decadence,  is  a  more  won- 
derful tour  de  force  on  the  part 
of  our  Foreign  Minister  than  any 
which  even  his  illustrious  rival  at 
Berlin  has  yet  achieved.  Had  these 
remarkable  talents  only  been  exert- 
ed in  a  different  direction,  that 
greatness  which  has  been  forced 
upon  him  might  have  been  forced 
upon  the  country.  Herr  Von  Bis- 
marck, however,  seeing  the  opening, 
passed  up,  while  we  went  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  class. 

The  political  state  of  Germany 
at  this  time  was  fully  described  in 
our  columns;  and  we  pointed  out 
how,  in  order  to  thwart  the  policy 
of  the  Prussian  Minister,  we  might 
have  allied  ourselves  with  his  politi- 
cal enemies  at  home,  and  thus  have 
averted  the  Schleswig-Holstein  war 
which  was  then  impending,  secured 
the  greater  part  of  Schleswig  to  Den- 
mark, and  paralysed  the  policy  of 
the  Berlin  Cabinet.  As  this,  how- 
ever, involved  a  certain  knowledge 
of  the  state  of  parties  in  Germany, 
a  very  limited  amount  of  foresight, 
and  the  immediate  recognition  of 
Prince  Frederick  of  Augustenbourg 
as  Duke  of  Holstein,  our  views 
were  not  shared  in  by  any,  either 
of  those  writers  or  orators  who 
proclaimed  in  the  same  breath 
their  incapacity  to  understand  the 
question,  and  their  decided  opinion 
upon  its  merits. 

The  consequence  is,  that  now, 
exactly  twelve  months  too  late,  our 
Government  is  exerting  what  little 
influence  and  diplomatic  skill  it 
possesses  to  secure  the  throne  of 


1865.] 


Tlie  Euro^an  Situation. 


119 


the  Duchies  to  the  very  man  wlio.se 
claims  they  derided,  wlio.se  political 
honour  they  impugned,  and  whose 
private  character  they  attacked.  We 
are  taking  the  greatest  possible  trou- 
ble to  lock  the  door,  now  that  the 
steed  is  stolen — a  proceeding  doubly 
imbecile,  as  we  actually  encouraged 
the  thief  to  break  in,  and  were 
gulled  into  believing  he  was  not  a 
burglar,  simply  because  he  assured 
us  he  did  not  mean  to  steal  any- 
thing ;  but  it  is  useless  now  to  cry 
over  spilt  milk,  so  we  will  revert 
from  what  we  might  have  done  to 
what  M.  Von  Bismarck  did,  and  why 
he  did  it.  Finding  himself  in  an  ex- 
tremely precarious  position  at  home, 
and  much  despised  abroad,  these 
two  questions  came,  as  we  have 
said,  most  opportunely,  for  it  gave 
him  the  chance  of  securing  two  al- 
lies in  the  moment  of  his  utmost 
need.  These  two  allies  were  Russia 
and  Austria.  Each  country  found 
suddenly  a  common  ground  of 
union  in  a  separate  danger,  and  each 
found  itself  absolutely  necessary  to 
the  other.  These  three  Northern 
Powers  did,  in  factually  themselves 
against  Denmark,  Poland,  and  Italy  ; 
but  the  merit  of  the  combination 
at  the  moment  lies  with  the  Prus- 
sian Minister.  The  jealousy  which 
existed  between  the  three  Powers 
was  extremely  difficult  to  over- 
come, and,  as  events  have  proved, 
could  not  last  long  ;  but  the 
bait  held  out  to  each  was  suf- 
ficient at  the  time  to  overcome 
all  other  considerations.  To  Rus- 
sia Bismarck  said,  "  You  will  never 
put  down  the  Polish  insurrection 
unless  you  get  a  state  of  siege  put 
on  in  Galicia" — a  fact  which  was 
perfectly  true  ;  but  the  Russian  Cabi- 
net was  too  proud  and  sore  at  the 
recent  conduct  of  Austria  in  the 
question  to  apply  to  the  Cabinet 
of  Vienna  in  this  sense.  "  Never 
mind,''  says  Bismarck,  "I'll  save 
your  dignity  and  arrange  this  little 
affair  for  you;  only,  if  I  do,  what  will 
you  give  for  my  trouble  ]  No- 
thing for  nothing  in  this  world." 
Says  the  astute  Gortschakoff,  "  I 


might,  if  I  liked,  give  you  immense 
trouble  in  your  Danish  policy;  re- 
member the  treaty  of  Ib5:>  was  our 
making — one  of  those  innocent  Ori- 
ental ruses  by  which  we  occasion- 
ally gull  John  Bull — by  which  we 
meant  to  exclude  the  Augusten- 
bourg  line,  and  skip  over  thirteen 
successors  to  the  Danish  throne;  and 
it  is  just  possible  we  may  yet  get 
the  English  Government  to  light 
for  us.  We  should  not  object  to 
their  sending  a  fleet  to  the  Baltic 
under  these  circumstances.  Ima- 
gine the  Ilritish  fleet  blazing  away 
for  our  rights  while  we  were  look- 
ing quietly  on  !  The  prospect  of 
this  delightful  spectacle  I  will  aban- 
don— nay,  I  will  support  you  secret- 
ly, while  1  condemn  you  openly — if 
you  will  arrange  that  Galieian  af- 
fair." "  So,"  Bismarck  to  Rechberg, 
through  the  extremist  of  Manteuf- 
fel,  "  I  want  you  to  place  Galicia 
under  a  state  of  siege  ;  you  are  com- 
mitted with  me  in  Denmark,  and 
England  will  certainly  abandon  you, 
— you  need  not  expect  a  friend  there. 
The  British  Government  intends 
to  let  you  take  care  of  Venice  if 
it  is  attacked  the  best  way  you 
can.  What  will  you  put  on  a  state 
of  siege  in  Galicia  for  I "  Says  Rech- 
berg, "Ever  since  we  used  to  fight 
together  in  Frankfort,  you  used  to 
get  the  better  of  me,  so  I  suppose 
it  is  of  no  use  my  struggling  now  : 
don't  beat  about  the  bush  —  say 
what  you  are  driving  at."  Says 
Bismarck,  ''  A  tripartite  alliance,  a 
meeting  of  the  sovereigns,  and  a 
general  guarantee  of  territory  all 
round  ;  but  as  a  preliminary  you 
must  put  on  a  state  of  siege  in 
Galicia,  then  we  will  see  about  a 
guarantee  for  your  Venetian  terri- 
tory." Afterthiscame Carlsbad  and 
Kissingen  as  a  matter  of  course,  the 
Polish  insurrection  was  stifled,  the 
Danish  war  drivelled  on,  so  did  the 
ridiculous  Conference  of  London  ; 
the  Prince  Frederick  Charles  told 
his  army  in  a  fog  at  Missunde 
that  they  were  the  finest  artillery- 
men in  the  world,  and  Lord  Rus- 
sell informed  an  astounded  audience 


120 


Tlie  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


at  the  Mansion-House,  that  he  had 
raised  the  prestige  of  England  to  a 
higher  pitch  than  it  had  ever  achiev- 
ed. A  sort  of  epidemy  of  swagger 
seemed  to  have  invaded  those  who 
had  least  excuse  for  it.  The  whole 
German  nation  became  intolerable 
about  their  military  achievements  ; 
even  the  fact  that  neither  the  Prus- 
sian nor  the  Danish  armies  had 
ever  seen  a  shot  fired  in  anger  in 
their  lives  before  the  war,  was 
scarcely  enough  to  account  for  the 
extraordinary  ignorance  displayed 
on  both  sides — on  the  part  of  the 
Danes  of  the  art  of  war,  on  the  part 
of  the  Prussians  of  the  experien- 
ces of  it.  These  latter  managed, 
with  the  greatest  difficulty,  in  a 
campaign  lasting  five  months,  to 
lose  nearly  three  thousand  men  in 
killed  and  wounded — an  ordinary 
morning's  amusement  to  Generals 
Grant  and  Lee.  And  to  hear  them 
talk  now,  one  would  imagine  they 
knew  what  fighting  meant.  All 
which  would  not  matter  if  it  were 
confined  to  the  army  alone;  but  the 
effect  of  these  military  successes 
upon  the  German  mind  has  been,  to 
intoxicate  those  sober  classes  who 
formed  the  constitutional  and  Li- 
beral party  in  the  country.  The 
consequence  is,  that  for  a  time 
the  movement  of  the  Liberal  op- 
position has  been  utterly  crushed. 
Bismarck  has  surrounded  himself 
with  a  halo  of  glory,  which  has 
temporarily  blinded  his  opponents. 
He  took  the  bit  between  his  teeth 
in  this  Schleswig-Holstein  affair, 
and  carried  out  the  national  pro- 
gramme with  a  vengeance.  There 
is  no  denying  it,  the  Germans 
wanted  the  Duchies  taken  from 
Denmark,  and  it  has  been  done, 
but  not  in  the  way  they  wanted  ; 
and  there  is  nothing  left  for  them 
but  to  louder  and  manifest  a  sort 
of  sullen  gratitude  to  their  ene- 
my. Had  they  voted  the  money 
for  the  Schleswig  -  Holstein  war, 
and  said,  "  Herr  Von  Bismarck, 
go  and  make  war,  and  take  the 
Duchies,"  they  would  have  had  a 
vantage-ground;  but  they  refused 


him  the  money,  arid  protested  against 
his  making  the  war  after  his  own 
fashion,  so  he  made  it  in  spite  of 
them,  and  has  dazzled  them  with 
military  glory.  Not  contented  with 
this,  success  has  rendered  him  bold. 
He  finds  many  of  his  old  antagonists 
softened  arid  conciliatory,  and  ra- 
ther disposed  to  abandon  their  strict 
German  principles  for  a  more  self- 
ish policy.  The  vanity  of  some  of 
the  Prussian  Liberals  has  been 
tickled  by  the  idea  of  the  annexa- 
tion of  the  Duchies,  and  ever  since 
the  conclusion  of  the  war,  the 
one  object  of  Mr  Yon  Bismarck 
has  been  to  bring  this  annexation 
about.  With  this  view  he  has 
caused  the  negotiations,  which  only 
terminated  the  other  day  at  Vienna, 
to  be  prolonged  to  an  extent  trying 
even  to  German  patience  ;  with  this 
view  he  has  staved  off  all  consider- 
ation by  the  Diet  at  Frankfort  of  the 
Duke  of  Augustenbourg's  claims, 
though  they  have  been  waiting  the 
decision  of  that  body  for  many 
months.  With  this  view  he  in- 
trigued with  Russia  to  put  forward 
the  Duke  of  Oldenburg  as  a  paper 
candidate,  whose  claims  will  be 
found,  as  Mr  Von  Bismarck  very 
well  knows,  not  worth  the  paper 
they  are  written  on.  With  this  view 
the  Prussian  Minister  caused  it  to 
be  inserted  in  the  preamble  of  the 
treaty  with  Denmark  j  ust  concluded, 
that  the  King  of  Denmark  conced- 
ed all  those  rights  over  the  Duchies 
which  he  had  never  possessed, 
so  determined  was  he  to  ignore  the 
rights  of  the  Augustenbourg  line. 
In  a  word,  though  some  months 
have  elapsed  since  the  Duchies 
have  been  conquered  from  Den- 
mark, their  fate  remains  still  un- 
settled, because  Bismarck  lias  not 
relinquished  the  hope  of  wearing 
out  the  patience  of  the  Duke,  of 
the  Schleswig- Holsteiners,  and  of 
the  political  section  of  Germany 
which  is  identified  with  his  cause. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that  if 
the  fate  of  the  Duchies  depended 
only  upon  their  German  sympa- 
thisers, their  chances  of  indepen- 


1865.1 


The 


Situation. 


121 


donee  would  be  small  indeed.  We 
have  had  a  notable  illustration  in 
this  question  of  the  value  of  the 
moral  support  of  Liberal  (Jermany. 
If  it  has  become  the  fashion  abroad 
to  taunt  Kngland  with  professing  a 
great  deal  and  doing  very  little  for 
anybody,  the  same  may  be  said  to 
a  very  great  extent  of  the  (ier- 
mans.  They  have  shown  them- 
selves completely  "cowed"  by  the 
arrogance  and  audacity  of  the  Prus- 
sian Prime  Minister.  In  spite  of 
the  vehemence  with  which  they 
protested  in  favour  of  Duke  Frede- 
rick and  the  Schleswig  -  Holstein 
nationality,  they  would  now  stand 
tamely  by  and  see  his  Highness 
expelled  the  country,  and  the  popu- 
lation subjected  to  the  military 
despotism  of  Prussia  without  lift- 
ing a  linger  in  their  defence.  No 
one  knows  better  than  Bismarck 
himself — tor  he  has  pushed  his  ex- 
periences to  an  extreme  limit — the 
extent  to  which  he  can  ride  rough- 
shod over  his  countrymen.  So 
far  as  they  are  concerned,  then, 
lie  might  have  annexed  the  Duchies 
with  impunity.  Nor  had  heanything 
to  fearon  the  part  of  the  Emperor  of 
France ;  that  sagacious  monarch  gave 
him  to  understand,  so  long  ago  as 
April  last,  that  he  would  entertain 
only  two  solutions  of  the  Schlcswig- 
Holstein  question  :  either  the  re- 
cognition of  the  Duke,  or  the  annex- 
ation of  the  Duchies  to  Prussia. 
Never  for  an  instant  has  it  been 
the  policy  of  the  Emperor  to  toler- 
ate the  idea  of  a  personal  union, 
not  even  at  the  moment  it  was  so  in- 
nocently put  forward  by  our  states- 
men at  the  Conference,  much  less  of 
the  Duke  of  Oldenburg.  Although, 
therefore,  the  claims  of  the  latter 
are  at  length  before  the  Diet,  and 
are  about  to  be  referred  to  a  tri- 
bunal specially  named  for  their  in- 
vestigation, we  may  be  quite  sure 
what  their  decision  will  be,  and 
dismiss  the  Duke  of  Oldenburg 
and  his  pretensions  from  our  minds 
henceforward  and  for  ever.  Prac- 
tically, the  linal  solution  of  this 
much-vexed  question  is  to  be  found 


in  one  or  other  of  those  alterna- 
tives in  favour  of  which  the  Em- 
peror Xapoleon  pronounced  from 
the  first.  His  inclinations  lead 
him  to  lean  rather  towards  the  an- 
nexation of  the  Duchies  to  Prussia, 
though  he  would  naturally  guard 
himself  from  expressing  himself 
openly  in  a  sense  which  might 
fairly  warrant  the  suspicion  that 
he  was  actuated  by  sinister  designs. 
Ostensibly,  therefore,  he  is  a  sup- 
porter of  the  Duke  of  Augusten- 
bourg,  and  probably  really  does  not 
care  very  much  for  whom  the  card 
finally  plays.  It  is  not  from  France 
that  Bismarck  looks  to  encounter 
opposition  to  his  designs.  It  need 
scarcely  be  said  that  such  a  meas- 
ure as  the  annexation  of  these  pro- 
vinces would  be  an  extremely 
popular  one  with  the  army,  who 
consider  they  have  performed  pro- 
digies of  valour  in  acquiring  them, 
and  who  have  no  sympathies  with 
the  Duke  of  Augustenbourg.  The 
whole  Jim/err  aristocracy  would 
hail  with  delight  so  triumphant  a 
proof  of  the  genius  of  their  leader, 
while,  as  we  have  already  remark- 
ed, even  among  the  masses  of  the 
people  the  national  vanity  would 
be  flattered,  Bismarck,  therefore, 
has  a  good  many  elements  of 
strength  in  his  favour  ;  but  he 
has  one  or  two  insurmountable  ob- 
stacles to  contend  with  at  home. 
One  is  the  perfect  good  faith — ill- 
natured  persons  would  call  it  obsti- 
nacy ;  perhaps  it  is  a  mixture  of 
both  —  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 
This  Sovereign  has  been  impressed 
with  the  justice  of  Duke  Frederick's 
claims  from  the  first,  and  has 
pledged  himself  to  support  them, 
and  to  place  him  sooner  or  later 
upon  the  Schleswig-llolstein  throne. 
In  vain  does  his  principal  adviser 
endeavour  to  overcome  his  scruples, 
and  appeal  to  his  vanity  to  induce 
him  to  annex  what  does  not  belong 
to  him  ;  the  old  King  remains 
firm,  and  is  not  now  likely  to 
change.  Another  very  serious  ob- 
stacle in  the  way  of  Ilerr  Von  Bis- 
marck's project,  is  the  indignation 


The  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


of  Austria  at  the  bare  idea  of  such 
a  thing.  Is  it  not  enough  to  have 
been  made  a  catspaw  of  from  the 
beginning,  to  have  been  dragged 
into  a  profitless  and  inglorious  war, 
•without  putting  a  climax  to  the  im- 
broglio by  helping  to  strengthen 
her  greatest  rival  and  traditional 
enemy?  So  Austria  becomes  the 
supporter  of  the  Duke  of  Augusten- 
bourg  and  the  Schleswig-Holstein 
nationality.  Altogether,  if  we  come 
fairly  to  weigh  the  chances,  we  can- 
not doubt  that  they  are  in  favour  of 
Duke  Frederick.  We  are  the  more 
entitled  to  this  opinion,  as  we  com- 
mitted ourselves  to  it  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year,  at  a  time  when  he 
was  never  called  anything  but  Pre- 
tender, and  the  notion  of  any  such 
solution  was  scouted.  Meantime, 
it  may  not  be  generally  known  that 
ever  since  the  month  of  January 
last,  the  Duke  has  remained  in 
Holstein  virtually  administering 
the  government  of  the  country. 
Although  there  were  commissioners 
appointed  for  the  purpose,  they 
merely  exercised  a  nominal  power. 
The  Council  of  Government  appoint- 
ed by  them  were  all  nominees  of  the 
Duke.  Nor  was  the  smallest  appoint- 
ment made  without  his  approval, 
or  any  public  work  undertaken 
without  his  sanction.  As  the  wisdom 
of  his  administration  has  become 
recognised,  and  his  personal  popu- 
larity is  increased,  the  difficulty  of 
expelling  him  has  become  greater. 
So  strong  is  the  popular  feeling 
upon  this  subject,  that  it  is  certain 
that  the  annexation  of  the  Duchies 
to  Prussia  would  lead  to  a  popular 
demonstration,  and  probably  to 
armed  resistance.  We  may,  in- 
deed, look  forward  very  shortly 
to  the  exhibition  of  some  ex- 
pressions of  discontent  from  the 
Duchies,  as  within  the  last  month 
a  very  serious  change  has  come 
over  the  aspect  of  their  affairs. 
The  Diet  of  Frankfort,  as  usual, 
has  proved  utterly  worthless  in  the 
hour  of  need;  first  carrying,  by  a 
majority  of  one  vote,  the  refusal  to 
comply  with  the  demand  of  Prussia 


to  consent  to  the  withdrawal  of 
General  Hake  and  the  Federal 
troops,  and  then  submitting  to  the 
added  pressure  of  Austria,  and  suc- 
cumbing to  the  dictation  of  the  two 
Powers  in  a  manner  at  once  abject 
and  contemptible.  The  Federal 
Commissioners,  who  have  hereto- 
fore governed  the  Duchies  in  the 
manner  we  have  described,  tacit- 
ly accepting  the  supreme  autho- 
rity of  Duke  Frederick,  have  been 
replaced  by  a  pair  of  Prusso-Aus- 
trian  Commissioners,  who  evidently 
mean  to  inaugurate  a  very  different 
system.  The  following  paragraph, 
from  an  address  which  they  have 
just  issued  to  the  population  they 
are  about  to  govern,  is  highly  sig- 
nificant : — "  In  order,"  they  say, 
"  to  be  able  to  fulfil  the  task  of 
carrying  on  the  chief  direction  of 
the  collective  administration  of  the 
Duchies  in  their  own  interests,  and 
so  to  act  that  the  decision  respect- 
ing their  future  may  in  no  degree 
be  prejudiced,  we  must,  in  the  first 
place,  be  assured  of  the  willing  sub- 
ordination and  ready  support  of  all 
the  authorities  and  officials  in  the 
country."  From  which  it  is  not 
difficult  to  infer  that  this  support, 
if  given  at  all,  will  only  be  accorded 
under  protest,  and  that  an  anta- 
gonism will  very  soon  be  created 
between  the  new  rulers  of  the 
Duchies  and  the  people.  Mean- 
time, Duke  Frederick  will  naturally 
resist,  by  every  means  in  his  power, 
this  unjust  encroachment  on  his 
rights,  but  cannot,  unfortunately, 
expect  support  from  those  on  whom 
he  would  have  a  right  to  rely.  It 
seems  hard  that  the  cradle  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  should  be  doomed 
to  a  foreign  yoke,  and  that  we,  of  all 
nations  in  the  world,  should  have 
exerted  all  our  influence,— first,  to 
retain  Schleswig-Holstein  to  Den- 
mark, and  now  regard  with  equani- 
mity the  possibility  of  their  illegal 
transference  to  Prussia.  It  is  only 
due  to  HerrVon  Bismarck  to  say  that 
he  has  made  proposals  to  the  Duke 
which,  if  the  latter  had  accepted, 
would  have  secured  him  his  throne 


1865.] 


Tlie  European  Situation. 


123 


ere  this  ;  but  it  reflects  the  highest 
credit  upon  him  that  he  has  consis- 
tently refused  to  buy  the  Duchies 
by  any  concession,  lie  will  not 
modify  their  own  liberal  constitu- 
tion at  the  Prussian  Minister's  bid- 
ding ;  neither  will  he  be  dictated  to 
as  to  who  shall  or  who  shall  not  be 
his  advisers  ;  nor  will  he  consent  to 
derogatory  conditions  with  refer- 
ence to  the  relations  in  which  he 
is  for  the  future  to  stand  towards 
Prussia.  It  is  evident  that  the  next 
best  thing  to  annexing  the  Duchies 
would  be,  in  the  opinion  of  Herr 
Von  Bismarck,  to  reduce  them  to  a 
condition  of  vassalage.  With  this 
view,  he  has  proposed  that  llends- 
burg  should  be  a  Federal  fortress, 
Kiel  a  Prussian  harbour,  and  the 
canal  projected  to  connect  the  North 
Sea  and  the  Baltic  should  be  pro- 
tected by  Prussian  troops  ;  in  addi- 
tion, the  Schleswig-Holstein  troops 
to  form  a  contingent  of  the  Prus- 
sian army,  with  other  minor  stipu- 
lations. It  need  hardly  be  pointed 
out  that  our  policy  should  be  to 
support  a  Prince  who  is  struggling 
to  retain  his  liberty  of  action,  and 
to  govern  constitutionally  against 
the  arbitrary  conditions  of  the  most 
reactionary  minister  in  Europe. 

Upon  the  whole,  we  are  rather  dis- 
posed to  think  that  the  delay  which 
has  been  interposed  by  the  Prussian 
Cabinet  to  the  final  settlement  of 
this  question,  arises  not  from  any 
fixed  intention  of  absolutely  annex- 
ing the  Duchies,  but  from  the  idea 
that,  by  protracting  the  affair  as 
much  as  possible,  appearing  to  fa- 
vour the  Duke  of  Oldenburg's 
claims,  and  throwing  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  those  of  Duke  Frede- 
rick, the  latter  may  at  last  be  driven 
into  accepting  conditions  more  hu- 
miliating to  himself  and  more  fa- 
vourable to  Prussia  than  he  has 
hitherto  entertained.  Nor  can  the 
firmness,  moderation,  and  patience 
of  this  Prince,  during  the  long  and 
trying  period  of  suspense  to  which 
he  has  been  subjected,  be  too  highly 
commended.  Meantime,  the  atten- 
tion of  Germany  has  been  distracted 


from  the  question  of  Schleswig-Hol- 
stein  to  those  complicated  consider- 
ations connected  with  the  Zollve- 
rein,  which  has  at  last  been  brought 
to  embrace  every  German  state  ex- 
ceptAustria,aresult  which  ha.s help- 
ed to  cause  some  dissension  among 
the  political  parties  of  the  country. 
A  recent  meeting  of  the  Na- 
tional Verein  showed  how  great  a 
change  they  had  undergone  since 
last  year  —  how  wretchedly,  in  a 
word,  the  tactics  of  the  German 
Liberals  have  been  managed.  It 
has  been  proved  to  them  how  utter- 
ly powerless  they  are  when  Austria 
and  Prussia  choose  to  combine 
against  their  liberties  ;  and  they 
recognise  in  the  combination  of 
the  two  great  German  Powers  no 
other  bond  of  union  but  a  common 
hatred  to  the  spread  of  the  "  na- 
tional idea."  So  soon  as  the  im- 
mediate danger  is  past,  their  mutual 
jealousy  breaks  out  again  ;  but  the 
mischief  is  done,  and  the  national 
party  is  paralysed  for  an  indefinite 
period.  So  Prussia,  having  most 
dexterously  made  use  of  Austria  in 
her  Schleswig-Holstein  policy,  dis- 
credits her  before  all  Germany  in 
the  matter  of  the  Zollverein  ;  and 
Austria,  still  suffering  under  the 
disgrace  of  that  fiasco  which  she 
perpetrated  in  the  name  of  liberty 
at  Frankfort  the  year  before  last, 
is  more  utterly  ruined  in  the 
estimation  of  the  Germans  than 
she  has  ever  been.  It  is  now 
seen  that  when  she  makes  liberal 
professions,  she  only  does  so  to 
cause  momentary  embarrassment 
to  her  rival,  not  in  the  least  with 
any  sincere  intention  of  carrying 
them  out :  the  conseqiience  is,  that 
in  spite  of  the  contemptuous  way 
in  which  they  are  treated  by  Prus- 
sia, there  is  a  very  general  instinct 
among  Germans  that  that  country 
must  be  the  ultimate  foundation  of 
German  unity.  They  hope  and  trust 
that  they  will  arrive  at  this  consum- 
mation not  by  violence  and  revolu- 
tion, but  by  a  consistent  adherence 
to  their  constitutional  rights,  and 
by  an  improved  organisation  in 


124 


Tlie  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


their  political  parties.  They  hold 
that  the  strongest  bond  of  union  is 
to  be  found  in  their  common  com- 
mercial interests,  and  they  believe 
the  frontier  which  will  conduce 
most  to  their  political  cohesion  is 
to  be  found  in  their  Customs  line; 
at  the  same  time,  they  are  alive  to 
the  importance  of  devising  some 
definite  system  by  which  they  may 
carry  their  point,  and  they  are  be- 
ginning to  perceive  that  the  defect 
of  the  only  system  they  have  hith- 
erto pursued,  consisted  in  the  unli- 
mited "jaw  " — to  use  a  slang  term 
• — by  which  it  was  characterised. 

No  one  can  look  at  the  thirty-six 
little  states  dotted  over  the  Father- 
land without  recognising  the  ex- 
traordinary difficulties  with  which 
any  attempt  at  unity  of  action  must 
be  attended.  When  we  remember 
that  no  two  are  influenced  by  the 
same  conditions  ;  that  in  some  the 
rulers  are  bound  by  ties  of  various 
descriptions  to  Prussia,  in  others  to 
Austria  ;  that  some  are  liberal  and 
others  reactionary ;  that  some  are 
aggressive  and  others  timid  ;  some 
Catholic  and  others  Protestant  ; 
that  even  the  populations  are  what 
tradition,  position,  and  circumstan- 
ces have  made  them ; — we  see  why 
Herr  Von  Bismarck  is  not  far  wrong 
when  he  laughs  at  the  efforts  of 
what  is  called  Liberal  Germany. 
One  of  the  chief  causes  of  weakness 
is  the  distrust  of  the  people  for 
their  rulers.  With  four  or  five 
notable  exceptions,  the  small  prince 
is  generally  regarded  as  the  natural 
enemy  of  his  subjects.  Hence, 
when  it  comes  to  forming  a  com- 
bination for  the  protection  of  their 
rights  against  Prussia  and  Austria, 
the  people  and  their  princes  are 
seldom  found  together.  Both 
may  regard  a  union  of  the  two 
great  Powers  as  their  greatest  dan- 
ger, but  they  hate  them  for  different 
reasons,  and  fight  them  upon  differ- 
ent battle-fields.  The  consequence 
is,  that  they  paralyse  one  another 
mutually  for  the  benefit  of  the  com- 
mon enemy.  Princes  like  the  Dukes 
of  Baden,  Weimar,  and  Coburg, 


who  see  that  their  only  safety  is  in 
an  alliance  with  their  people,  are 
looked  upon  with  the  utmost  dis- 
trust and  suspicion  by  unhappy 
little  sovereigns  like  the  Elector  of 
Hesse  or  the  Grand-Duke  of  Meck- 
lenburg, who  are  in  perpetual  dread 
of  being  absorbed  by  a  rapacious 
neighbour,  or  torn  to  pieces  by  an 
exasperated  populace.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  predict  that  one  or  other 
of  these  fates  is  in  store  for  every 
German  Prince  who  is  unable  to 
appreciate  the  exigencies  of  his 
situation,  and  to  provide  for  them 
in  time.  The  whole  country,  with 
its  big  states  and  all  its  little  ones, 
seems  going  down  an  incline,  at 
present  gently,  but  the  velocity  is 
not  the  less  steadily  increasing. 
Whether  —  when  it  gathers  way, 
and  dashes  itself  upon  the  rocks  at 
the  bottom — it  will  split  upon  the 
rock  of  absolutism  or  of  democracy, 
it  is  impossible  now  to  determine  ; 
but  one  thing  is  certain — the  smash 
will  extinguish  most  of  the  little 
princes  for  ever. 

To  return,  however,  from  the 
future  to  the  present  :  we  have 
shown  the  effect  of  the  events  of 
the  spring  and  summer  upon  the 
German  people.  By  the  time  the 
Berlin  Chambers  meet,  they  will 
have  recovered  their  political  tone 
a  little;  and  we  may,  doubtless, 
expect  some  interesting  discussions, 
which,  however,  will  fail  to  exercise 
any  influence  upon  the  policy  of 
the  Prime  Minister.  That  policy 
has  somewhat  changed  since  we 
left  him  plotting  in  watering-places 
to  cement  that  alliance  between 
Russia,  Austria,  and  Prussia,  which, 
as  we  showed,  was  necessary  to  the 
prosecution  of  his  designs  upon  the 
Duchies.  There  was  one  sovereign 
in  Europe  to  whom,  above  all 
others,  this  alliance  was  especially 
distasteful.  It  recalled  sundry 
unpleasant  reminiscences,  and  was 
besides  inconvenient  in  many  ways 
to  his  policy.  During  the  whole 
progress  of  the  Conference  of  Lon- 
don and  the  Danish  war,  this  mon- 
arch had  maintained  a  remarkable 


1865.] 


Tlte  European  Situation. 


reserve, — lie  was  looking  on  at  the 
game,  and  waiting  to  cut  in.  He 
was  not  directly  interested,  but  a 
turn  of  the  cards  might  at  any  mo- 
ment involve  him.  We  in  Kngland 
had  taken  especial  pains  to  alienate 
him  during  the  whole  of  our  policy 
last  year,  and  he  was  not  sorry  to 
see  us  planted  in  the  mud,  and 
struggling  to  reach  the  bank  upon 
which  he  was  standing  a  dry  spec- 
tator. That  instead  of  asking  him 
civilly  to  help  us  out,  we  should 
have  abused  him  for  being  less 
covered  with  dirt  than  we  were,  was 
characteristic.  But  the  result  was 
that  the  Emperor  Napoleon  re- 
mained torpid,  until  lie  was  roused 
by  certain  indisputable  proofs  with 
which  he  was  favoured  of  the  ex- 
istence of  the  Holy  Alliance.  Then 
he  awoke,  and  with  that  remarkable 
aptitude  for  letting  off  political  fire- 
works at  the  most  critical  moment, 
he  threw  a  cracker  into  the  middle 
of  the  alliance  in  the  shape  of  the 
Franco-Italian  Convention  —  upon 
which  great  consternation  every- 
where, but  especially  of  course  at 
Vienna  ;  the  statesmen  there  were 
not  very  comfortable  at  any  rate. 
They  were  suffering  from  the  un- 
pleasant consciousness  of  having 
been  in  Bismarck's  pocket  for  a 
disagreeably  long  time  ;  they  felt 
sore  about  the  matter  of  the  Zoll- 
verein.  They  did  not  like  the  over- 
bearing way  in  which  Bismarck  took 
all  the  credit  and  wanted  to  take 
all  the  spoils  of  the  Dano-Oerman 
Avar ;  and  now,  just  when  they  were 
in  a  bad  temper, — off  goes  the 
Franco-Italian  Convention.  Then, 
again,  Russia  had  not  been  behaving 
at  all  well,  or  shown  half  gratitude 
enough  for  the  service  rendered  in 
(Jalicia.  The  German  party  had 
been  replaced  by  the  Russian,  hostile 
to  an  entente  with  Austria.  Alto- 
gether, the  only  thing  that  seemed 
left  for  Austria  to  do,  was  to  make 
friends  with  the  mammon  of  un- 
righteousness, back  out  of  the  Holy 
Alliance,  and  come  submissively 
to  the  feet  of  the  great  Emperor. 
Then  there  were  thoughts  of  recog- 


nising Italy  and  obtaining  in  return 
a  guarantee  from  the  Western 
Powers  of  Venetia,  and  then  a 
promise  of  reducing  the  Austrian 
army  as  a  proof  of  good  faith,  and 
a  visit  on  the  part  of  Lord  Claren- 
don, which  we  are  assured  had  no- 
thing whatever  to  do  with  any  of 
these  tilings,  or  had  any  political 
objects  whatever.  So  Austria  be- 
came uneasy  and  restive  ;  she  want- 
ed to  escape  from  the  fangs  of 
Bismarck,  so  she  offered  to  put  her 
head  between  the  jaws  of  that  roar- 
ing lion  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  It 
was  a  choice  of  evils  ;  vainly  she 
struggled  in  the  toils  which  the 
Prussian  Minister  had  thrown  over 
her  ;  she  was  in  the  position  of  a 
snared  rabbit  that  sees  the  keeper 
coining  in  the  distance.  "  You 
need  not  try  to  cling  to  my  coat- 
tails,"  says  the  Emperor  to  the  now 
truly  wretched  Rechberg ;  "  only, 
if  I  do  let  Italy  loose  at  you,  do 
you  think  your  Holy  Alliance 
will  prove  a  reed  to  trust  to  I " 
"  There  is  no  use  your  coming 
cringing  and  fawning  to  me,"  says 
Bismarck;  "do  what  I  tell  you, 
and  don't  make  a  row.  Do  you 
suppose  that  I  am  going  to  help 
you  when  the  Emperor  sets  Italy 
at  you,  if  you  don't  behave  your- 
self properly  I  "  No  wonder  poor 
Count  Rechberg  was  overwhelmed 
by  the  dilemma  in  which  he  found 
himself.  Imagine  the  unhappy  con- 
dition of  a  man  who  has  to  choose 
between  Bismarck  and  Louis  Napo- 
leon as  his  friend  for  life.  The 
alternative  was  too  horrible  to  con- 
template. So  Count  Rechberg  de- 
clined to  face  it,  and  Count  Mens- 
dorff  Pouilly  reigned  in  his  stead. 
But  there  was  no  reason  why  Bis- 
marck should  not  adopt  the  course 
which  was  impossible  for  Austria. 
His  very  object  in  frightening  Aus- 
tria out  of  any  project  she  might 
entertain  of  making  friends  with 
the  Emperor  Napoleon,  was  that 
he  wanted  to  do  it  himself.  After 
all,  the  Emperor  Napoleon  had  be- 
haved very  well  during  the  spring ; 
why  should  not  he  and  the  King  of 


126 


The  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


Prussia  have  a  meeting  at  a  water- 
ing-place, and  arrange  a  little  pro- 
gramme, projected  by  the  fertile- 
brain  of  the  said  Bismarck  1  So  he 
proposed  the  meeting,  which  the 
Emperor,  having  achieved  the  ob- 
ject he  had  in  view,  and  frightened 
both  the  German  Powers  into  abject 
civility,  quietly  declined.  Still  there 
remains  of  the  three  Russia.  It  is 
quite  clear  that  when  two  of  the 
parties  to  a  tripartite  alliance  cease 
to  belong  to  it,  there  remains  very 
little  option  for  the  third ;  but  the 
fact  is,  that  the  alliance  had  become 
as  inconvenient  to  Russia  as  to  the 
other  two.  The  Polish  insurrection 
had  been  stifled,  and  neither  Aus- 
tria nor  Prussia  could  be  of  the 
slightest  use  to  her;  so  she  con- 
siderately told  the  former  that 
she  might  do  what  she  liked  with 
Oldenburg,  but  that,  as  for  Rus- 
sia, she  considered  the  Schleswig- 
Holstein  question  a  bore  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  she  Avashed 
her  hands  of  the  whole  concern. 
Prior  to  this  time,  there  had  been 
a  good  many  tender  passages  pass- 
ing between  the  Courts  of  Co- 
penhagen and  St  Petersburg,  so 
the  event  came  rather  apropos. 
Then  Gortschakoff,  whose  love  for 
Rechberg  has  never  been  ardent, 
found  the  moment  propitious  for  a 
judicial  separation ;  and,  like  the 
other  two,  he  too  came  hat  in  hand 
to  the  Tuileries  to  propose  an  inter- 
view between  its  illustrious  occu- 
pant and  his  august  master.  As 
the  Czar  actually  came  to  Nice,  the 
Emperor  could  not,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  King  of  Prussia,  decline  alto- 
gether to  pay  him  a  visit ;  but  it  was 
a  long  way  to  go  to  talk  about 
the  weather  and  kindred  topics. 
Still  he  did  the  civil  thing,  and 
came  away  from  Nice  leaving  the 
Czar  as  far  advanced  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  the  Emperor  at  all. 
But  the  Franco-Italian  Convention 
had  another  effect  beyond  breaking 
up  the  alliance  of  the  Northern 
Powers, — it  produced  a  rapproche- 
ment between  England  and  France. 
Our  Polish  policy,  and  abrupt  re- 


fusal of  the  Emperor's  Congress, 
which  had  produced  the  temporary 
estrangement  last  year  to  which  we 
have  alluded,  are  now  to  be  forgot- 
ten. In  other  words  (say,  the  Em- 
peror's), "  It  was  very  inconvenient 
having  anything  to  do  with  Eng- 
land while  she  was  in  the  Schleswig- 
Holstein  mess,  but  now  that  that  is 
over,  let  us  be  good  friends  again. 
The  English  nation  never  object  to 
a  dig  at  the  Pope,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  evacuation  of  Rome  by  my 
troops  will  be  a  pleasant  vision  to 
them/'  So  spake  our  ally,  and  all 
our  newspapers  went  off  on  the 
scent,  like  a  pack  of  hounds  on  a 
red  herring.  There  is  something 
truly  edifying  in  the  unanimity 
which  has  for  some  time  past  per- 
vaded the  press  upon  questions  of 
foreign  policy.  The  reckless  way  in 
which  they  have  taken  to  pronounc- 
ing the  verdict  before  they  have 
heard  the  evidence,  is  as  remarkable 
as  the  monotony  with  which  they 
all  repeat  each  other's  sentiments. 
Take  the  Franco -Italian  Conven- 
tion, for  instance.  It  may  be  shown 
to  be  a  very  admirable  stroke  of 
policy  for  France,  a  very  beneficial 
measure  even  for  Europe  generally, 
perfectly  innocuous  to  England ; 
but  why  on  earth  we  should  have 
no  patience  with  Italians  who 
doubt  about  the  advantages  of  the 
measure  in  so  far  as  their  own  coun- 
try is  concerned,  it  is  hard  to  com- 
prehend. In  the  first  place,  they 
are  likely  to  be  better  judges  than 
we  are  of  what  is  best  for  their  own 
interest.  It  is  true  that  a  majority 
is  in  favour  of  the  Convention,  but 
the  minority  is  important  and  in- 
telligent ;  and  it  is,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  curious,  that  not  only  are  their 
opinions  unrepresented  in  England, 
but  universally  held  up  to  ridicule 
and  contempt.  It  was  the  same 
thing  in  the  Danish  question  :  it 
was  as  much  as  a  man's  social  peace 
was  worth  to  maintain  the  Augus- 
tenbourg  solution  at  its  commence- 
ment ;  and  now  who  will  have  the 
courage  to  hold  up  his  head  before 
the  world  and  say  he  believes  the 


1865.] 


Tlie  European  Situation. 


127 


Convention  to  be  a  very  doubtful 
boon  to  Italy  I  It  will  probably 
take  a  year  or  even  two  to  prove 
that  one  is  right.  Under  this  ty- 
ranny of  public  opinion,  then,  we 
will  not  venture  to  say  what  our 
opinions  are  upon  the  subject,  but 
confine  ourselves  to  repeating  what 
people  say  in  Italy  when  discussing 
its  merits. 

It  is  not  usual  to  find  a  large  and 
powerful  majority  more  eager  and 
loud-tongued  in  defending  a  meas- 
ure they  are  sure  to  carry  than  the 
minority  which  oppose  it,  yet  such 
is  the  case  with  the  advocates  of 
the  Franco  -  Italian  Convention. 
One  would  almost  imagine,  from 
the  intense  anxiety  they  manifest 
to  justify  this  stroke  of  policy,  that 
they  have  some  doubts  of  its  ex- 
pediency. The  minority,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  feeble,  partly  from 
political  cowardice,  which  prevents 
them  boldly  expressing  their  feel- 
ings under  the  circumstances,  partly 
from  the  entirely  opposite  grounds 
upon  which  the  extreme  opponents 
condemn  the  Convention,  and  part- 
ly because  in  many  cases  they  con- 
sider that  the  interests  of  the  coun- 
try will  be  best  served  by  bowing 
silently  to  the  will  of  the  majority, 
though  they  do  not  make  any 
secret  of  their  disapproval  of  the 
Convention  itself.  It  would  be  in- 
teresting to  know  how  many  depu- 
ties in  the  Chamber  of  Turin  who 
have  voted  for  the  Convention  will 
tell  you  that  had  they  been  minis- 
ters they  never  would  have  signed 
it.  More  interesting  would  be  an 
analysis  of  the  diverse  motives 
which  have  actuated  the  individuals 
who  have  gone  to  swell  the  ma- 
jority. We  will  give  the  Tuscans 
the  credit  of  voting  in  favour  of 
the  transfer  of  the  capital  to  Flo- 
rence, from  love  of  country ;  but  we 
are  afraid  that  the  greater  number 
of  those  who  represent  the  other  por- 
tions of  Italy  have  been  actuated, 
in  the  first  instance,  by  hatred  of 
Piedmont.  Others  there  are  who 
really  believe  that  the  Convention 
will  lead  to  the  evacuation  of  Home 


by  the  French  troops,  and  the  ulti- 
mate realisation  of  the  national 
aspiration  of  Koine  for  a  capital. 
J>ut  this  has  dwindled  down  to  a 
very  small  section  since  the  publi- 
cation of  M.  1  )rouyn  de  Lhuys's  last 
despatch.  We  are  afraid  that  one 
ground  of  the  general  satisfaction 
liesin  the  consolation  which  all  Italy 
feels  at  seeing  Piedmont  snubbed. 
In  a  word,  Italy  loves  Home  much, 
but  hates  Piedmont  more.  Whether 
this  is  a  description  of  sentiment 
upon  which  a  united  Italy  can  ever 
be  based,  is  another  question ;  or 
whether  a  convention  which  has 
excited  the  worst  passions  is  likely 
to  improve  the  condition  of  matters, 
the  future  will  reveal  to  us.  Those 
who  are  opposed  to  it  say  that  there 
is  no  evidence  of  its  necessity.  If 
a  change  of  capital  was  desirable, 
why  have  it  forced  upon  Italy  as  a 
humiliating  condition  in  a  conven- 
tion with  France  I  The  choice  of 
a  capital  is  eminently  a  matter  of 
internal  arrangement,  and  one  upon 
which  foreign  dictation  should  not 
be  tolerated.  If  the  French  troops 
would  not  evacuate  Koine  without 
this  stipulation,  they  certainly  will 
not  evacuate  Koine  with  it,  the 
object  of  the  stipulation  being  to 
guarantee  Koine  against  Italy — a 
point  which  Italy,  whose  only  ex- 
cuse for  making  the  Convention  is 
that  it  is  to  lead  to  Home,  refuses 
to  see.  Either  the  occupation  of 
Home  is  inconvenient  to  the  Em- 
peror, or  it  is  not.  If  it  is,  then 
whether  the  capital  was  transferred 
to  Florence  or  not,  he  would  have 
gone  when  he  felt  inclined  ;  if  it  is 
not,  then  he  will  stay  there  wher- 
ever the  capital  may  be.  Either 
the  Convention  is  to  lead  to  Koine, 
in  which  case  the  Pope  has  been 
egregiously  humbugged;  or  it  is  not, 
in  which  case  the  Italian  people 
have  been  entirely  deceived.  The 
whole  thing  has  been  a  game  of 
finesse,  in  which  the  Italians  have 
been  beaten.  The  Emperor  wanted 
them  to  evacuate  Turin  for  certain 
good  reasons  of  his  own,  and  they 
wanted  him  to  evacuate  Koine.  He 


128 


Tlie  European  Situation. 


[Jan. 


said,  I  will  do  the  one  if  you  will 
do  the  other  ;  but  with  you  the 
evacuation  must  be  unconditional, 
with  me  it  will  be  contingent. 
Cavour  tried  just  the  other  way, 
and  wanted  to  make  the  evacuation 
of  Rome  precede  anything  he  did; 
but  this  did  not  suit  the  Emperor, 
and  the  negotiations  were  broken 
off.  There  was  something  barefaced 
after  this  in  the  unblushing  way 
in  which  the  last  Cabinet  took  to 
themselves  the  credit  of  following 
the  policy  of  Cavour  in  agreeing  to  a 
convention  which  that  distinguished 
.statesman  would  never  have  signed 
to  his  dying  day.  The  grounds 
chiefly  relied  on  by  the  defenders 
of  the  Convention  when  it  was 
first  discussed,  were  precisely  those 
which  the  French  Foreign  Minister 
carefully  cut  from  under  the  feet 
of  the  Italian  Government.  They 
said,  "The  clauses  of  the  Convention 
are  elastic.  Our  programme  under 
it  is  this  :  our  troops  will  guard  the 
Pope's  frontier  for  him.  But  it  will 
be  impossible  for  them  in  such  a 
long  line  of  frontier  to  prevent 
volunteers  from  creeping  in ;  be- 
sides, how  are  you  to  know  that  he 
is  a  volunteer,  and  the  patrol  may 
be  looking  the  other  way.  Then, 
when  there  are  enough  in,  and  the 
French  have  all  left,  of  a  sudden 
the  insurrection  will  break  out, 
which  will  have  previously  been 
combined,  and  Rome  will  become 
the  capital  of  Italy,  to  which  Flo- 
rence is  only  the  first  stage  :"  which 
unguarded  language  finding  its  way 
to  Paris,  and  penetrating  indeed 
through  official  despatches,  the 
French  Minister  takes  occasion  to 
show  exactly  what  the  Convention 
has  done  for  Italy.  "  Formerly," 
he  implies,  "  you  might  have  hoped 
to  get  Rome  through  the  chapter 
of  accidents,  now  you  are  solemnly 
bound  to  acquire  that  coveted  city 
'  solely  by  the  force  of  civilisation 
and  of  progress.' "  A  convention 
binding  a  Government  to  the  use 
only  of  the  moral  means  which  civ- 
ilisation and  progress  supply,  does 
not  seem  to  have  conferred  any 


great  obligation  upon  it.  Further, 
says  the  French  Minister,  "  you  are 
bound  by  this  Convention  not  to 
employ  the  manoeuvres  of  revolu- 
tionary agents  in  Pontifical  terri- 
tory; "  to  which  he  might  have  add- 
ed, "  It  is  true,  before  you  made  this 
Convention,  you  were  free  to  do  this 
as  much  as  you  liked."  Formerly  the 
national  aspiration  was,  Rome  for 
the  Italians,'  and  a  bas  Pio  Nono ; 
"  but,"  says  Monsieur  Drouyn  de 
Lhuys,  "  by  this  Convention  the 
only  aspirations  which  the  Court  of 
Turin  considers  legitimate  are  those 
which  have  for  their  object  the  re- 
conciliation of  Italy  with  the  Pa- 
pacy." Without  this  Convention 
the  Italians  might  have  gone  to  Flo- 
rence, or  anywhere  else  they  liked, 
temporarily,  on  their  way  to  Rome, 
now  they  are  bound  to  go  to  Florence, 
and  stay  there  for  ever.  "  This," 
naively  says  Monsieur  Drouyn  de 
Lhuys,  "  was  the  very  reason  we 
ever  took  the  trouble  to  make  a 
convention  with  you  at  all.  Don't 
rest  your  hopes  upon  an  internal 
revolution  in  Rome ;  in  that  case 
France  reserves  to  herself  her  lib- 
erty of  action  ;"  and  he  might  have 
added,  "  in  every  other."  "  Above 
all,"  concludes  the  French  Minister, 
with  a  sneer,  "  don't  quote  Cavour 
against  yourselves.  That  illustri- 
ous man  declared  Rome  could  be 
united  to  Italy,  and  become  its 
capital,  only  with  the  consent  of 
France."  France  having  decided 
the  contrary,  the  thing  is  at  an 
end ;  but  why  the  whole  of  Italy 
should  go  into  raptures  about  a 
convention  binding  them  to  aban- 
don their  most  cherished  illusions, 
one  fails  to  perceive.  It  is  an 
empty  boast  for  Italy  to  talk  about 
"  her  reserving  her  liberty  of  ac- 
tion." Any  convention  made  be- 
tween France  and  Italy  must  be 
to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter; 
for  this  simple  reason,  that  Italy 
must  keep  her  engagements,  and 
France  need  not,  unless  she  finds  it 
convenient. 

It  is  now  pretty  generally  under- 
stood that  the  Pope  intends  to  dis- 


18C5. 


The  European  Situation. 


129 


band  his  army,  so  that  at  the  end 
of  two  years  he  may  be  left  unpro- 
tected iif  the  French  abandon  him. 
He  knows  perfectly  well  that  nei 
ther  Catholic  Europe  nor  Catholic 
France  would  see  him  left  in  that 
plight,  and  that  France  will  reserve 
her  liberty  of  action  in  his  favour. 
The  whole  scope  of  the  Convention, 
then,  is,  to  make  an  end  of  the  Ro- 
man question  in  the  anti-national 
sense.  The  Marquess  Pepoli,  in  his 
recent  speech  in  the  Chambers  de- 
fending the  Convention  which  he 
was  chiefly  instrumental  in  nego- 
tiating, said  very  justly,  that  up  to 
this  time  Italy  had  been  agitated 
by  two  questions,  the  question  of 
Rome  and  the  question  of  Venice, 
and  that  the  effect  of  the  Conven- 
tion was  to  leave  only  this  question 
of  Venice  still  for  solution.  The 
answer  which  might  have  been  made 
to  this  indisputable  truism  was, 
that  Italy  has  only  to  make  a  con- 
vention with  Austria,  binding  her- 
self never  to  acquire  Venetia  except 
by  "  the  moral  forces  of  civilisation 
and  progress,"  to  put  an  end  equal- 
ly to  the  question  of  Venice.  The 
fact  is,  that  the  Italians  under-esti- 
mate  the  force  of  the  Catholic  sen- 
timent in  Europe.  The  idea  pro- 
pounded by  Cavour,  of  "  a  free 
Church  in  a  free  State,"  is  chimeri- 
cal, because  the  Catholic  Church  is 
not  free.  Rome  never  can  be  the 
capital  of  Catholic  Europe  and  of 
constitutional  Italy  at  one  and  the 
same  time — a  fact  which  is  dawning 
upon  many  of  the  Italians,  who  are 
beginning  to  find  out  that  Rome 
would  be  too  feverish  for  a  perma- 
nent capital.  If  the  transfer  to 
Florence  does  not  produce  revolu- 
tion, and  the  organic  change  to 
which  the  administration  is  to  be 
subjected  does  not  produce  confu- 
sion, there  cannot  be  the  slightest 
doubt  that  for  the  reasons  elo- 
quently stated  by  General  Cialdini 
Florence  is  far  better  adapted  to 
be  the  future  capital  of  Italy 
than  either  Rome,  Turin,  or 
Naples.  It  is  as  inconvenient  to 
have  the  capital  of  the  country 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCI. 


within  a  day's  march  of  the  French 
frontier  as  upon  the  sea-coast.  To- 
pographically and  strategically  the 
advantages  are  all  with  Florence  ; 
but  whether  there  may  not  be  dan- 
ger attending  tin-  experiment  suffi- 
cient to  counterbalance  its  advan- 
tages, we  shall  only  know  after  it 
is  made.  The  most  turbulent  and 
democratic  population  in  Italy  is  to 
be  found  in  Leghorn  and  Florence. 
The  present  dynasty  has  no  tradi- 
tions to  bind  the  monarch  to  the 
people  of  Tuscany,  and  he  is  now 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  hissed 
and  hooted  in  the  streets  of  Turin 
by  a  population  which  adored  him. 
Piedmont,  with  its  loyalty,  its  calm- 
ness, its  practice  of  self-government, 
its  some  what  too  elaborate  but  meth- 
odical administrative  system,  form- 
ed the  ballast  of  Italy  :  the  effect  of 
going  to  Florence  will  be  to  lighten 
the  ship.  If  there  comes  any  rough 
weather  at  that  critical  moment, 
we  shall  probably  see  the  gallant 
bark  "  United  Italy  "  on  her 
beam-ends.  As  a  singular  prelimi- 
nary for  the  troubles  in  store  for 
her,  the  intention  of  the  Govern- 
ment is  immediately  to  reduce  her 
present  standing  army.  It  is  said 
that  we  have  secured  from  Austria 
the  promise  of  a  like  peaceful  de- 
monstration, and  then  it  turns  out 
that  the  reduction  amounts  to  just 
fifteen  hundred  men  ;  but  the  other 
day  it  was  found  necessary  to  place 
eighteen  districts  in  the  province  of 
Friuli  under  a  state  of  siege.  The 
measures  of  the  Italian  Govern- 
ment in  suppressing  any  active 
manifestation  of  sympathy  for  any 
insurrectionary  movement  in  Ve- 
netia, present  or  to  come,  are  likely 
to  precipitate  the  Italian  crisis 
which  is  impending,  and  to  bring 
about  the  very  catastrophe  they 
are  designed  to  avert.  The  ob- 
ject of  the  promoters  of  these 
movements  is  to  excite  the  people 
against  the  Government,  and  to 
drive  the  latter  to  the  alternative 
of  an  open  rupture  with  Austria,  or 
the  risk  of  a  revolution  at  home. 
Aspromoute  was  a  dangerous  expe- 


130 


The  European  Situation. 


[Jan.  1865. 


riment,  and  one  which  it  would  be 
unwise  to  repeat  too  often.  The 
eccentric  and  ill-judged  dash  which 
Garibaldi  made  at  Rome  has  been 
succeeded  by  an  insidious  attack 
upon  Venice,  devised  upon  the 
Polish  model ;  the  small  scattered 
bands  hoped  to  hold  themselves  in 
the  mountains,  as  centres  of  attrac- 
tion to  deserters  from  the  Austrian 
army,  and  ardent  spirits  from  Italy. 
They  did  not  expect  to  achieve  the 
independence  of  Venetia  by  their 
military  efforts,  but  they  endea- 
voured to  embroil  the  Cabinet  of 
Turin  either  with  Austria  or  with 
Italy, — and  it  is  not  impossible  that 
these  tactics  may,  some  day  or 
other,  succeed.  Altogether,  we  are 
disposed  to  think  that  this  Franco- 
Italian  Convention  may  turn  out  to 
be  the  cloud  not  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand  which  is  now  appearing  upon 
the  political  horizon,  and  that  the 
lull,  to  which  we  have  already  al- 
luded, may  really  be  drawing  to  a 
close.  Two  years  hence  it  is  pos- 
sible that  the  members  of  the  late 
Cabinet  may  still  be  among  the 
most  prominent  statesmen  of  Italy. 
We  do  not  feel  that  we  hazard 
much  when  we  predict  that  they 
will  find  it  more  difficult  to  defend 
the  Convention  then  than  they  do 
now. 

The  rumours  of  troubles  brewing 
in  various  disaffected  nationalities, 
which  are  generally  to  be  traced  to  the 
party  of  action,  and  have  been  more 
or  less  in  connection  with  those  in 
Venetia,  are  too  vague  to  be  worthy 


of  notice.  For  the  moment  the  East 
is  singularly  quiet;  the  only  ques- 
tion of  importance  is  one  which  has 
been  explained  at  some  length  in 
our  pages,  and  which  involves  the 
appropriation  by  Prince  Couza  of 
the  revenues  of  the  dedicated  con- 
vents in  the  Danubian  Principali- 
ties. Our  Government,  it  would 
seem,  though  by  degrees  acquiring 
some  knowledge  of  the  subject,  was 
rather  disposed  at  the  outset  to 
take  the  Russian  view  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  support  the  claims  of  the 
Greek  hierarchy  as  against  the 
Prince.  As  even  the  Porte  is  alive 
to  the  dangers  of  a  powerful  Fan- 
ariot  influence  based  upon  the  enor- 
mous wealth  derived  from  these 
convents,  and  used  for  purposes  of 
intrigue  against  its  own  authority, 
the  sweeping  act  of  Prince  Couza 
met  with  more  approval  from  the 
Government  of  the  Sultan  than  from 
ours.  During  the  absence  of  Sir 
Henry  Bulwer  and  M.  de  Moustier, 
General  Ignatief,  of  Pekin  noto- 
riety, succeeded  in  reopening  the 
question  to  some  extent,  and  the 
Greek  Church  refused  to  receive  the 
indemnity  proposed  by  Prince  Cou- 
za. It  is  not  impossible  that  Rus- 
sia may  yet  find  in  this  dispute  a 
pretext  for  carrying  out  her  designs 
upon  these  provinces.  The  Eastern 
Question  is  a  very  important  cham- 
ber in  the  European  powder-maga- 
zine ;  but  if  we  are  to  believe  the 
signs  of  the  times,  the  train  by 
which  it  is  to  be  fired  is  not  laid 
from  that  quarter. 


Printed  ly  William  BlacJncood  &  Sons,  Editilurijh. 


BLACKPOOL'S 
EDINBURGH     MAGAZINE. 


Xo.  DXCII. 


FEBRUARY  1SG5. 


VOL.  XCVIL 


MISS     MARJORIBAXKS. — PART     T. 


CHAPTER    I. 


Miss  MARJORIBANKS  lost  her  mo- 
ther when  she  was  only  fifteen,  and 
when,  to  add  to  the  misfortune,  she 
was  absent  at  school,  and  could 
not  have  it  in  her  power  to  soothe 
her  dear  mamma's  last  moments,  as 
she  herself  said.  Words  are  some- 
times very  poor  exponents  of  such 
an  event :  but  it  happens  now  and 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a  plain 
intimation  expresses  too  much,  and 
suggests  emotion  and  suffering 
which,  in  reality,  have  but  little,  if 
any,  existence.  Mrs  Marjoribanks, 
poor  lady,  had  been  an  invalid  for 
many  years ;  she  had  grown  a  little 
peevish  in  her  loneliness,  not  feel- 
ing herself  of  much  account  in  this 
world.  There  are  some  rare  natures 
that  are  content  to  acquiesce  in  the 
general  neglect,  and  forget  them- 
selves when  they  find  themselves 
forgotten  ;  but  it  is  unfortunately 
much  more  usual  to  take  the  plan 
adopted  by  Mrs  Marjoribanks.  who 
devoted  all  her  powers,  during 
the  last  ten  years  of  her  life,  to 
the  solacement  and  care  of  that 
poor  self  which  other  people  ne- 
glected. The  consequence  was,  that 
when  she  disappeared  from  her 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCII. 


sofa — except  for  the  mere  physical 
fact  that  she  was  no  longer  there — 
no  one,  except  her  maid,  whose  oc- 
cupation was  gone,  could  have  found 
out  much  difference.  Her  husband, 
it  is  true,  who  had,  somewhere,  hid- 
den deep  in  some  secret  corner  of  his 
physical  organisation  the  remains 
of  a  heart,  experienced  a  certain 
sentiment  of  sadness  when  he  re- 
entered  the  house  from  which  she 
had  gone  away  for  ever.  But  Dr 
Marjoribanks  was  too  busy  a  man  to 
waste  his  feelings  on  a  mere  senti- 
ment. His  daughter,  however,  was 
only  fifteen,  and  had  floods  of  tears 
at  her  command,  as  was  natural  at 
that  age.  All  the  way  home  she 
revolved  the  situation  in  her  mind, 
which  was  considerably  enlightened 
by  novels  and  popular  philosophy — 
for  the  lady  at  the  head  of  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  school  was  a  devoted 
admirer  of  '  Friends  in  Council,'  and 
was  fond  of  bestowing  that  work  as 
a  prize,  with  pencil-marks  on  the 
margin — so  that  Lucilla's  mind  had 
been  cultivated,  and  was  brimful  of 
the  best  of  sentiments.  She  made 
up  her  mind  on  her  journey  to  a 
great  many  virtuous  resolutions ; 


132 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


for,  in  such  a  case  as  hers,  it  was 
evidently  the  duty  of  an  only  child 
to  devote  herself  to  her  father's 
comfort,  and  become  the  sunshine 
of  his  life,  as  so  many  young  per- 
sons of  her  age  have  been  known  to 
become  in  literature.  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  had  a  lively  mind,  and 
was  capable  of  grasping  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  situation  at  a 
glance.  Thus,  between  the  out- 
breaks of  her  tears  for  her  mother, 
it  became  apparent  to  her  that  she 
must  sacrifice  her  own  feelings,  and 
make  a  cheerful  home  for  papa,  and 
that  a  great  many  changes  would 
be  necessary  in  the  household — 
changes  which  went  so  far  as  even 
to  extend  to  the  furniture.  Miss 
Marjoribanks  sketched  to  herself, 
as  she  lay  back  in  the  corner  of  the 
railway  carriage,  with  her  veil  down, 
how  she  would  wind  herself  up  to 
the  duty  of  presiding  at  her  papa's 
dinner-parties,  and  charming  every- 
body by  her  good -humour,  and 
brightness,  and  devotion  to  his 
comfort ;  and  how,  when  it  was  all 
over,  she  would  withdraw  and  cry 
her  eyes  out  in  her  own  room,  and 
be  found  in  the  morning  languid 
and  worn-out,  but  always  heroical, 
ready  to  go  down-stairs  and  assist 
at  dear  papa's  breakfast,  and  keep 
up  her  smiles  for  him  till  he  had 
gone  out  to  his  patients.  Alto- 
gether the  picture  was  a  very  pretty 
one ;  and,  considering  that  a  great 
many  young  ladies  in  deep  mourn- 
ing put  force  upon  their  feelings  in 
novels,  and  maintain  a  smile  for 
the  benefit  of  the  unobservant  male 
creatures  of  whom  they  have  the 
charge,  the  idea  was  not  at  all  ex- 
travagant, considering  that  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  but  fifteen.  She 
was  not,  however,  exactly  the  kind 
of  figure  for  this  mise  en  scene. 
When  her  schoolfellows  talked  of 
her  to  their  friends — for  Lucilla 
was  already  an  important  personage 
at  Mount  Pleasant — the  most  com- 
mon description  they  gave  of  her 
was,  that  she  was  "a  large  girl,"  and 
there  was  great  truth  in  the  adjec- 
tive. She  was  not  to  be  described 


as  a  tall  girl — which  conveys  an 
altogether  different  idea — but  she 
was  large  in  all  particulars,  full  and 
well  developed,  with  somewhat 
large  features,  not  at  all  pretty  as 
yet,  though  it  was  known  in  Mount 
Pleasant  that  somebody  had  said 
that  such  a  face  might  ripen  into 
beauty,  and  become  "  grandiose," 
for  anything  anybody  could  tell. 
Miss  Marjoribanks  was  not  vain ; 
but  the  word  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  her  imagination,  as  was 
natural,  and  solaced  her  much  when 
she  made  the  painful  discovery 
that  her  gloves  were  half  a  number 
larger,  and  her  shoes  a  hairbreadth 
broader  than  those  of  any  of  her 
companions  ;  but  the  hands  and  the 
feet  were  both  perfectly  well  shap- 
ed; and  being  at  the  same  timp 
well  clothed  and  plump,  were  much 
more  presentable  and  pleasant  to 
look  upon  than  the  lean  rudimen- 
tary school-girl  hands  with  which 
they  were  surrounded.  To  add 
to  these  excellences,  Lucilla  had 
a  mass  of  hair  which,  if  it  could 
but  have  been  cleared  a  little  in  its 
tint,  wouldhave  been  golden,  though 
at  present  it  was  nothing  more  than 
tawny,  and  curly  to  exasperation. 
She  wore  it  in  large  thick  curls, 
which  did  not,  however,  float  or 
wave,  or  do  any  of  the  graceful 
things  which  curls  ought  to  do ;  for 
it  had  this  aggravating  quality,  that 
it  would  not  grow  long,  but  would 
grow  ridiculously,  unmanageably 
thick,  to  the  admiration  of  her  com- 
panions, but  to  her  own  despair, 
for  there  was  no  knowing  what  to 
do  with  those  short  but  ponderous 
locks.  These  were  the  external 
characteristics  of  the  girl  who  was 
going  home  to  be  a  comfort  to  her 
widowed  father,  and  meant  to  sac- 
rifice herself  to  his  happiness.  In 
the  course  of  her  rapid  journey  she 
had  already  settled  upon  everything 
that  had  to  be  done ;  or  rather,  to 
speak  more  truly,  had  rehearsed 
everything,  according  to  the  habit 
already  acquired  by  a  quick  mind, 
a  good  deal  occupied  with  itself. 
Firs1  she  meant  to  fall  into  her 


1865.] 


Miss  Marjoi'ibanks, — Part  I, 


133 


father's  arms — forgetting,  with  that 
singular  facility  for  overlooking  the 
peculiarities  of  others  which  belongs 
to  such  a  character,  that  Dr  Mar- 
joribonks  was  very  little  given  to 
embracing,  and  that  a  hasty  kiss  on 
her  forehead  was  the  wannest  ca- 
ress he  had  ever  given  his  daughter 
— and  then  to  rush  up  to  the  cham- 
ber of  death  and  weep  over  dear 
mamma.  "  And  to  think  I  was  not 
there  to  soothe  her  last  moments!" 
Lucilla  said  to  herself,  with  a  sob, 
and  with  feelings  sufficiently  real  in 
their  way.  After  this,  the  devoted 
daughter  made  up  her  mind  to  come 
down-stairs  again,  pale  as  death, 
but  self-controlled,  and  devote  her- 
self to  papa.  Perhaps,  if  great  emo- 
tion should  make  him  tearless,  as 
such  cases  had  been  known,  Miss 
Marjoribanks  would  steal  into  his 
arms  unawares,  and  so  surprise  him 
into  weeping.  All  this  went  briskly 
through  her  mind,  undeterred  by 
the  reflection  that  tears  were  as 
much  out  of  the  Doctor's  way  as 
embraces  ;  and  in  this  mood  she 
sped  swiftly  along  in  the  inspira- 
tion of  her  first  sorrow,  as  she  ima- 
gined, but  in  reality  to  suffer  her 
first  disappointment,  which  was  of 
a  less  soothing  character  than  that 
mild  and  manageable  grief. 

When  Miss  Marjoribanks  reached 
home  her  mother  had  been  dead  for 
twenty-four  hours  ;  and  her  father 
was  not  at  the  door  to  receive  her 
as  she  had  expected,  but  by  the  bed- 
side of  a  patient  in  extremity,  who 
could  not  consent  to  go  out  of  the 
world  without  the  Doctor.  This  was 
a  sad  reversal  of  her  intentions,  but 
Lucilla  was  not  the  woman  to  be 
disconcerted.  She  carried  out  the 
second  part  of  her  programme  with- 
out either  interference  or  sympa- 
thy, excej )t  from  Mrs  Marjoribanks's 
maid,  who  had  some  hopes  from 
the  moment  of  her  arrival.  "  I 
can't  abear  to  think  as  I'm  to  be 
parted  from  you  all,  miss,"  sobbed 
the  faithful  attendant.  "  I've  lost 
the  best  missus  as  ever  was,  and 
I  shouldn't  mind  going  after  her. 
Whenever  any  one  gets  a  good 


friend  in  this  world,  they're  tho 
first  to  be  took  away,"  said 
the  weeping  handmaiden,  who 
naturally  saw  her  own  loss  in  the 
most  vivid  light.  "  Ah,  Kllis,"  cried 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  reposing*  her 
sorrow  in  the  arms  of  this  anxious 
attendant,  "  we  must  try  to  be  a 
comfort  to  poor  papa  !  " 

With  this  end  Lucilla  made  her- 
self very  troublesome  to  the  sober- 
minded  Doctor  during  those  few 
dim  days  before  the  faint  and  daily 
lessening  shadow  of  poor  Mrs  Mar- 
joribanks was  removed  altogether 
from  the  house.  When  that  sad 
ceremony  had  taken  place,  and  the 
Doctor  returned,  serious  enough, 
heaven  knows,  to  the  great  house, 
where  the  faded  helpless  woman, 
who  had  notwithstanding  been  his 
love  and  his  bride  in  other  days, 
lay  no  longer  on  the  familiar  sofa, 
the  crisis  arrived  which  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks had  rehearsed  so  often, 
but  after  quite  a  different  fashion. 
The  widower  was  tearless,  indeed, 
but  not  from  excess  of  emotion.  On 
the  contrary,  a  painful  heaviness 
possessed  him  when  he  became 
aware  how  little  real  sorrow  was  in 
his  mind,  and  how  small  an  actual 
loss  was  this  loss  of  his  wife,  which 
bulked  before  the  world  as  an  event 
of  just  as  much  magnitude  as  the 
loss,  for  example,  which  poor  Mr 
Lake,  the  drawing-master,  was  at 
the  same  moment  suffering.  It  was 
even  sad,  in  another  point  of  view, 
to  think  of  a  human  creature  pass- 
ing out  of  the  world,  and  leaving  so 
little  trace  that  she  had  ever  been 
there.  As  for  the  pretty  creature 
whom  Dr  Marjoribanks  had  mar- 
ried, she  had  vanished  into  thin  air 
years  and  years  ago.  These  thoughts 
were  heavy  enough — perhaps  even 
more  overwhelming  than  that  grief 
which  develops  love  to  its  highest 
point  of  intensity.  But  such  were 
not  precisely  the  kind  of  reflections 
which  could  be  solaced  by  paternal 
attend  risf  tint  nt  over  a  weeping  and 
devoted  daughter.  It  was  May,  and 
the  weather  was  warm  for  the  sea- 
son ;  but  Lucilla  had  caused  the  fue 


134 


Miss  Jfarjoribanh. — Part  7. 


[Feb. 


to  be  lighted  in  the  large  gloomy 
library  where  Dr  Marjoribanks  al- 
ways sat  in  the  evenings,  with  the 
idea  that  it  would  be  "  a  comfort " 
to  him ;  and,  for  the  same  reason, 
she  had  ordered  tea  to  be  served 
there,  instead  of  the  dinner,  for 
which  her  father,  as  she  imagined, 
could  have  little  appetite.  When 
the  Doctor  went  in  to  his  favourite 
seclusion,  tired  and  heated  and 
sad  —  for  even  on  the  day  of  his 
wife's  funeral  the  favourite  doc- 
tor of  Carlingford  had  patients  to 
think  of — the  very  heaviness  of  his 
thoughts  gave  warmth  to  his  in- 
dignation. He  had  longed  for  the 
quiet  and  the  coolness  and  the  so- 
litude of  his  library,  apart  from 
everybody;  and  when  he  found  it 
radiant  with  firelight,  tea  set  on  the 
table,  and  Lucilla  crying  by  the  fire, 
in  her  new  crape,  the  effect  upon  a 
temper  by  no  means  perfect  may 
be  imagined.  The  unfortunate  man 
threw  both  the  windows  wide  open 
and  rang  the  bell  violently,  and  gave 
instant  orders  for  the  removal  of 
the  unnecessary  fire  and  the  tea- 
service.  "  Let  me  know  when  din- 
ner is  ready,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  like 
thunder,  "  and  if  Miss  Marjoribanks 
wants  a  fire,  let  it  be  lighted  in 
the  drawing  room."  Lucilla  was  so 
much  taken  by  surprise  by  this  sud- 
den overthrow  of  her  programme, 
that  she  submitted,  as  a  girl  of 
much  less  spirit  might  have  done, 
and  suffered  herself  and  her  fire 
and  her  tea-things  to  be  dismissed 
tip-stairs,  where  she  wept  still  more 
at  sight  of  dear  mamma's  sofa,  and 
where  Ellis  came  to  mingle  her  tears 
with  those  of  her  young  mistress, 
and  to  beg  dear  Miss  Lucilla,  for 
the  sake  of  her  precious  'elth  and 
her  dear  papa,  to  be  persuaded  to 
take  some  tea.  On  the  whole,  mas- 
ter stood  lessened  in  the  eyes  of  all 
the  household  by  his  ability  to  eat 
his  dinner,  and  his  resentment  at 
having  his  habitudes  disturbed. 
"  Them  men  would  eat  and  drink 
if  we  was  all  in  our  graves,"  said 
the  indignant  cook,  who  indeed 
had  a  real  grievance ;  and  the  out- 


raged sentiment  of  the  kitchen  was 
avenged  by  a  bad  and  hasty  dinner, 
which  the  Doctor,  though  generally 
"  very  particular/'  swallowed  with- 
out remark.  About  an  hour  after- 
wards he  went  up-stairs  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, where  Miss  Marjoribanks 
was  waiting  for  him,  much  less  at 
ease  than  she  had  expected  to  be. 
Though  he  gave  a  little  sigh  at  the 
sight  of  his  wife's  sofa,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  sit  down  upon  it,  and 
even  to  draw  it  a  little  out  of  its 
position,  which,  as  Lucilla  described 
afterwards,  was  like  a  knife  going 
into  her  heart.  Though,  indeed, 
she  had  herself  decided  already,  in 
the  intervals  of  her  tears,  that  the 
drawing-room  furniture  had  got 
very  faded  and  shabby,  and  that  it 
would  be  very  expedient  to  have  it 
renewed  for  the  new  reign  of  youth 
and  energy  which  was  about  to  com- 
mence. As  for  the  Doctor,  though 
Miss  Marjoribanks  thought  him  in- 
sensible, his  heart  was  heavy enough. 
His  wife  had  gone  out  of  the  world 
without  leaving  the  least  mark  of 
her  existence,  except  in  that  large 
girl,  whose  spirits  and  forces  were 
unbounded,  but  whose  discretion  at 
the  present  moment  did  not  seem 
much  greater  than  her  mother's. 
Instead  of  thinking  of  her  as  a  com- 
fort, the  Doctor  felt  himself  called 
upon  to  face  a  new  and  unexpected 
embarrassment.  It  would  have  been 
a  satisfaction  to  him  just  then  to 
have  been  left  to  himself,  and  per- 
mitted to  work  on  quietly  at  his 
profession,  and  to  write  his  papers 
for  the  '  Lancet,'  and  to  see  his 
friends  now  and  then  when  he 
chose ;  for  Dr  Marjoribanks  was  not 
a  man  who  had  any  great  need  of 
sympathy  by  nature,  or  who  was  at 
all  addicted  to  demonstrations  of 
feeling ;  consequently,  he  drew  his 
wife's  sofa  a  little  further  from  the 
fire,  and  took  his  seat  on  it  soberly, 
quite  unaware  that,  by  so  doing,  he 
was  putting  a  knife  into  his  daugh- 
ter's heart. 

"  I  hope  you  have  had  something 
to  eat,  Lucilla,"  he  said ;  "  don't  get 
into  that  foolish  habit  of  flying  to 


1865.] 


Miss  Afaryoribanks. — Part  I. 


tea  as  a  man  flics  to  a  dram.  It's 
a  more  innocent  stimulant,  but  it's 
the  same  kind  of  intention.  I  am 
not  so  much  against  a  fire;  it  has 
always  a  kind  of  cheerful  look." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  cried  his  daughter, 
with  a  flood  of  indignant  tears, 
"  you  can't  suppose  I  want  anything 
to  look  cheerful  this  dreadful  day." 

"  I  am  far  from  blaming  you,  my 
dear,"  said  the  Doctor;  "it  is  na- 
tural you  should  cry.  I  am  sorry  I 
did  not  write  for  my  sister  to  come, 
who  would  have  taken  care  of  you ; 
but  I  dislike  strangers  in  the  house 
at  such  a  time.  However,  I  hope, 
Lucilla,  you  will  soon  feel  yourself 
able  to  return  to  school ;  occupation 
is  always  the  best  remedy,  and  you 
will  have  your  friends  and  com- 
panions— 

"Papa!"  cried  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
and  then  she  summoned  courage, 
and  rushed  up  to  him,  and  threw 
herself  and  her  clouds  of  crape  on 
the  carpet  at  his  side  (and  it  may 
liere  be  mentioned  that  Lucilla  had 
seized  the  opportunity  to  have  her 
mourning  made  lony,  which,  had 
been  the  desire  of  her  heart,  baffled 
by  mamma  and  governess  for  at 
least  a  year).  "  Papa!"  she  ex- 
claimed with  fervour,  raising  to  him 
her  tear-stained  face,  and  clasping 
her  fair  plump  hands,  "  oh,  don't 
send  me  away !  I  was  only  a  silly 
girl  the  other  day,  but  this  has  made 
me  a  woman.  Though  I  can  never, 
never  hope  to  take  dear  mamma's 
place,  and  be — all  —  that  she  was 
to  you,  still  I  feel  I  can  be  a  com- 
fort to  you  if  you  will  let  me.  You 
shall  not  see  me  cry  any  more," 
cried  Lucilla  with  energy,  rubbing 
away  her  tears.  "  I  will  never 
give  way  to  my  feelings.  I  will 
ask  for  no  companions — nor — nor 
anything.  As  for  pleasure,  that 
is  all  over.  Oh,  papa,  you  shall 
never  see  me  regret  anything,  or 
wish  for  anything.  I  will  give  up 
everything  in  the  world  to  be  a 
comfort  to  you  !  " 

This  address,  which  was  utterly 
unexpected,  drove  Dr  Marjoribanks 
to  despair.  He  said,  "  Get  up.  Lu- 


cilla ;  "  but  the  devoted  daughter 
knew  better  than  to  get  up.  .She 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  rest- 
ed her  hands  upon  her  mother's 
sofa,  where  the  Doctor  was  sitting; 
and  the  sobs  of  that  emotion  which 
she  meant  to  control  henceforward, 
echoed  through  the  room.  "It  is 
only  for  this  once — I  can — cannot 
help  it,"  she  cried.  When  her  father 
found  that  he  could  neither  soothe 
her,  nor  succeed  in  raising  her,  he 
got  up  himself,  which  was  the  only 
thing  left  to  him,  and  began  to 
walk  about  the  room  with  hasty 
steps.  Her  mother,  too,  had  pos- 
sessed this  dangerous  faculty  of 
tears  ;  and  it  was  not  wonderful 
if  the  sober-minded  Doctor,  roused 
for  the  first  time  to  consider  his 
little  girl  as  a  creature  possessed  of 
individual  character,  should  recog- 
nise, with  a  thrill  of  dismay,  the 
appearance  of  the  same  qualities 
which  had  wearied  his  life  out,  and 
brought  his  youthful  affections  to 
an  untimely  end.  Lucilla  was,  it  is 
true,  as  different  from  her  mother  as 
summer  from  winter;  but  Dr  Mar- 
joribanks had  no  means  of  knowing 
that  his  daughter  was  only  doing 
her  duty  by  him  in  his  widowhood, 
according  to  a  programme  of  filial 
devotion  resolved  upon,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  best  models,  some 
days  before. 

Accordingly,  when  her  sobs  had 
ceased,  her  father  returned  and 
raised  her  up  not  unkindly,  and 
placed  her  in  her  chair.  In  doing 
so,  the  Doctor  put  his  finger  by  in- 
stinct upon  Lucilla's  pulse,  which 
was  sufficiently  calm  and  well  re- 
gulated to  reassure  the  most  anxious 
parent.  And  then  a  furtive  mo- 
mentary smile  gleamed  for  a  single 
instant  round  the  corners  of  his 
mouth. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  pro- 
pose sacrificing  yourself  for  me," 
he  said  ;  "  and  if  you  would  sacri- 
fice your  excitement  in  the  mean 
time,  and  listen  to  me  quietly,  it 
would  really  be  something — but 
you  are  only  fifteen,  Lucilla,  and  I 
have  no  wish  to  take  you  from 


136 


Miss  MarjoribanTis. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


school  just  now;  wait  till  I  have 
clone.  Your  poor  mother  is  gone, 
and  it  is  very  natural  you  should 
cry ;  but  you  were  a  good  child  to 
her  on  the  whole,  which  will  be  a 
comfort  to  you.  We  did  everything 
that  could  be  thought  of  to  prolong 
her  days,  and,  when  that  was  im- 
possible, to  lessen  what  she  had  to 
suffer ;  and  we  have  every  reason 
to  hope,"  said  the  Doctor,  as  in- 
deed lie  was  accustomed  to  say  in 
the  exercise  of  his  profession  to 
mourning  relatives,  "  that  she's  far 
better  off  now  than  if  she  had  been 
with  us.  When  that  is  said,  I  don't 
know  that  there  is  anything  more 
to  add.  I  am  not  fond  of  sacri- 
fices, either  one  way  or  another ; 
and  I've  a  great  objection  to  any 
one  making  a  sacrifice  for  me " 

"  But,  oh  papa,  it  would  be  no 
sacrifice,"  said  Lucilla,  "  if  you 
would  only  let  me  be  a  comfort  to 
you!" 

"  That  is  just  where  it  is,  my 
dear,"  said  the  steady  Doctor  ;  "  I 
have  been  used  to  be  left  a  great 
deal  to  myself  ;  and  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  say  that  the  responsibil- 
ity of  having  you  here  without  a 
mother  to  take  care  of  you,  and  all 
your  lessons  interrupted,  would  not 
neutralise  any  comfort  you  might 
be.  You  see,"  said  Dr  Marjori- 
banks,  trying  to  soften  matters  a 
little,  "  a  man  is  what  his  habits 
make  him ;  and  I  have  been  used 
to  be  left  a  great  deal  to  myself. 
It  answers  in  some  cases,  but  I 
doubt  if  it  would  answer  with 
me." 

And  then  there  was  a  pause,  in 
which  Lucilla  wept  and  stifled  her 
tears  in  her  handkerchief,  with  a 
warmer  flood  of  vexation  and  dis- 
appointment than  even  her  natural 
grief  had  produced.  "  Of  course, 

papa,  if  I  can't  be  any  comfort 

I  will — go  back  to  school,"  she 
sobbed,  with  a  touch  of  sullenness 
which  did  not  escape  the  Doctor's 
ear. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  you  will  certainly 
go  back  to  school,"  said  the  per- 
emptory father ;  "  I  never  had  any 


doubt  on  that  subject.  You  can 
stay  over  Sunday  and  rest  yourself. 
Monday  or  Tuesday  will  be  time 
enough  to  go  back  to  Mount  Plea- 
sant ;  and  now  you  had  better  ring 
the  bell,  and  get  somebody  to  bring 
you  something — or  I'll  see  to  that 
when  I  go  down-stairs.  It's  getting 
late,  and  this  has  been  a  fatiguing 
day.  I'll  send  you  up  some  negus, 
and  I  think  you  had  better  go  to 
bed." 

And  with  these  commonplace 
words,  Dr  Marjoribanks  withdrew 
in  calm  possession  of  the  field.  As 
for  Lucilla,  she  obeyed  him,  and 
betook  herself  to  her  own  room, 
and  swallowed  her  negus  with  a 
sense,  not  only  of  defeat,  but  of 
disappointment  and  mortification 
which  was  very  unpleasant.  To 
go  back  again  and  be  an  ordinary 
school-girl,  after  the  pomp  of  woe 
in  which  she  had  come  away,  was 
naturally  a  painful  thought;  she 
who  had  ordered  her  mourning  to 
be  made  long,  and  contemplated 
new  furniture  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  expected  to  be  mistress  of  her 
father's  house,  not  to  speak  of  the 
still  dearer  privilege  of  being  a  com- 
fort to  him  ;  and  now,  after  all,  her 
active  mind  was  to  be  condemned 
over  again  to  verbs  and  chromatic 
scales,  though  she  felt  within  her- 
self capacities  so  much  more  ex- 
tended. Miss  Marjoribanks  did 
not  by  any  means  learn  by  this  de- 
feat to  take  the  characters  of  the 
other  personce  in  her  little  drama 
into  consideration,  when  she  re- 
hearsed her  pet  scenes  hereafter — 
for  that  is  a  knowledge  slowly  ac- 
quired— but  she  was  wise  enough 
to  know  when  resistance  was  futile ; 
and  like  most  people  of  lively  ima- 
gination, she  had  a  power  of  sub- 
mitting to  circumstances  when  it 
became  impossible  to  change  them. 
Thus  she  consented  to  postpone  her 
reign,  if  not  with  a  good  grace,  yet 
still  without  foolish  resistance,  and 
retired  with  the  full  honours  of 
war.  She  had  already  re-arranged 
all  the  details,  and  settled  upon  all 
the  means  possible  of  preparing 


1865.] 


wa  Marjoribanks. — Part  I. 


137 


herself  for  what  she  culled  the 
charge  of  the  establishment  when 
her  final  emancipation  took  place, 
before  she  returned  to  school. 
"  Papa  thought  me  too  young,"  she 
said,  when  she  reached  Mount  Plea- 
sant, "  though  it  was  dreadful  to 
come  away  and  leave  him  alone 
with  only  the  servants  ;  but,  dear 
Miss  Martha,  you  will  let  me  learn 
all  about  political  economy  and 
things,  to  help  me  manage  every- 
thing ;  for  now  that  dear  mamma 


is  gone,  there  is  nobody  but  me  to 
be  a  comfort  to  papa." 

And  by  this  means  Miss  Mar- 
joribanka  managed  to  influence  the 
excellent  woman  who  believed  in 
'  Friends  in  Council,'  and  to  direct 
the  future  tenor  of  her  own  educa- 
tion ;  while,  at  least,  in  that  one 
moment  of  opportunity,  she  had 
achieved  long  dresses,  which  was 
a  visible  mark  of  womanhood, 
and  a  step  which  could  not  be 
retraced. 


CHAITKU  n. 


Dr  Marjoribanks  was  so  far  from 
feeling  the  lack  of  his  daughter's 
powers  of  consolation,  that  he  kept 
her  at   Mount    Pleasant  for  three 
years  longer,  during  which  time  it 
is  to  be  supposed  he  managed  to 
be  comfortable   after  a  benighted 
fashion — good  enough  for  a  man  of 
fifty,  who  had  come  to  an  end  of 
his  illusions.    To  be  sure,  there  were 
in  the  world,  and  even  in  Carling- 
ford,  kind  women,  who  would  not 
have  objected  to  take  charge  of  the 
Doctor   and  his    "  establishment," 
and  be  a  comfort  to  him ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  it  was  undeniable  that 
he  managed  tolerably  well  in  exter- 
nal  matters,  and   gave  very  good 
men's  dinners,  and  kept  everything 
in  perfect  order,  so  far  as  it  went. 
Naturally  the  fairer  part  of  existence 
was  left  out  altogether  in  that  grim, 
though    well-ordered,    house ;   but 
then  he  was  only  a  man  and  a  doc- 
tor, and  knew  no  better ;  and  while 
the  feminine  part  of  Grange  Lane 
regarded  him  with  natural  pity,  not 
only  for  what  he  lacked,  but  for  a 
still  more  sad  defect,  his  total  want 
of  perception  on  the  subject,  their 
husbands  and  fathers  rather  liked 
to  dine  with  the  Doctor,  and  brought 
home  accounts  of  sauces  which  were 
enough  to  drive  any  woman  to  de- 
spair.   Some  of  the  ladies  of  Grange 
Lane  —  Mrs  Chiley,    for  example, 
who  was  fond  of  good  living  her- 
self, and  liked,  as  she  said,  "  a  little 
variety" — laid  siege  to  the  Doctor, 


and  did  their  best  to  coax  his  re- 
ceipts out  of  him  ;  but  Dr  Marjori- 
banks knew  better  than  that.     He 
gave  all  the  credit  to  his  cook,  like 
a  man  of  sense;  and  as  that  func- 
tionary was  known  in  Carlingford 
to  be    utterly  regardless   and   un- 
principled in  respect  to  gravy  beef, 
and    the    materials    for    "  stock," 
or  "  consomme,"  as  some   people 
called  it,  society  was  disinclined  to 
exert  its  ordinary  arts  to  seduce  so 
great  an  artiste  from  the  kitchen  of 
her  indulgent   master.     And  then 
there  were  other  ladies  who  took  a 
different  tone.     "  Dr  Marjoribanks, 
poor  man,  has  nothing  but  his  table 
to  take  up   his  mind,"  said   Mrs 
Centum,  who  had  six  children  ;  "  I 
never  heard  that  the  heart  could  be 
nourished  upon  sauces,  for  my  part ; 
and  for  a   man  who  has   his  chil- 
dren's future  to  think  of,  I  must  say 
I  am  surprised  at  you,  Mr  Centum." 
As  for  young  Mrs  Woodburn,  her 
reply  was  still  more  decisive,  though 
milder  in  its  tone.     "  Poor  cook,  I 
am    so  sorry  for  her,"    said    the 
gentle  young  matron.    "  You  know 
you    always    like    something    for 
breakfast,  Charles;  and  then  there 
is   the  children's  dinner,  and  our 
lunch,  and  the  servants'  dinner,  so 
that  the  poor  thing  is  worn  out  be- 
fore she  comes  to  what  you  call  the 
great  event  of  the  day;  and  you 
know  how  angry  you  were  when  I 
asked  for  a  kitchen-maid  for  her, 
poor  soul."    The  consequence  of  all 


Jfiss  Marjoribanls. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


this  was,  that  Dr  Marjoribanks  re- 
mained unrivalled  in  Grange  Lane 
in  this  respect  at  least.  When  ru- 
mours arose  in  Carlingford  of  a 
possible  second  marriage  for  the 
Doctor — and  such  rumours  natur- 
ally arose  three  or  four  times  in  the 
course  of  the  three  years — the  men 
of  Grange  Lane  said,  "  Heaven  for- 
bid ! "  "  No  wife  in  the  world  could 
replace  Nancy,"  said  Colonel  Chi- 
ley,  after  that  fervent  aspiration, 
"and  none  could  put  up  with  her ; " 
while,  on  the  other  side,  there  were 
curious  speculations  afloat  as  to  the 
effect  upon  the  house,  and  espe- 
cially the  table,  of  the  daughter's  re- 
turn. When  a  young  woman  comes 
to  be  eighteen  it  is  difficult  to  keep 
her  at  school ;  and  though  the  Doc- 
tor had  staved  off  the  danger  for 
the  moment,  by  sending  Lucilla  off 
along  with  one  of  her  schoolfellows, 
whose  family  was  going  abroad,  to 
make  orthodox  acquaintance  with 
all  the  Swiss  mountains,  and  all  the 
Italian  capitals,  still  that  was  plainly 
an  expedient  for  the  moment;  and 
a  new  mistress  to  the  house,  which 
had  got  along  so  well  without  any 
mistress,  was  inevitable.  So  that 
it  cannot  be  denied  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  advent  was  regarded  in  Car- 
lingford with  as  much  interest  and 
curiosity  as  she  could  have  wished. 
For  it  was  already  known  that  the 
Doctor's  daughter  was  not  a  mild 
young  lady,  easy  to  be  controlled  ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  had  all  the 
energy  and  determination  to  have 
her  own  way,  which  naturally  be- 
longed to  a  girl  who  possessed  a 
considerable  chin,  and  a  mouth 
which  could  shut,  and  tightly  curl- 
ing tawny  tresses,  which  were  still 
more  determined  than  she  was  to 
be  arranged  only  according  to  their 
inclination.  It  was  even  vaguely 
reported  that  some  passages-of-arms 
had  occurred  between  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks and  the  redoubtable 
Nancy  during  the  short  and  un- 
certain opportunities  which  were 
afforded  by  holidays  ;  and  the 
community,  accordingly,  regarded 
as  an  affair  of  almost  municipal 


importance   Lucilla's    final    return 
home. 

As  for  the  young  lady  herself, 
though  she  was  at  school,  she  was 
conscious  of  having  had  a  career  not 
without  importance,  even  during 
these  three  years  of  pupilage.  Since 
the  day  when  she  began  to  read 
political  economy  with  Miss  Mar- 
tha Blount,  who,  though  the  second 
sister,  was  the  directing  spirit  of  the 
establishment,  Lucilla  had  exercised 
a  certain  influence  upon  the  school 
itself  which  was  very  satisfactory. 
Perhaps  her  course  might  be  a  little 
deficient  in  grace,  but  grace,  after 
all,  is  but  a  secondary  quality ;  and, 
at  all  events,  Miss  Marjoribanks 
went  straight  forward,  leaving  an 
unquestionable  wake  behind  her, 
and  running  down  with  indifference 
the  little  skiffs  in  her  way.  She  was 
possessed  by  nature  of  that  kind  of 
egotism  or  rather  egoism,  which  is 
predestined  to  impress  itself,  by  its 
perfect  reality  and  good  faith,  upon 
the  surrounding  world.  There  are 
people  who  talk  of  themselves,  and 
think  of  themselves,  as  it  were,  un- 
der protest,  and  with  deprecation, 
not  actually  able  to  convince  them- 
selves that  anybody  cares ;  but  Lu- 
cilla, for  her  part,  had  the  calmest 
and  most  profound  conviction  that, 
when  she  discussed  her  own  doings 
and  plans  and  clevernesses,  she  was 
bringing  forward  the  subject  most 
interesting  to  her  audience  as  well 
as  to  herself.  Such  a  conviction  is 
never  without  its  fruits.  To  be  sure 
there  were  always  one  or  two  inde- 
pendent spirits  who  revolted  ;  but 
for  the  crowd,  it  soon  became  im- 
pressed with  a  profound  belief  in 
the  creed  which  Miss  Marjoribanks 
supported  so  firmly.  This  convic- 
tion of  the  importance  and  value  of 
her  own  proceedings  made  Lucilla, 
as  she  grew  older,  a  copious  and 
amusing  conversationalist — a  rank 
which  few  people  who  are  indif- 
ferent to,  or  do  not  believe  in, 
themselves  can  attain  to.  One 
thing  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  as  soon  as  she  should  re- 
turn home,  and  that  was  to  revolu- 


1 665.] 


Marjorilankt. — Part  I. 


139 


tionise  society  in  Curlingford.  On 
the  whole,  she  was  pleased  with  tlie 
success  of  the  Doctor's  dinners, 
though  a  little  piqued  to  think  that 
they  owed  nothing  to  herself;  but 
Lucilla,  whose  instinct  of  govern- 
ment was  of  the  true  despotic  order, 
and  who  liad  no  objection  to  stoop, 
if  by  that  means  she  could  conquer, 
had  no  such  designs  against  Nancy 
as  were  attributed  to  her  by  the 
expectant  audience  in  Carlingford. 
On  the  contrary,  she  was  quite  as 
much  disposed  as  her  father  was  to 
take  Nancy  for  prime-minister;  for 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  though  too  much 
occupied  with  herself  to  divine  the 
characteristic  points  of  other  peo- 
ple, had  a  sensible  and  thorough 
belief  in  those  superficial  general 
truths  which  most  minds  acquiesce 
in,  without  taking  the  trouble  to 
believe.  She  knew,  for  example, 
that  there  was  a  great  difference  be- 
tween the  brilliant  society  of  Lon- 
don, or  of  Paris,  which  appears  in 
books,  where  women  have  generally 
the  best  of  it,  and  can  rule  in  their 
own  right ;  and  even  the  very  best 
society  of  a  country  town,  where 
husbands  are  very  commonly  un- 
manageable, and  have  a  great  deal 
more  of  their  own  way  in  respect  to 
the  houses  they  will  or  will  not  go 
to,  than  is  good  for  that  inferior 
branch  of  the  human  family.  Miss 
Marjoribanks  had  the  good  sense  to 
see  and  appreciate  these  details; 
and  she  knew  that  a  good  dinner 
was  a  great  attraction  to  a  man,  and 
that,  in  Carlingford  at  least,  when 
these  refractory  mortals  were  secur- 
ed, the  wives  and  daughters  would 
necessarily  follow.  Besides,  as  is 
not  uncommon  with  women  who  are 
clever  women,  and  aware  of  the  fact, 
Miss  Marjoribanks  preferred  the  so- 
ciety of  men,  and  rather  liked  to 
say  so.  "With  all  these  intentions 
in  her  mind,  it  may  be  imagined  that 
she  received  coolly  enough  the  in- 
vitation of  her  friend  to  join  in  the 
grand  tour,  and  the  ready  consent 
given  by  her  father  when  he  heard 
of  it.  But  even  the  grand  tour  was 
a  tool  which  Lucilla  saw  how  to 


make  use  of.  Nowadays,  when  peo- 
ple go  everywhere,  an  untravelled 
woman  would  find  it  so  much  the 
harder  to  keep  up  the  role  of  a 
leader  of  society  to  which  she  had 
devoted  herself ;  and  she  felt  to  the 
depth  of  her  heart  the  endless  ad- 
vantage to  her  future  conversation 
of  the  experiences  to  be  acquired 
in  Switzerland  and  Italy.  But  she 
rejected  with  scorn  the  insinuation 
of  other  accidents  that  might  occur 
on  the  way. 

"  You  will  never  come  back  again, 
Lucilla,"  said  one  of  her  companions; 
"  you  will  marry  some  enchanting 
Italian  with  a  beautiful  black  beard, 
and  a  voice  like  an  angel ;  and  he'll 
sing  serenades  to  you,  and  do  all 
sorts  of  things  :  oh,  how  I  wish  I 
was  you  ! " 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks, "  but  I  shall  never  marry 
an  Italian,  my  dear.  I  don't  think 
I  shall  marry  anybody  for  a  long 
time.  I  want  to  amuse  myself.  I 
wonder,  by  the  way,  if  it  would  im- 
prove my  voice  to  take  lessons  in 
Italy.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  the 
Italian  nobleman  that  was  so  very 
attentive  to  me  that  Christmas  I 
spent  at  Sissy  Vernon's  1  He  was 
very  handsome.  1  suppose  they 
really  are  all  very  handsome — ex- 
cept, of  course,  the  Italian  masters ; 
but  I  did  not  pay  any  attention  to 
him.  My  object,  dear,  and  you 
know  it,  is  to  return  home  as  well 
educated  as  possible,  to  be  a  com- 
fort to  dear  papa." 

"  Yes,  dear  Lucilla,"  said  the 
sympathetic  girl,  "and  it  is  so  good 
of  you  ;  but  do  tell  me  about  the 
Italian  nobleman — what  did  he  look 
like — and  what  did  he  say1?" 

"  Oh,  as  for  what  he  said,  that  is 
quite  a  different  matter,"  said  Lu- 
cilla ;  "  but  it  is  not  what  they  say, 
but  the  way  they  say  it,  that  is  the 
fun.  I  did  not  give  him  the  least 
encouragement.  As  for  that,  I 
think,  a  girl  can  always  stop  a  man 
when  she  does  not  care  for  him.  It 
depends  on  whether  you  intend 
him  to  commit  himself  or  not," 
Miss  Marjoribanks  continued,  and 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  7. 


[Feb. 


fixed  her  eyes  meditatively,  but  in- 
tently, upon  her  friend's  face. 

"Whether  I  intend? — oh  good- 
ness, Lucilla !  how  can  you  speak 
sol  as  if  I  ever  intended  anything," 
said  her  companion,  confused,  yet 
flattered,  by  the  possibility ;  to 
which  the  elder  sage  answered 
calmly,  with  all  the  composure  in 
the  world. 

"  No,  I  never  supposed  you  did  ; 
I  was  thinking  of  myself,"  said  Lu- 
cilla, as  if,  indeed,  that  was  the 
only  reasonable  subject  of  thought. 
"  You  know  I  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  the  world,  one  way  and  an- 
other, with  going  to  spend  the  holi- 
days, and  I  could  tell  you  quanti- 
ties of  things.  It  is  quite  astonish- 
ing how  much  experience  one  gets. 
When  I  was  at  Midhurst,  at  Easter, 
there  was  my  cousin  Tom,  who  was 
quite  ridiculous ;  I  declare  he  near- 
ly brought  things  to  an  explana- 
tion, Fanny — which,  of  course,  of 
all  things  in  the  world  I  most 
wanted  to  avoid." 

"  Oh,  but  why,  Lucilla  1 "  cried 
Fanny,  full  of  delight  and  wonder ; 
"  I  do  so  want  to  know  what  they 
say  wlien  they  make explana- 
tions, as  you  call  them.  Oh,  do 
tell  me,  Lucilla,  why  1" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks,  "  a  cousin  of  my  own  !  and 
only  twenty-one,  and  reading  for 
the  bar !  In  the  first  place,  my 
aunt  would  never  have  forgiven 
me,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  my 
aunt.  It's  so  nice  to  like  all  one's 
relations.  I  know  some  girls  who 
can't  bear  theirs ;  and  then  a  boy 
not  much  older  than  myself,  with 
nothing  but  what  his  mother 
pleases  !  Fortunately  he  did  not 
just  say  the  words,  so  I  escaped 
that  time ;  but,  of  course,  I  could 
understand  perfectly  what  he 
meant." 

"  But  oh,  Lucilla,  tell  me  the 
words,"  cried  the  persistent  ques- 
tioner, "  do,  there's  a  darling  !  I 
am  quite  sure  you  have  heard  them 
— and  I  should  so  like  to  know  ex- 
actly what  they  say  • — do  they  go 
down  on  their  knees'? — or  do  they 


try  to  take  your  hand  as  they  al- 
ways do  in  novels'? — or  what  do 
they  do  ?  —  Oh,  Lucilla,  tell  me, 
there's  a  dear  !  " 

•'  Nonsense,"  said  Lucilla,  "  I 
only  want  you  to  understand  that 
I  am  not  likely  to  fall  into  any 
danger  of  that  sort.  My  only  am- 
bition, Fanny,  as  I  have  told  you 
often,  is  to  go  home  to  Carlingford 
and  be  a  comfort  to  dear  papa." 

"  Yes,"  said  Fanny,  kissing  her 
devoted  companion,  "  and  it  is  so 
good  of  you,  dear ;  but  then  you 
cannot  go  on  all  your  life  being  a 
comfort  to  dear  papa,"  said  the  in- 
telligent girl,  bethinking  herself, 
and  looking  again  with  some  curi- 
osity in  Lucilla's  face. 

"  We  must  leave  that  to  Provi- 
dence," said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
with  a  sense  of  paying  a  compli- 
ment to  Providence  in  intrusting  it 
with  such  a  responsibility.  "  I  have 
always  been  guided  for  the  best 
hitherto,"  she  continued,  with  an 
innocent  and  unintentional  profan- 
ity, which  sounded  solemn  to  her 
equally  innocent  companion,  "  and 
I  don't  doubt  I  shall  be  so  till  the 
end." 

From  which  it  will  be  perceived 
that  Miss  Marjoribanks  was  of  the 
numerous  class  of  religionists  who 
keep  up  civilities  with  heaven,  and 
pay  all  the  proper  attentions,  and 
show  their  respect  for  the  divine 
government  in  a  manner  befitting 
persons  who  know  the  value  of 
their  own  approbation.  The  con- 
versation dropped  at  this  point ;  for 
Lucilla  was  too  important  a  person 
to  be  left  to  the  undivided  posses- 
sion of  an  inquisitive  innocent  like 
Fanny  Middleton,  who  was  only 
sixteen,  and  had  never  had  even  a 
flirtation  in  her  own  person.  There 
were  no  Carlingford  girls  at  Mount 
Pleasant,  except  poor  little  Rose 
Lake,  the  drawing-master's  second 
daughter,  who  had  been  received 
on  Dr  Marjoribanks's  recommenda- 
tion, and  who  heard  the  little  chil- 
dren their  geography  and  reading, 
and  gave  them  little  lessons  in 
drawing,  by  way  of  paying  for  her 


1865.1 


Miss  MarjoriJbanlct. — Part  I. 


141 


own  education  ;  but  then  Rose  was 
entirely  out  of  Miss  Marjoribanks's 
way,  and  could  never  count  for 
anything  in  her  designs  for  the 
future.  The  girls  at  Mount  Plea- 
sant were  good  girls  on  the  whole, 
and  were  rather  improved  by  the 
influence  of  Lucilla,  who  was  ex- 
tremely good-natured,  and,  so  long 
as  her  superiority  was  duly  acknow- 
ledged, was  ready  to  do  anything 
for  anybody — so  that  Hose  Lake 
was  not  at  all  badly  off  in  her  in- 
ferior position.  She  could  be  made 
useful  too,  which  was  a  great  point 
in  her  favour  ;  and  Miss  Marjori- 
banks,  who  possessed  by  nature 
some  of  the  finest  qualities  of  a 
ruler,  instinctively  understood  and 
appreciated  the  instruments  that 
came  to  her  hand.  As  for  Rose, 
she  had  been  brought  up  at  the 
school  of  design  in  Carlingford,  of 
which,  under  the  supervision  of  the 
authorities  who,  in  those  days,  in- 
habited Marlborough  House,  Mr 
Lake  was  the  master.  Rose  was 
the  pride  of  the  school  in  the 
peaceable  days  before  her  mother 
died  ;  she  did  not  know  much  else, 
poor  child,  except  novels,  but  her 
copies  "  from  the  round  "  filled  her 
father  with  admiration,  and  her  de- 
sign for  a  Honiton-lace  flounce,  a 
spirited  composition  of  dragons' tails 
and  the  striking  plant  called  teazle, 
which  flourishes  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Carlingford  (for  Mr  Lake 
had  leanings  towards  Preraphaelit- 
ism),  was  thought  by  the  best  judges 
to  show  a  wonderful  amount  of 
feeling  for  art,  and  just  missed  being 
selected  for  the  prize.  A  girl  with 
such  a  talent  was  naturally  much 
appreciated  in  Mount  Pleasant.  She 


made  the  most  charming  design  for 
Miss  Marjoribanks'a  handkerchief — 
"Lucilla,"  in  Gothic  characters,  en- 
closed in  a  wreath  of  forget-me-nots, 
skilfully  combined  with  thistle- 
leaves,  which  Rose  took  great  pains 
to  explain  were  so  much  better 
adapted  to  ornamentation  than  foli- 
age of  a  less  distinct  character ; 
and  the  young  draughtswoman  was 
so  charmed  by  Lucilla's  enthusias- 
tic admiration,  that  she  volunteered 
to  work  the  design  in  the  cambric, 
which  was  a  much  more  serious 
matter.  This  was  on  the  eve  of 
Miss  Marjoribanks's  final  departure 
from  school.  She  was  to  spend  a 
year  abroad,  to  the  envy  of  all 
whom  she  left  behind  ;  but  for  her- 
self, Lucilla  was  not  elated.  She 
thought  it  very  probable  that  she 
would  ascend  Mont  Blanc  as  far  as 
the  Grands  Mulets  at  least,  and,  of 
course,  in  spring,  go  up  Vesuvius, 
having  got  through  the  Carnival 
and  Miserere  and  all  the  balls  in 
Rome  ;  but  none  of  these  things 
moved  her  out  of  her  usual  com- 
posure. She  took  it  all  in  the  way 
of  business,  as  she  had  taken  her 
French  and  her  German  and  her 
singing  and  her  political  economy. 
As  she  stepped  into  the  steamboat 
at  Dover  which  was  to  convey  her 
to  scenes  so  new,  Lucilla  felt  more 
and  more  that  she  who  held  the  re- 
organisation of  society  in  Carling- 
ford in  her  hands  was  a  woman 
with  a  mission.  She  was  going 
abroad  as  the  heir-apparent  went 
to  America  and  the  Holy  Land,  to 
complete  her  education,  and  fit  her- 
self, by  an  examination  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  other  nations,  for  an  illus- 
trious and  glorious  reign  at  home. 


CHA1TKR    III. 


It  may  be  well  to  seize  the  op- 
portunity of  Miss  Marjoribanks's 
travels,  through  which  it  is  unne- 
cessary to  follow  her,  as  they  have 
nothing  particular  to  do  with  the 
legitimate  history  of  her  great  un- 
dertaking, to  explain  a  little  the 


state  of  affairs  in  Carlingford  before 
this  distinguished  revolutionary  be- 
gan her  labours.  It  is  something 
like  going  back  into  the  prehistoric 
period  —  those  ages  of  the  flint, 
which  only  ingenious  quarrymen 
and  learned  geologists  can  eluci- 


Jliss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


date — to  recall  the  social  condition 
of  the  town  before  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  began  her  Thursday  evenings, 
before  St  Roque's  Chapel  was  built 
or  thought  of,  while  Mr  Bury,  the 
Evangelical  Hector,  was  still  in  full 
activity,  and  before  old  Mr  Tufton, 
at  Salem  Chapel  (who  sometimes 
drank  tea  at  the  Rectory,  and  thus 
had  a  kind  of  clandestine  entrance 
into  the  dim  outskirts  of  that  chaos 
which  was  then  called  society),  had 
his  first  "  stroke."  From  this  lat- 
ter circumstance  alone  the  entirely 
disorganised  condition  of  affairs  will 
be  visible  at  a  glance.  It  is  true, 
Mr  Vincent,  who  succeeded  Mr 
Tufton,  Avas  received  by  Lady  Wes- 
tern, in  days  when  public  opinion 
had  made  great  advances ;  but  then 
Lady  Western  was  the  most  good- 
natured  creature  in  the  world,  and 
gave  an  invitation,  when  it  happen- 
ed to  come  into  her  head,  without 
the  least  regard  for  the  conse- 
quences ;  and,  after  all,  Mr  Vincent 
was  very  nice-looking  and  clever, 
and  quite  presentable.  Fortunate- 
ly, however,  the  period  to  which  we 
allude  was  prior  to  the  entrance  of 
Lady  Western  into  Grange  Lane. 
She  was  a  very  pretty  woman,  and 
knew  how  to  look  like  a  lady  of 
fashion,  which  is  always  of  import- 
ance ;  but  she  was  terribly  inconse- 
quent, as  Miss  Marjoribanks  said, 
and  her  introductions  were  not  in 
the  least  to  be  depended  upon.  She 
was  indeed  quite  capable  of  invit- 
ing a  family  of  retired  drapers  to 
meet  the  best  people  in  Grange 
Lane,  for  no  better  reason  than  to 
gratify  her  proteges,  which,  of  course, 
was  a  proceeding  calculated  to 
strike  at  the  roots  of  all  society. 
Fortunately  for  Carlingford,  its  re- 
organisation was  in  abler  hands. 
Affairs  were  in  an  utterly  chaotic 
state  at  the  period  when  this  re- 
cord commences.  There  was  no- 
thing which  could  be  properly  called 
a  centre  in  the  entire  town.  To  be 
sure,  Grange  Lane  was  inhabited, 
as  at  present,  by  the  best  families 
in  Carlingford ;  but  then,  without 
organisation,  what  good  does  it  do 


to  have  a  number  of  people  toge- 
ther ]  For  example,  Mr  Bury  was 
utterly  unqualified  to  take  any 
lead.  Mrs  Bury  had  been  dead  a 
long  time,  and  the  daughters  were 
married,  and  the  Rector's  maiden 
sister,  who  lived  with  him,  Avas  en- 
tirely of  his  own  way  of  thinking, 
and  asked  people  to  tea-parties,  which 
were  like  Methodists'  class-meetings, 
and  where  Mr  Tufton  was  to  be  met 
with,  and  sometimes  other  Dissent- 
ers, to  whom  the  Rector  gave  what 
he  called  the  right  hand  of  fellow- 
ship. But  he  never  gave  anything 
else  to  society,  except  weak  tea  and 
thin  bread-and-butter,  which  was 
fare,  the  ladies  said,  which  the  gen- 
tlemen did  not  relish.  "  I  never 
can  induce  Charles  to  go  out  to  tea," 
said  young  Mrs  Woodburn,  pite- 
ously;  "he  won't,  and  there  is  an 
end  of  it.  After  dinner  he  thinks 
of  nothing  but  an  easy-chair  and 
the  papers ;  and,  my  dear  Miss  Bury, 
what  can  I  do  1 "  "  It  is  a  great 
pity,  my  dear,  that  your  husband's 
carelessness  should  deprive  you  of 
the  benefit  of  Christian  conversa- 
tion ;  but,  to  be  sure,  it  is  your  duty 
to  stay  with  him,  and  I  hope  it  will 
be  made  up  to  you  at  home,"  Miss 
Bury  would  say.  As  for  the  Rec- 
tor, his  favourites  were  devoted  to 
him  ',  and  as  he  always  saw  enough 
of  familiar  faces  at  his  sister's  tea- 
parties,  he  took  no  account  of  the 
defaulters.  Then  there  was  Dr 
Marjoribanks,  who  gave  only  din- 
ners, to  which  naturally,  as  there 
was  no  lady  in  the  house,  ladies 
could  not  be  invited,  and  who,  be- 
sides, was  rather  a  drawback  than 
a  benefit  to  society,  since  he  made 
the  men  quite  intolerable,  and  filled 
them  with  such  expectations,  in  the 
way  of  cookery,  that  they  never 
were  properly  content  with  a  good 
family  dinner  after.  Then  the  la- 
dies, from  whom  something  might 
justly  have  been  expected  in  the 
way  of  making  society  pleasant — 
such  as  Mrs  Centum  and  Mrs  Wood- 
burn,  for  example,  who  had  every- 
thing they  could  desire,  and  the 
most  liberal  housekeeping  allow- 


1865.] 


J/m  Afarjoribanka. — Part  T. 


143 


nnccs  —  were  either  incapacitated 
by  circumstances  ( which  waa  a 
polite  term  in  use  at  Carlingford, 
and  meant  babies)  or  by  character. 
Mrs  Woodburn  liked  nothing  so 
well  as  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  read 
novels,  and  "take  off"  her  neigh- 
bours, when  any  one  called  on  her; 
and,  of  course,  the  lady  who  was 
her  audience  on  one  occasion,  left 
•with  the  comfortable  conviction 
that  next  time  she  would  be  the 
victim  ;  a  circumstance  which,  in- 
deed, did  not  make  the  offender 
unpopular — for  there  were  very  few 
people  in  Carlingford  who  could  be 
amusing,  even  at  the  expense  of 
their  neighbours — but  made  it  quite 
impossible  that  she  should  ever  do 
anything  in  the  way  of  knitting 
people  together,  and  making  a  har- 
monious whole  out  of  the  scraps 
and  fragments  of  society.  As  for 
Mrs  Chiley,  she  was  old,  and  had 
not  energy  enough  for  such  an  un- 
dertaking; and,  besides,  she  had  no 
children,  and  disliked  bustle  and 
trouble,  and  was  of  opinion  that 
the  Colonel  never  enjoyed  his  din- 
ner if  he  had  more  than  four  people 
to  help  him  to  eat  it  ;  and,  in 
short,  you  might  have  gone  over 
Grange  Lane,  house  by  house,  find- 
ing a  great  deal  of  capital  material, 
but  without  encountering  a  single 
individual  capable  of  making  any- 
thing out  of  it.  Such  was  the  la- 
mentable condition,  at  the  moment 
this  history  commences,  of  society 
in  Carlingford. 

And  yet  nobody  could  say  that 
there  were  not  very  good  elements 
to  make  society  with.  When  you 
add  to  a  man  capable  of  giving 
excellent  dinners,  like  Dr  Marjori- 
banks,  another  man  like  young  Mr 
Cavendish,  Mrs  Woodburn's  bro- 
ther, who  was  a  wit  and  a  man  of 
fashion,  and  belonged  to  one  of  the 
best  clubs  in  town,  and  brought 
down  gossip  with  the  bloom  on  it 
to  Grange  Lane;  and  when  you 
join  to  Mrs  Centum,  who  was  al- 
ways so  good  and  so  much  out  of 
temper  that  it  was  safe  to  calculate 
on  something  amusing  from  her, 


the  languid  but  trenchant  humour 
of  Mrs  Woodburn — not  to  speak  of 
their  husbands,  who  were  perfectly 
available  for  the  background,  and 
all  the  nephews  and  cousins  and 
grandchildren,  who  constantly  paid 
visits  to  old  Mr  Western  and  Colo- 
nel Chiley  ;  and  the  Browns,  when 
they  were  at  home,  with  their  float- 
ing suite  of  admirers;  and  the young 
ladies  who  sang,  and  thcyoung  ladies 
who  sketched,  and  the  men  who 
went  out  with  the  hounds,  when 
business  permitted  them  ;  and  the 
people  who  came  about  the  town 
when  there  was  an  election  ;  and 
the  barristers  who  made  the  circuit; 
and  the  gay  people  who  came  to  the 
races  ;  not  to  speak  of  the  varying 
chances  of  curates,  who  could  talk 
or  play  the  piano,  with  which  Mr 
Bury  favoured  his  parishioners — for 
he  changed  his  curates  very  often  ; 
and  the  occasional  visits  of  the  lesser 
county  people,  and  the  country 
clergymen  ; — it  will  be  plainly  ap- 
parent that  all  that  was  wanting 
to  Carlingford  was  a  master-hand 
to  blend  these  different  elements. 
There  had  even  been  a  few  feeble 
preliminary  attempts  at  this  great 
work,  which  had  failed,  as  such  at- 
tempts always  fail  when  they  are 
premature,  and  when  the  real  agent 
of  the  change  is  already  on  the  way; 
but  preparations  and  presentiments 
had  taken  vague  possession  of  the 
mind  of  the  town,  as  has  always 
been  observed  to  be  the  case  before 
a  great  revolution,  or  when  a  man 
destined  to  put  his  mark  on  his 
generation,  as  the  newspapers  say, 
is  about  to  appear.  To  be  sure, 
it  was  not  a  man  this  time,  but 
Miss  Marjoribanks  ;  but  the  atmo- 
sphere thrilled  and  trembled  to  the 
advent  of  the  new  luminary  all  the 
same. 

Yet,  at  the  same  time,  the  world 
of  Carlingford  had  not  the  least 
idea  of  the  real  quarter  from  which 
the  sovereign  intelligence  which 
was  to  develop  it  from  chaos  into 
order  and  harmony  Vfastfffectitfinent. 
to  come.  Some  people  had  hoped 
in  Mrs  Woodburn  before  she  fell 


144 


Miss  Marjoribanlcs. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


into  her  present  languor  of  appear- 
ance and  expression  ;  and  a  great 
many  people  hoped  in  Mr  Caven- 
dish's wife,  if  he  married,  as  he  was 
said  to  intend  to  do ;  for  this  gen- 
tleman, who  was  in  the  habit  of 
describing  himself,  no  doubt,  very 
truthfully,  as  one  of  the  Caven- 
dishes, was  a  person  of  great  con- 
sideration in  Grange  Lane ;  and 
some  hoped  in  a  new  Rector,  for  it 
was  apparent  that  Mr  Bury  could 
not  last  very  long.  Thus,  with  the 
ordinary  short-sightedness  of  the 
human  species,  Carlingford  blinded 
itself,  and  turned  its  eyes  in  every 
direction  in  the  world  rather  than  in 
that  of  the  Swiss  mountains,  which 
were  being  climbed  at  that  moment 
by  a  large  and  blooming  young  wo- 
man, with  tawny  short  curls  and 
alert  decided  movements  ;  so  little 
do  we  know  what  momentous  issues 
may  hang  upon  the  most  possible 
accident !  Had  that  energetic  tra- 
veller slipped  but  an  inch  further 
upon  the  mer  de  glace — had  she 
taken  that  other  step  which  she 
was  with  difficulty  persuaded  not 
to  take  on  the  Wengern  Alp — there 
would  have  been  an  end  of  all  the 
hopes  of  social  importance  for  Car- 
lingford. But  the  good  fairies  took 


care  of  Lucilla  and  her  mission,  and 
saved  her  from  the  precipice  and 
the  crevasses — and  instinctively  the 
air  at  home  got  note  of  what  was 
coming,  and  whispered  the  news 
mysteriously  through  the  keyholes. 
"  Miss  Marjoribanks  is  coining 
home,"  the  unsuspecting  male  pub- 
lic said  to  itself  as  it  returned  from 
Dr  Marjoribanks's  dinners,  with  a 
certain  distressing,  but  mistaken 
presentiment,  that  these  delights 
were  to  come  to  an  end ;  and  the 
ladies  repeated  the  same  piece  of 
news,  conjoining  with  it  benevolent 
intimations  of  their  intention  to 
call  upon  her,  and  make  the  poor 
thing  feel  herself  at  home.  "  Per- 
haps she  may  be  amusing,"  Mrs 
Woodburn  was  good  enough  to  add; 
but  these  words  meant  only  that 
perhaps  Lucilla,  who  was  coming 
to  set  them  all  right,  was  worthy  of 
being  placed  in  the  satirist's  collec- 
tion along  with  Mrs  Centum  and 
Mrs  Chiley.  Thus,  while  the  town 
ripened  more  and  more  for  her  great 
mission,  and  the  ignorant  human 
creatures,  who  were  to  be  her  sub- 
jects, showed  their  usual  blindness 
and  ignorance,  the  time  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  for  Miss  Marjoribanks's 
return. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


"  My  daughter  is  coming  home, 
Nancy, "  said  Dr  Marjoribanks. 
"  You  will  have  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  her  immediately.  So  far 
as  I  can  make  out  from  this  letter, 
she  will  arrive  to-morrow  by  the 
half-past  five  train." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Nancy,  with  the 
tone  of  a  woman  who  makes  the 
best  of  a  misfortune,  "  it  ain't  every 
young  lady  as  would  have  the  sense 
to  fix  an  hour  like  that.  Ladies 
is  terrible  tiresome  in  that  way ; 
they'll  come  in  the  middle  o'  the 
day,  when  a  body  don't  know  in 
the  world  what  to  have  for  them ; 
or  they'll  come  at  night,  when  a 
body's  tired,  and  ain't  got  the  heart 
to  go  into  a  supper.  There  was 


always  a  deal  of  sense  in  Miss  Lu- 
cilla, when  she  hadn't  got  nothing 
in  her  head." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Dr  Marjoribanks, 
who  was  rather  relieved  to  have  got 
through  the  announcement  so  easily. 
"  You  will  see  that  her  room  is 
ready,  and  everything  comfortable  ; 
and.  of  course,  to-morrow  she  and  I 
will  dine  alone." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Nancy ;  but  this 
assent  was  not  given  in  the  decisive 
tone  of  a  woman  whose  audience 
was  over ;  and  then  she  was  seized 
with  a  desire  to  arrange  in  a  more 
satisfactory  manner  the  cold  beef  on 
the  sideboard.  When  she  had  secur- 
ed this  little  interval  for  thought, 
she  returned  again  to  the  table, 


I860.] 


Miss  Alarjorikankt. — Part  7. 


145 


where  her  master  ate  his  break- 
fust,  with  a  presentiment.  "If  you 
please,  sir,"  said  Nancy,  "  not  to 
give  you  no  vexation  nor  trouble, 
which  every  one  knows  as  it  has 
been  the  aim  o'  my  life  to  spare 
you,  as  has  so  much  on  your  mind. 
But  it's  best  to  settle  afore  com- 
mencing, and  then  we  needn't  have 
no  heartburning.  If  you  please,  am 
I  to  take  my  orders  of  Miss  Lucilla, 
or  of  you,  as  I've  always  been  used 
to?  In  the  missus's  time,"  said 
Nancy,  with  modest  confidence,  "  as 
was  a  good  missus,  and  never  gave 
no  trouble  as  long  as  she  had  her 
soup  and  her  jelly  comfortable,  it 
was  always  you  as  said  what  there 
was  to  be  for  dinner.  I  don't  make 
no  objection  to  doing  up  a  nice  little 
luncheon  for  Miss  Lucilla,  and  giv- 
ing a  little  more  thought  now  and 
again  to  the  sweets;  but  it  ain't 
my  part  to  tell  you,  sir,  as  a  lady's 
taste,  and  more  special  a  young 
lady's,  ain't  to  be  expected  to  be  the 
same  as  yours  and  mine  as  has  been 
cultivated  like.  I'm  not  one  as 
likes  contention,"  continued  the 
domestic  oracle,  "  but  I  couldn't 
abear  to  see  a  good  master  put 
upon ;  and  if  it  should  be  as  Miss 
Lucilla  sets  her  mind  upon  messes 
as  ain't  got  no  taste  in  them,  and 
milk-puddings  and  stuff,  like  the 
most  of  the  ladies,  I'd  just  like  to 
know  out  of  your  own  mouth,  afore 
the  commencement,  what  I'm  to 
do?" 

Dr  Marjoribanks  was  so  moved 
by  this  appeal  that  he  laid  down  his 
knife  and  contemplated  the  alarm- 
ing future  with  some  dismay.  "  It 
is  to  be  hoped  Miss  Lucilla'  will 
know  better,"  he  said.  "  She  has 
a  great  deal  of  good  sense,  and  it  is 
to  be  hoped  that  she  will  be  wise 
enough  to  consult  the  tastes  of  the 
house." 

But  the  Doctor  was  not  to  be 
let  off  so  easily.  "  As  you  say,  sir, 
everything's  to  be  hoped,"  said 
Nancy,  steadily  ;  "  but  there's  a- 
many  ladies  as  don't  seem  to  me 
to  have  got  no  taste  to  their 
mouths  ;  and  it  ain't  as  if  it  was 


a  thing  that  could  be  left  to  hopes. 
Supposin'  as  it  comes  to  that,  sir, 
what  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  who 
was  himself  a  little  puzzled,  "  you 
know  Miss  Lucilla  is  nineteen, 
Nancy,  and  my  only  child,  and  the 
natural  mistress  of  the  house." 

"  Sir,"  said  Nancy,  austerely, 
"  them  is  things  as  it  ain't  needful 
to  name  ;  that  ain't  the  question  as 
I  was  asking.  Supposin'  as  things 
come  to  such  a  point,  what  am  I  to 
do?" 

"  Bless  me  !  it's  half-past  nine," 
said  the  Doctor,  "  and  I  have  an 
appointment.  You  can  come  just 
as  usual  when  we  are  at  breakfast, 
that  will  be  the  best  way,"  he  said 
as  he  went  out  at  the  door,  and 
chuckled  a  little  to  himself  when 
he  felt  he  had  escaped.  "  Lucilla 
is  her  mother's  daughter,  it  is 
true,"  he  said  to  himself  when  he 
had  got  into  the  safe  seclusion  of  his 
brougham,  with  a  degree  of  doubt 
in  his  toTie  which  was  startling,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  from  the  lips  of 
a  medical  man  ;  "  but  she  is  my 
child  all  the  same,"  he  added, 
briskly,  with  returning  confidence  ; 
and  in  this  conviction  there  was 
something  which  reassured  the 
Doctor.  He  rubbed  his  hands  as 
he  bowled  along  to  his  appoint- 
ment, and  thought  within  himself 
that  if  she  turned  out  a  girl  of 
spirit,  as  he  expected,  it  would  be 
good  fun  to  see  Lucilla's  struggle 
with  Nancy  for  the  veritable  reins 
of  government.  If  Dr  Marjoribanks 
had  entertained  any  positive  ap- 
prehensions that  his  dinners  would 
be  spoiled  in  consequence,  his 
amusement  would  have  come  to  an 
abrupt  conclusion  ;  but  he  trusted 
entirely  in  Nancy  and  a  little  in 
Lucilla,  and  suffered  his  long  upper- 
lip  to  relax  at  the  thought  without 
much  fear. 

Her  father  had  not  returned  from 
the  labours  of  his  long  day  when 
Lucilla  arrived,  but  he  made  his 
last  visits  on  foot  in  order  to  be 
able  to  send  the  brougham  for  her, 
which  was  a  great  thing  for  the 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


Doctor  to  do.  There  was,  indeed, 
a  mutual  respect  between  the  two, 
who  were  not  necessary  to  each 
other's  comfort,  it  is  true,  as  such 
near  relations  sometimes  are ;  but 
who,  at  the  same  time,  except  on 
the  sole  occasion  of  Mrs  Marjori- 
banks's  death,  had  never  misun- 
derstood each  other,  as  sometimes 
happens.  This  time  Miss  Marjori- 
banks was  rather  pleased,  on  the 
whole,  that  the  Doctor  did  not  come 
to  meet  her.  At  other  times  she 
had  been  a  visitor;  now  she  had 
come  into  her  kingdom,  and  had 
no  desire  to  be  received  like  a 
guest.  A  sense  of  coming  home, 
warmer  than  she  remembered  to 
have  felt  before,  came  into  Lu- 
cilla's  active  mind  as  she  stepped 
into  the  brougham.  Not  that  the 
words  bore  any  special  tender 
meaning,  notwithstanding  that  it 
was  the  desire  of  her  heart, 
well  known  to  all  her  friends,  to 
live  henceforward  as  a  comfort  to 
dear  papa,  but  that  now  at  last  she 
was  coming  into  her  kingdom,  and 
entering  the  domain  in  which  she 
intended  her  will  to  be  law.  After 
living  for  a  year  with  friends  whose 
arrangements  ( much  inferior  to 
those  which  she  could  have  made 
had  she  had  the  power)  she  had  to 
acquiesce  in,  and  whose  domestic 
economy  could  only  be  criticised  up 
to  a  certain  point,  it  was  naturally 
a  pleasure  to  Miss  Marjoribanks  to 
feel  that  now  at  length  she  was 
emancipated,  and  at  liberty  to  exer- 
cise her  faculty.  There  were  times 
during  the  past  year  when  Lucilla 
had  with  difficulty  restrained  herself 
from  snatching  the  reins  out  of  the 
hands  of  her  hosts,  and  showing 
them  how  to  manage.  But,  impa- 
tient as  she  was,  she  had  to  restrain 
herself,  and  make  the  best  of  it. 
Now  all  that  bondage  was  over. 
She  felt  like  a  young  king  entering 
in  secret  a  capital  which  awaits  him 
with  acclamations.  Before  she  pre- 
sented herself  to  the  rejoicing  pub- 
lic, there  were  arrangements  to  be 
made  and  things  to  be  done;  and 
Miss  Marjoribanks  gave  a  rapid 


glance  at  the  shops  in  George  Street 
as  she  drove  past,  and  decided 
which  of  them  she  meant  to  honour 
with  her  patronage.  When  she  en- 
tered the  garden  it  was  with  the 
same  rapid  glance  of  reorganising 
genius  that  she  cast  her  eyes  around 
it ;  and  still  more  decided  was  the 
look  with  which  she  regarded  her 
own  room,  where  she  was  guided  by 
the  new  housemaid,  who  did  not 
know  Miss  Lucilla.  Nancy,  who 
knew  no  better  (being,  like  most 
gifted  persons,  a  woman  of  one  idea), 
had  established  her  young  mistress 
in  the  little  chamber  which  had 
been  Lucilla' s  when  she  was  a  child ; 
but  Miss  Marjoribanks,  who  had  no 
sentimental  notions  about  white 
dimity,  shook  her  head  at  the  frigid 
little  apartment,  where,  however, 
she  was  not  at  all  sorry  to  be  placed 
at  present;  for  if  Dr  Marjoribanks 
had  been  a  man  of  the  prevenant 
class,  disposed  to  make  all  the  pre- 
parations possible  for  his  daughter, 
and  arrange  elegant  surprises  for 
her,  he  would  have  thoroughly  dis- 
gusted Lucilla,  who  was  bent  on 
making  all  the  necessary  improve- 
ments in  her  own  person.  When 
she  went  down  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  await  her  father,  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  look  of  disapproba- 
tion was  mingled  with  so  much 
satisfaction  and  content  in  herself 
that  it  was  pleasant  to  behold.  She 
shook  her  head  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders  as  she  paused  in  the  centre 
of  the  large  faded  room,  where  there 
was  no  light  but  that  of  the  fire, 
which  burned  brightly,  and  kept  up 
a  lively  play  of  glimmer  and  shadow 
in  the  tall  glass  over  the  fireplace, 
and  even  twinkled  dimly  in  the 
three  long  windows,  where  the  cur- 
tains hung  stiff  and  solemn  in  their 
daylight  form.  It  was  not  an  un- 
comfortable sort  of  big,  dull,  faded, 
respectable  drawing-room  ;  and  if 
there  had  been  a  family  in  it,  with 
recollections  attached  to  every  old 
ottoman  and  easy-chair,  no  doubt 
it  would  have  been  charming  ;  but 
it  was  only  a  waste  and  howling 
wilderness  to  Lucilla.  When  she 


1865.] 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I. 


147 


hod  walked  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  and  verified  all  the  plans  she 
had  already  long  ago  conceived  for 
the  embellishment  of  this  inner  court 
and  centre  of  her  kingdom,  Lucilla 
walked  with  her  unhesitating  step 
to  the  fire,  and  took  a  match  and 
lighted  all  the  candles  in  the  large 
old-fashioned  candlesticks,  which 
had  been  flickering  in  grotesque 
shadows  all  over  the  roof.  This 
proceeding  threw  a  Hood  of  light  on 
the  subject  of  her  considerations, 
and  gave  Miss  Marjoribanksan  idea, 
in  passing,  about  the  best  mode  of 
lighting,  which  she  afterwards  act- 
ed upon  with  great  success.  She 
was  standing  in  this  flood  of  light, 
regarding  everytliing  around  her 
with  the  eye  of  an  enlightened 
critic  and  reformer,  when  Dr  Mar- 
joribanks  came  in.  Perhaps  there 
arose  in  the  soul  of  the  Doctor  a 
momentary  thought  that  the  start- 
ling amount  of  tclairaye  which  he 
witnessed  was  scarcely  necessary,  for 
it  is  certain  that  he  gave  a  mo- 
mentary glance  at  the  candles  as  he 
went  up  to  greet  his  daughter;  but 
he  was  far  too  well-bred  a  man  to 
suggest  such  an  idea  at  the  moment. 
On  the  contrary,  he  kissed  her  with 
a  sentiment  of  real  pleasure,  and 
owned  to  himself  that,  if  she  was 
not  a  fool,  and  could  keep  to  her 
own  department,  it  might  be  rather 
agreeble  on  the  whole  to  have  a 
woman  in  the  house.  The  senti- 
ment was  not  enthusiastic,  and 
neither  were  the  words  of  his  salu- 
tation — "  Well,  Lucilla  ;  so  this 
is  you!"  said  the  moderate  and 
unexcited  father.  "  Yes,  papa,  it 
is  me,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
"  and  very  glad  to  get  home  ;"  and 
so  the  two  sat  down  and  discussed 
the  journey — whether  she  had  been 
cold,  and  what  state  the  railway 
was  in — till  the  Doctor  bethought 
himself  that  he  had  to  prepare  for 
dinner.  "  Nancy  is  always  very 
punctual,  and  I  am  sure  you  are 
hungry,"  he  said  ;  "  so  I'll  go  up- 
stairs, with  your  permission,  Lu- 
cilla, and  change  my  coat  ;"  and 
with  this  the  actual  arrival  ter- 

VOL.  XUVII. — NO.  DXCII. 


minuted,   and   the   new   reign   be- 
gan. 

Hut  it  was  only  next  morning 
that  the  young  sovereign  gave  any 
intimation  of  her  future  policy. 
She  had  naturally  a  great  deal  to 
tell  that  first  night ;  and  though 
it  was  exclusively  herself,  and  her 
own  adventures  and  achievements, 
which  Miss  Marjoribanks  related, 
the  occasion  of  her  return  made 
that  sufficiently  natural ;  and  the 
Doctor  was  not  altogether  superior 
to  the  natural  prejudice  which 
makes  a  man  interested,  even  when 
they  are  not  in  themselves  particu- 
larly interesting,  in  the  doings  of 
his  children.  She  succeeded  in 
doing  what  is  certainly  one  of  the 
first  duties  of  a  woman  —  she 
amused  her  father.  He  followed 
her  to  the  drawing-room  for  a 
marvel,  and  took  a  cup  of  tea, 
though  it  was  against  his  princi- 
ples ;  and,  on  the  whole,  Lucilla 
had  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that 
she  had  made  a  conquest  of  the 
Doctor,  which,  of  course,  was  the 
grand  and  most  essential  prelimin- 
ary. In  the  little  interval  which 
he  spent  over  his  claret,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks had  succeeded  in  effect- 
ing another  fundamental  duty  of 
woman — she  had,  as  she  herself 
expressed  it,  harmonised  the  rooms, 
by  the  simple  method  of  re-ar- 
ranging half  the  chairs  and  cover- 
ing the  tables  with  trifles  of  her 
own — a  proceeding  which  convert- 
ed the  apartment  from  an  abstract 
English  drawing-room  of  the  old 
school  into  Miss  Marjoribanks''1 
drawing-room,  an  individual  spot 
of  ground  revealing  something  of 
the  character  of  its  mistress.  The 
Doctor  himself  was  so  moved  by 
this,  that  he  looked  vaguely  round 
when  he  came  in,  as  if  a  little 
doubtful  where  he  was — but  that 
might  only  be  the  effect  of  the 
sparkling  mass  of  candles  on  the 
mantelpiece,  which  he  was  too  well- 
bred  to  remark  upon  the  first 
night.  But  it  was  only  in  the 
morning  that  Lucilla  unfolded  her 
standard.  She  was  down  to  break- 


148 


Miss  ^farjorilanl•s. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


fast,  ready  to  pour  out  the  coffee, 
before  the  Doctor  had  left  his  room. 
He  found  her,  to  his  intense  amaze- 
ment, seated  at  the  foot  of  the 
table,  in  the  place  which  he  usually 
occupied  himself,  before  the  urn 
and  the  coffeepot.  Dr  Marjori- 
banks  hesitated  for  one  momentous 
instant,  stricken  dumb  by  this  un- 
paralleled audacity;  but  so  great 
was  the  effect  of  his  daughter's 
courage  and  steadiness,  that  after 
that  moment  of  fate  he  accepted 
the  seat  by  the  side  where  every- 
thing was  arranged  for  him,  and  to 
which  Lucilla  invited  him  sweetly, 
though  not  without  a  touch  of 
mental  perturbation.  The  moment 
he  had  seated  himself,  the  Doctor's 
eyes  were  opened  to  the  importance 
of  the  step  he  had  taken.  "  I  am 
afraid  I  have  taken  your  seat, 
papa,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
with  ingenuous  sweetness.  "  But 
then  I  should  have  had  to  move 
the  urn,  and  all  the  things,  and  I 
thought  you  would  not  mind."  The 
Doctor  said  nothing  but  "Humph ! " 
and  even  that  in  an  under-tone ; 
but  he  became  aware  all  the  same 
that  he  had  abdicated,  without 
knowing  it,  and  that  the  reins  of 
state  had  been  smilingly  withdrawn 
from  his  unconscious  hands. 

When  Nancy  made  her  appear- 
ance the  fact  became  still  more 
apparent,  though  still  in  the  sweet- 
est way.  "  It  is  so  dreadful  to 
think  papa  should  have  been 
bothered  with  all  these  things  so 
long,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks. 
"  After  this  I  am  sure  you  and  I, 
Nancy,  can  arrange  it  all  without 
giving  him  the  trouble.  Perhaps 
this  morning,  papa,  as  I  am  a 
stranger,  you  will  say  if  there  is 
anything  you  would  like,  and  then 
I  shall  have  time  to  talk  it  all  over 
with  Nancy,  and  find  out  what  is 
best,"  and  Lucilla  smiled  so  sweet- 
ly upon  her  two  amazed  subjects 
that  the  humour  of  the  situation 
caught  the  fancy  of  the  Doctor,  who 
had  a  keen  perception  of  the  ridi- 
culous. 

He  laiighed  out,  much  to  Nancy's 


consternation,  who  was  standing 
by  in  open-eyed  dismay.  "  Very 
well,  Lucilla,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
shall  try  what  you  can  do.  I 
daresay  Nancy  will  be  glad  to 
have  me  back  again  before  long  ; 
but  in  the  mean  time  I  am  quite 
content  that  you  should  try,"  and 
he  went  oft  laughing  to  his  brougham, 
but  came  back  again  before  Lucilla 
could  take  Nancy  in  hand,  who  was 
an  antagonist  more  formidable.  "  I 
forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  that  Tom  Marjoribanks  is  coming 
on  Circuit,  and  that  I  have  asked 
him  to  stay  here,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  I  suppose  he'll  arrive  to- 
morrow. Good-bye  till  the  evening." 

This,  though  Dr  Marjoribanks 
did  not  in  the  least  intend  it,  struck 
Lucilla  like  a  Parthian  arrow,  and 
brought  her  down  for  the  moment. 
"  Tom  Marjoribanks  !"  she  ejacu- 
lated in  a  kind  of  horror.  "  Of  all 
people  in  the  world,  and  at  this 
moment!"  but  when  she  saw  the 
open  eyes  and  rising  colour  of 
Nancy  the  young  dictator  recovered 
herself — for  a  conqueror  in  the  first 
moment  of  his  victory  has  need  to 
be  wary.  She  called  Nancy  to  her 
in  her  most  affectionate  tones  as  she 
finished  her  breakfast.  "  T  sent 
papa  away,"  saidMiss Marjoribanks, 
"because  I  wanted  to  have  a  good 
talk  with  you,  Nancy.  I  want  to 
tell  you  my  object  in  life.  It  is  to 
be  a  comfort  to  papa.  Ever  since 
poor  mamma  died  that  is  what  I 
have  been  thinking  of ;  and  now  I 
have  come  home,  and  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  that  he  is  not  to 
be  troubled  about  anything.  I 
know  what  a  good,  faithful,  valu- 
able woman  you  are,  I  assure  you. 
You  need  not  think  me  a  foolish 
girl  who  is  not  able  to  appreciate 
you.  The  dinner  was  charming 
last  night,  Nancy,"  said  Lucilla, 
with  much  feeling  ;  "  and  I  never 
saw  anything  more  beautifully 
cooked  than  papa's  cutlets  to- 
day." 

"  Miss  Lucilla,  I  may  say  as  I  am 
very  glad  I  have  pleased  you,"  said 
Nancy,  who  was  not  quite  conquer- 


18G5.] 


Miss  Marjoribanks, — Part  I. 


149 


ed  as  yet.  She  stood  very  stiflly 
upright  by  the  table,  and  maintain- 
ed her  integrity.  "  Master  is  par- 
ticular, I  don't  deny,"  continued 
the  prime  minster,  who  felt  herself 
dethroned.  "  I've  always  done  my 
best  to  go  in  with  his  little  fancies, 
and  I  don't  mean  to  say  as  it  isn't 
right  and  natural  as  you  should 
be  the  missis.  But  I  ain't  used  to 
have  ado  with  ladies,  and  that's  the 
truth.  Ladies  is  stingy  in  a-many 
things  as  is  the  soul  of  a  good  din- 
ner to  them  as  knows.  I  may  be 
valleyable  or  not,  it  ain't  for  me  to 
say  ;  but  I'm  not  one  as  can  always 
be  kept  to  a  set  figger  in  my  gravy- 
beef,  and  my  bacon,  and  them  sorts 
of  things.  As  for  the  butter,  I 
don't  know  as  I  could  give  nobody  an 
idea.  I  ain't  one  as  likes  changes, 
but  I  can't  abide  to  be  kept  to 
a  set  figger  ;  and  that's  the  chief 
thing,  Miss  Lucilla,  as  I've  got  to 
say." 

"  And  quite  reasonable  too,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks ;  "you  and  I  will 
work  perfectly  well  together,  Nancy. 
I  am  sure  we  have  both  the  same 
meaning ;  and  I  hope  you  don't 
think  1  am  less  concerned  about 
dear  papa  than  about  the  gravy- 
beef.  He  must  have  been  very 
desolate,  with  no  one  to  talk  to, 
though  he  has  been  so  good  and 
kind  and  self-sacrificing  in  leaving 
me  to  get  every  advantage  ;  but  I 
mean  to  make  it  up  to  him,  now 
I've  come  home." 

"Yes,  miss,"  said  Nancy,  some- 
what mystified  ;  "  not  but  what 
master  has  had  his  little  parties 
now  and  again,  to  cheer  him  up  a 
bit ;  and  I  make  bold  to  say,  miss, 
as  1  have  heard  compliments,  which 
it  was  Thomas  that  brought  'em 
down-stairs,  as  might  go  nigh  to 
turn  a  body's  head,  if  it  was  vanity 
as  I  was  thinking  of  ;  but  I  ain't 
one  as  thinks  of  anything  but  the 
comfort  of  the  family,"  said  Nancy, 
yielding  in  spite  of  herself  to  follow 
the  leadings  of  the  higher  Avill  in 
presence  of  which  she  found  her- 
self, "and  I'm  always  one  as  does 
my  best,  Miss  Lucilla,  if  I  ain't 


worried  nor  kept  to  a  set  figger  with 
my  gravy-beef." 

"  I  have  heard  of  papa's  dinners," 
said  Lucilla,  graciously,  "  and  I 
don't  mean  to  let  down  your  repu- 
tation, Nancy.  Now  we  are  two 
women  to  manage  everything,  we 
ought  to  do  still  better.  I  have 
two  or  three  things  in  my  head 
that  I  will  tell  you  after  ;  but  in 
the  mean  time  I  want  you  to  know 
that  the  object  of  my  life  is  to  be  a 
comfort  to  poor  papa  ;  and  now  let 
us  think  what  we  had  better  have 
for  dinner,"  said  the  new  sovereign. 
Nancy  was  so  totally  unprepared 
for  this  manner  of  dethronement, 
that  she  gave  in  like  her  master. 
She  followed  Miss  Marjoribanks 
humbly  into  those  details  in  which 
Lucilla  speedily  proved  herself  a 
woman  of  original  mind,  and  powers 
quite  equal  to  her  undertaking. 
The  Doctor's  formid-ible  house- 
keeper conducted  her  young  mis- 
tress down-stairs  afterwards,  and 
showed  her  everything  with  the 
meekness  of  a  saint.  Lucilla  had 
Avon  a  second  victory  still  more  ex- 
hilarating and  satisfactory  than  the 
first  ;  for,  to  be  sure,  it  is  no  great 
credit  to  a  woman  of  nineteen  to 
make  a  man  of  any  age  throw  down 
his  arms  ;  but  to  conquer  a  woman 
is  a  different  matter,  and  Lucilla 
was  thoroughly  sensible  of  the  dif- 
ference. Now,  indeed,  she  could 
feel  with  a  sense  of  reality  that 
her  foundations  were  laid. 

Miss  Marjoribanks  had  enough 
of  occupation  for  that  day,  and  for 
many  days.  But  her  mind  was  a 
little  distracted  by  her  father's  part- 
ing intelligence,  and  she  had,  be- 
sides, a  natural  desire  to  view  the 
country  she  had  come  to  conquer. 
When  she  had  made  a  careful  su- 
pervision of  the  house,  and  shifted 
her  own  quarters  into  the  pleasant- 
est  of  the  two  best  bedrooms,  and 
concluded  that  the  little  bare  dimity 
chamber  she  had  occupied  the  pre- 
vious night  was  quite  good  enough 
for  Tom  Marjoribanks,  Lucilla  put 
on  her  hat  and  went  out  to  make  a 
little  reconnaisance.  She  walked 


150 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I, 


[Feb. 


down  to  the  spot  where  St  Roque's 
now  stands,  on  her  own  side  of 
Grange  Lane,  and  up  on  the  other 
side  into  George  Street,  surveying 
all  the  capabilities  of  the  place  with 
a  rapid  but  penetrating  glance.  Dr 
Marjoribanks's  house  could nothave 
been  better  placed  as  a  strategic 
position,  commanding  as  it  did  all 
Grange  Lane,  of  which  it  was,  so  to 
speak,  the  key,  and  yet  affording 
a  base  of  communication  with  the 
profaner  public  which  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks was  wise  enough  to  know  a 
leader  of  society  should  never  ignore 
completely;  for,  indeed,  one  of  the 
great  advantages  of  that  brilliant 
position  is,  that  it  gives  a  woman  a 
right  to  be  arbitrary,  and  to  select 
her  materials  according  to  her  j  udg- 
ment.  It  was  more  from  a  disin- 
clination to  repeat  herself  than  any 
other  motive  that  Lucilla,  when  she 
had  concluded  this  preliminary  sur- 
vey, went  up  into  Grove  Street, 
meaning  to  return  home  that  way. 
At  that  hour  in  the  morning  the  sun 
Avas  shining  on  the  little  gardens  on 
the  north  side  of  the  street,  which 
was  the  plebeian  side ;  and  as  it  was 
the  end  of  October,  and  by  no 
means  warm,  Lucilla  was  glad  to 
cross  over  and  continue  her  walk  by 
the  side  of  those  little  enclosures 
where  the  straggling  chrysanthe- 
mums propped  each  other  up,  and  the 
cheerful  Michaelmas  daisies  made 
the  best  of  it  in  the  sunshine  that 
remained  to  them.  Miss  Marjori- 
banks had  nearly  reached  Salem 
Chapel,  which  pushed  itself  forward 
amid  the  cosy  little  line  of  houses, 
pondering  in  her  mind  the  unex- 
pected hindrance  which  was  about 
to  be  placed  in  her  triumphant 
path,  in  the  shape  of  Tom  Marjori- 
banks, when  that  singular  piece  of 
good  fortune  occurred  to  her  which 
had  so -much  effect  upon  her  career 
in  Carlingford.  Such  happy  acci- 
dents rarely  happen,  except  to 
great  generals  or  heroes  of  ro- 
mance; and  it  would  have  been, 
perhaps,  a  presumption  on  the  part 
of  Lucilla  to  place  herself  con- 
spicuously in  either  of  these  cate- 


gories. The  fact  is,  however,  that 
at  this  eventful  moment  she  was 
walking  along  under  the  shade  of 
her  pretty  parasol,  not  expecting 
anything,  but  absorbed  in  many 
thoughts,  and  a  little  cast  down  in 
her  expectations  of  success  by  a 
consciousness  that  this  unlucky 
cousin  would  insist  upon  making 
love  to  her,  and  perhaps,  even  as 
she  herself  expressed  it,  saying  the 
words  which  it  had  taken  all  her  skill 
to  prevent  him  from  saying  before. 
Not  that  we  would  have  any  one 
believe  that  love-making  in  the  ab- 
stract was  disagreeable  to  Miss 
Marjoribanks ;  but  she  was  only 
nineteen,  well  off  and  good-looking, 
and  with  plenty  of  time  for  all  that; 
and  at  the  present  moment  she  had 
other  matters  of  more  importance  in 
hand.  It  was  while  occupied  with 
these  reflections,  and  within  three 
doors  of  Salem  Chapel,  in  front  of 
a  little  garden  where  a  great  deal  of 
mignonette  had  run  to  seed,  and 
where  the  Michaelmas  daisies  had 
taken  full  possession,  that  Lucilla 
was  roused  suddenly  out  of  her 
musings.  The  surprise  was  so  great 
that  she  stopped  short  and  stood 
still  before  the  house  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  her  astonishment  and 
delight.  Who  could  it  be  that  pos- 
sessed that  voice  which  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks felt  by  instinct  was  the 
very  one  thing  wanting — a  round, 
full,  delicious  contralto,  precisely 
adapted  to  supplement  without 
supplanting  her  own  high-pitched 
and  much-cultivated  organ]  She 
stopped  short  before  the  door  and 
made  a  rapid  observation  even  in 
the  first  moment  of  her  surprise. 
The  house  was  not  exactly  like  the 
other  humble  houses  in  Grove 
Street.  Two  little  blank  squares 
hung  in  the  centre  of  each  of  the 
lower  windows,  revealed  to  Lucilla' s 
educated  eye  the  existence  of  so 
much  "feeling"  for  art  as  can  be 
satisfied  with  a  transparent  porce- 
lain version  of  a  famous  Madonna ; 
and  she  could  even  catch  a  glimpse, 
through  the  curtains  of  the  best 
room — which,  contrary  to  the  wont 


1865.] 


A   Visit  to  the  Confederate  Rt<tie&. — Conclusion. 


151 


of  humble  gentility  in  Carlingford, 
were  well  drawn  back,  and  allowed 
the  light  to  enter  fully — of  the  glim- 
mer of  gilt  picture- frames.  And  in  the 
little  garden  i'1  front,  half-buried 
among  the  mignonette,  were  some 
remains  of  plaster-casts,  originally 
placed  there  for  ornament,  but  long 
since  cast  down  by  rain  and  neglect. 
Lueilla  made  her  observations  with 
the  promptitude  of  an  accomplished 
warrior,  and  before  the  second  bar 
of  the  melody  indoors  was  finished, 


had  knocked  very  energetically.  "  Is 
Miss  Lake  at  home  f"  she  a-sked, 
with  confidence,  of  the  little  maid- 
servant who  opened  the  door  to 
her.  And  it  was  thus  that  Lucilla 
made  her  first  bold  step  out  of  the 
limits  of  Grange  Lane  for  the 
good  of  society,  and  secured  at 
once  several  important  personal 
advantages,  and  the  great  charm 
of  those  Thursday  evenings  which 
made  so  entire  a  revolution  in  the 
taste  and  ide;is  of  Carlingford. 


A    VISIT   TO   THE   CITIES    AND    CAMPS    OF   THE    CONFEDERATE 
STATES,    1863-64. 

CONCLUSION. — CHAI'TKU    X. 


WE  spent  a  full  week  at  Augusta, 
and  then  L.  left  us,  going  straight 
to  Richmond,  and  V.  and  I  went  to 
Charleston. 

We  found  the  city  unchanged, 
except  that,  since  the  occupation  of 
the  whole  of  Morris  Island  by  the 
Yankees,  blockade- running  had 
pretty  well  come  to  an  end,  though 
it  recommenced  somewhat  later. 

There  had  been  some  intermis- 
sion in  the  shelling  of  the  city,  and 
the  Yankees  had  been  engaged  in 
turning  Fort  Wagner  and  Battery 
Gregg  to  their  own  account,  and 
were  now  from  thence  pounding 
away  at  Su  inter.  I  made  an  excur- 
sion to  this  place  one  night  with 
Major  Pringle,  the  quartermaster, 
who  had  to  furnish  its  supplies.  It 
happened  that  the  Yankees  were 
particularly  attentive  that  night, 
and  shelled  us  considerably.  They 
had  got  a  calcium  light  on  the  point 
of  Morris  Island  nearest  the  fort, 
which  threw  such  a  brilliant  glare 
all  around  it  that  we  could  not 
approach  in  a  steamer,  but  had  to 
take  to  a  row-boat.  As  we  neared 
the  fort  and  got  within  the  range 
of  the  calcium  light,  where  it  was 
as  clear  as  day,  they  fired  at  us 
furiously — being  about  three-quar- 
ters of  a  mile  distant ;  but  we  made 
good  haste  to  reach  the  fort,  and 


scrambled  into  it  as  fast  as  we 
could,  without  any  accident. 

Here,  in  the  bomb-proof,  we  were 
of  course  perfectly  safe  ;  and  in- 
deed casualties  now  seldom  occur 
except  through  heedlessness  on  the 
part  of  the  men.  To-day,  however, 
two  men  were  killed  and  a  few 
wounded.  One  poor  fellow  was 
brought  in  with  half  his  head  shot 
off ;  and  going  out  into  the  area 
with  Major  Elliot,  the  commandant, 
a  man  met  us  coming  in  with  his 
jaw  broken. 

This  night  they  were  firing  chiefly 
with  mortar  shells,  which  look  mag- 
nificent as  they  soar  majestically  up 
in  air  to  a  great  height,  and  then 
slowly  descend. 

N.B. — If  you  are  anywhere  near, 
and  look  up,  they  appear  as  if  they 
were  coming  straight  towards  you, 
and  must  inevitably  hit  the  very 
spot  where  you  are  standing. 

In  the  fort  there  is  always  plenty 
of  time  to  get  out  of  way,  and 
whenever  one  is  seen  coming  the 
sentinels  give  warning  to  "  look 
out."  The  sentinels  themselves 
generally  have  a  place  to  dodge 
into ;  but  on  dark  nights  many 
have  to  be  posted  in  insecure  places 
to  guard  against  an  assault. 

The  bomb-proofs  at  Sumter  are 
lofty,  well  ventilated,  and  perfectly 


A   Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  tfa 


[Feb. 


secure.  The  shot  from  the  Par- 
rott  guns  have  brass  "  fixings,"  and 
the  men  make  little  fortunes  by 
collecting  and  selling  it  for  a  dollar 
the  pound. 

We  made  an  excursion  to  Sum- 
merville,  some  twenty  miles  from 
Charleston,  where  there  is  a  large 
hotel  and  a  number  of  country  re- 
sidences. Standing  in  the  midst  of 
a  magnificent  pine-forest,  Sutnmer- 
ville  was  always  a  favourite  resort 
of  the  Charlestonians  during  the 
hot  season,  and  at  present  it  is 
crowded  with  refugees.  It  is  said 
to  be  remarkably  healthy. 

From  hence  we  visited  Middleton 
Place,  on  the  Ashley  river,  a  good 
specimen  of  a  gentleman's  country- 
seat  in  South  Carolina,  The  resi- 
dences of  the  gentry  in  the  South 
cannot,  of  course,  compare  with  the 
"  stately  homes  of  England,"  as  pro- 
perty is  here  usually  divided  on  the 
death  of  the  owner ;  and  however 
wealthy  a  man  may  be,  he  cannot 
reckon  upon  his  grandchildren  being 
able  to  inhabit  a  house  which  may 
be  suitable  for  his  own  establish- 
ment and  style  of  living.  But  they 
are  very  pleasant  abodes,  and  at 
Middleton  Place  the  gardens  were 
beautiful.  There  were  tea-trees  and 
coffee-plants,  avenues  of  immense 
camellias — japonicas,  as  they  insist 
on  calling  them  here — besides  mag- 
nificent live  oaks  in  the  meadows 
by  the  river-side.  The  owner  was 
not  at  home,  but  we  were  enter- 
tained by  his  servants  (slaves),  who 
did  the  honours  remarkably  well, 
brought  us  luncheon,  and  showed 
us  all  over  the  place,  of  which  they 
were  as  proud  as  if  it  belonged  to 
them.  Evidently  they  were  much 
attached  to  their  home,  as  well  as 
to  their  master  ;  and,  indeed,  they 
are  a  warm-hearted  and  affectionate 
race,  and  deserve  to  be  as  happy  as 
they  are  under  the  present  system, 
which  requires  but  few  alterations 
to  be  as  beneficial  to  both  parties  as 
any  that  can  be  imagined. 

The  possible  division  of  families, 
and  disregard  of  marital  rights, 
which  are  repugnant  to  the  feelings 


of  every  Southerner,  would  have 
been  prevented  by  law  long  ago 
but  for  the  irritation  caused  by 
the  interference  of  the  Aboli- 
tionists of  the  North,  and  the 
conviction  that  cases  of  the  sort 
were  exceedingly  rare — much  more 
rare,  they  maintain,  than  cases  of 
brutal  murder  in  England — and 
were  already  punished  by  such  uni- 
versal ignominy,  that  it  has  been 
thought  better  to  rely  on  moral  re- 
straint than  to  enact  laws  which  the 
Abolitionists  would  claim  the  credit 
of  having  forced  them  to  make. 
The  few  cases  where  plantations 
have  been  broken  up  and  the  negro 
families  sold  without  regard  to 
marital  and  human  rights,  have  al- 
most invariably  taken  place  when 
Northern  creditors,  some  of  them 
members  of  H.  W.  Beecher's  con- 
gregation (I  could  name  instances), 
have  insisted  upon  their  pound  of 
flesh.  In  South  Carolina  negroes 
are  as  well  protected  by  the  laws  as 
white  men,  and  in  some  cases  better. 
In  criminal  cases,  for  instance,  a 
negro  is  tried  before  a  court  of  three 
judges,  the  jury  being  composed  of 
five  white  men,  who  must  them- 
selves be  owners  of  negroes,  and  he 
can  only  be  convicted  by  a  unani- 
mous verdict  of  this  jury,  with 
which  one  of  the  judges  at  least 
must  agree.  Apropos  of  the  laws 
of  South  Carolina,  I  believe  it  is  not 
generally  known  that  at  the  settle- 
ment of  the  colony  in  1670  the  con- 
stitution was  framed  by  John  Locke, 
the  famousphilosopher,  afterthe  pat- 
tern of  that  of  Plato's  model  republic. 

During  our  sojourn  at  Charleston 
we  stayed  at  the  house  of  Mr  Ch. 
who  is  celebrated  for  his  little  din- 
ners, and  who  almost  daily  invited 
some  friends  to  meet  us  ;  and  we 
had  "a  good  time  of  it,"  as  they 
say  in  this  country. 

Charleston  is  celebrated  for  its 
madeira,  which  is  always  kept  in 
the  garrets  at  the  top  of  the  house 
to  ripen,  and  never  in  the  cellar.  It 
is  hardly  considered  drinkable  until 
it  has  been  twenty  years  in  bottle, 
but  then  it  is  delicious. 


1805.] 


Confederate  Staffs,  18G3-G4. — Conclusion. 


153 


At  Mr  Ch.'s  we  often  met  Mr 
Tinirod,  a  gentleman  whose  name 
has  not  yet  spread  as  widely  as  it 
undoubtedly  will  do;  but  he  writes 
beautiful  poetry,  which  no  one  who 
has  read  it  can  fail  to  admire.  I 
believe  a  collection  of  his  poems  is 
soon  to  be  published  in  England. 

\Ve  had  some  capital  music  at  this 
time,  as  well  as  when  we  were  here 
before,  at  a  Mr  Walker's,  whose 
musical  friends  used  to  assemble  at 
his  house  every  Wednesday. 

We  left  Charleston  for  Wilming- 
ton in  the  afternoon  of  November 
the  12th,  and  got  seats  in  the 
"  ladies'  car."  At  two  o'clock  next 
morning  there  was  a  sudden  smash, 
and  we  found  ourselves  bumping 
along  on  the  sleepers.  Our  car 
had  evidently  got  off  the  rails. 
Fortunately  the  engine  with  the 
baggage-car  broke  loose  from  us, 
and  we  stopped  ;  but  when  we 
alighted  we  found  we  had  been  in 
a  critical  position.  The  two  pas- 
senger-cars were  piled  up  against 
each  other  in  a  most  extraordinary 
way,  and  if  we  had  gone  on  a  few 
yards  farther  we  must  inevitably 
have  toppled  over  the  embankment. 
No  one  was  damaged  ;  and  the  only 
two  ladies  in  the  car  behaved  ad- 
mirably. "  I  am  so  glad  no  one  is 
hurt,"  was  all  that  one  of  them 
said  :  "  Yes,  I'm  so  glad,"  said  the 
other.  And  they  quietly  got  out 
with  the  rest,  and  we  waited  for 
assistance.  Presently  the  locomo- 
tive and  baggage-cars  came  back, 
and  the  passengers  and  traps  were 
picked  up  and  squeexed  in  amongst 
the  luggage  and  firewood. 

Whilst  the  transit  was  taking 
place,  V.  facetiously  asked  the  con- 
ductor what  they  intended  to  charge 
for  the  extra  performance.  "  Oh, 
nothing  at  all,  sir  :  we  make  no 
charge  ;  we  break  people's  bones 
and  Dury  them  for  nothing,  sir,  on 
this  road."  And  so  I  believe  they 
do.  now  and  then. 

V.  had  been  upset  several  times 
before,  but  it  was  my  first  adven- 
ture of  the  kind,  and  I  rather  congra- 
tulated myself  upon  the  occurrence, 


as  travelling  in  America  would  be 
incomplete  without  a  railroad  acci- 
dent. 

We  were  not  fur  from  Wilming- 
ton when  our  mishap  occurred,  and 
arrived  there  early  in  the  morning. 
We  were  shown  into  a  very  dirty 
room,  with  one  bed  for  us  both  : 
the  hotel  was  crowded  ;  but  happily 
we  were  not  obliged  to  remain 
there,  as  we  found  our  blockade- 
running  friends,  from  whom  we  had 
parted  at  Augusta,  established  at 
Wilmington  in  a  fine  large  house, 
to  which  they  invited  us,  and  made 
us  cordially  welcome. 

In  the  morning  we  paid  our  re- 
spects to  General  Whiting,  who  is 
in  command  here,  and  called  upon 
several  other  gentlemen  to  whom 
we  had  letters  of  introduction. 

Wilmington  is  at  present  the 
most  important  port  of  entry  in  the 
South,  and  the  custom-house  re- 
ceipts, both  here  and  at  Charleston, 
last  year,  far  exceeded  anything 
they  had  ever  been  during  a  similar 
period  before  the  war.  There  were 
about  a  dozen  blockade-running 
steamers  lying  at  the  wharves,  load- 
ing cotton,  and  unloading  all  man- 
ner of  stores  brought  from  Bermuda 
and  Nassau.  Besides  cotton,  the 
chief  exports  are  tobacco  and 
rosin.  ( )ne  great  treat  we  had  here 
was  to  find  English  newspapers  in 
abundance,  and  of  dates  little  more 
than  a  month  old. 

A  day  or  two  after  our  arrival 
we  went  down  to  Fort  Fisher,  at 
the  mouth  of  Cape  Fear  river,  the 
Commandant,  Colonel  Lamb,  tak- 
ing us  down  in  his  boat.  Going 
down  we  met  three  steamers  com- 
ing up  the  river,  having  success- 
fully run  the  blockade,  the  Hansa, 
the  Lucy,  and  the  Bendigo.  We 
exchanged  cheers  as  they  passed 
us  ;  but  the  great  sight  is  when 
they  come  up  to  the  wharves. 
They  all  dress  up  with  flags  as  if 
for  a  victory  ;  and  as  the  ships 
which  belong  to  the  same  company 
do  the  same,  the  spectacle  is  very 
gay.  The  cheering,  too,  is  voci- 
ferous, and  all  those  who  have 


154 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


any  interest  in  the  vessel  must,  no 
doubt,  feel  extremely  comfortable, 
as  every  successful  trip  brings  an 
enormous  profit.  The  moon  is  the 
blockade-runner's  greatest  enemy ; 
but  these  vessels  to-day  had  come 
in,  notwithstanding  the  moon, 
-which  did  not  set  till  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Fort  Fisher  con- 
sists of  a  long  line  of  forts  and 
batteries  of  all  sorts  and  sizes. 
The  most  peculiar  one  is  an  arti- 
ficial hill  mounted  with  two  guns, 
in  order  to  give  a  plunging  fire 
upon  any  vessel  that  may  attempt 
to  pass.  A  fleet  trying  to  get  into 
the  river  would  have  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  these  batteries  for  more 
than  a  mile,  and  would  most  as- 
suredly suffer  very  severely  in  the 
attempt.  There  are  two  inlets  to 
Cape  Fear  river.  Fort  Fisher  is 
the  chief  defence  of  the  northern, 
and  Fort  Caswell  of  the  southern 
one.  Although  very  formidable, 
the  fortifications  were  still  being 
strengthened,  and  large  numbers 
of  negroes  were  at  work. 

In  the  far  distance  we  could  see 
two  Federal  men-of-war  keeping 
up  a  nominal  blockade.  They  al- 
ways remain  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, for  if  they  come  within 
three  or  four  miles,  Colonel  Lamb 
is  apt  to  make  targets  of  them,  and 
his  gun  practice  is  very  accurate.* 
They  seldom  catch  a  blockade-run- 
ner going  in  or  out,  but  if  on  the 
high  seas  they  can  capture  a  ship 
laden  with  a  suspicious  cargo,  they 
condemn  her  as  a  prize  without 
more  ado,  and  as  the  vessels  all 
sail  under  the  supposed  protection 
of  the  British  flag,  the  owners 
never  have  any  redress. 

Sometimes  a  vessel  gets  "  beach- 
ed," as  in  a  dark  night  it  is  very 
difficult  exactly  to  hit  the  point  for 
which  they  are  steering.  This  ac- 
cident happened  to  the  Ceres,  a 
noble  double  screw  steamer,  that 
was  making  her  first  voyage.  The 


Yankees  coming  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  ship  had  to  be  set  on  fire  ; 
her  mail  and  a  small  portion  of 
passengers'  luggage  was  saved,  but 
the  cargo  was  lost.  Some  of  the 
passengers  had  had  a  narrow  es- 
cape, the  ebbing  tide  having  car- 
ried their  boat  far  out  to  sea,  but 
eventually  all  got  safe  to  land. 

Mr  C.,  a  brother  of  the  head  of 
the  firm  with  whose  agents  at  Wil- 
mington we  were  staying,  after 
getting  to  the  shore,  walked  off  the 
wharf  again  into  the  sea  in  the 
twilight,  but  being  exceedingly  tall, 
the  water  only  reached  his  neck,  and 
he  quietly  returned  to  the  dry  land. 

While  we  were  at  Wilmington 
the  news  arrived  of  the  disastrous 
battle  of  Missionary  Ridge.  The 
Yankees  had  been  very  heavily 
reinforced  after  the  battle  of 
Chicamauga,  and  Bragg  had  de- 
tached Longstreet  to  lay  siege  to 
Knoxville  in  Eastern  Tennessee. 
The  Confederate  lines  extended  to 
an  enormous  length ;  the  men  were 
more  or  less  ill  and  dispirited, 
having  suffered  severely  from  the 
effects  of  the  inclement  weather, 
and  unaccustomed  cold  climate. 
Upon  the  whole,  it  was  a  matter 
of  congratulation  that  affairs  turn- 
ed out  no  worse  than  they  did. 

Bragg  gave  up  the  command  of 
the  army,  and  his  successor,  Joe 
Johnstone,  took  up  a  position  only 
a  few  miles  to  the  rear  of  the 
one  evacuated,  and  maintained  it 
during  the  whole  winter.  The 
Yankees  turned  their  victory  of 
Missionary  Ridge  to  no  better  ac- 
count than  the  Confederates  had 
done  that  of  Chicamauga. 

The  following  is  a  letter  I  re- 
ceived from  an  officer  who  was 
engaged  on  the  right  wing  of 
Bragg's  army  : — 

"  Headquarters,  Cleburne's  Division, 

Army  of  Tennessee, 
Tunnel  Hill,  Ga.,  7th  Dec.  1SG3. 

"  .  .  .1  will  do  my  best  to  relate 


*  The  U.S.  ship  Connecticut,  11  guns,  can  tell  of  some  extraordinarily  accurate 
practice  she  experienced  from  a  "  Whitworth  "  at  the  distance  of  full  five 
miles,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  both  captain  and  crew.  I  heard  this  lately 
through  a  Northern  source. 


1 865.1 


Confederate.  Stale*,  18G3-C4. — Conclusion. 


}  55 


to  yon  some  of  the  past  events  since 
your  departure  from  this  army. 

"  Shortly  after  you  left,  Long- 
street,  as  you  may  know,  received 
a  separate  command,  and  was  sent 
to  Eastern  Tennessee.  There,  luck 
did  not  altogether  favour  him  be- 
fore Knoxville,  and  lie  has  had  to 
beat  a  retreat  into  Virginia.  Now 
in  regard  to  our  own  division  :  For 
a  long  time  after  you  left,  the  only 
movements  we  made  were  to  con- 
tinually shift  our  position  along  the 
old  line  of  breastworks.  However, 
at  last,  on  the  24th  (I  think  it  was), 
General  (Jleburne  was  ordered  to 
assume  command  of  an  expedition 
going  to  East  Tennessee,  consisting 
of  Buckner's  and  his  own  divisions. 

"  On  the  24th  most  of  Buckner's 
command  managed  to  get  away  on 
the  cars  from  (Jhicamauga.  That 
evening  we  received  orders  to 
march  back  at  once  to  Missionary 
Ridge.  The  cause  for  thus  sudden- 
ly ordering  us  back  to  the  Ridge 
was,  that  the  enemy  had  attacked 
our  pickets  and  driven  them  in,  and 
that  a  general  engagement  was  ex- 
pected next  day. 

"  Next  day,  the  25th,  we  received 
orders  to  act  as  the  reserve  of  the 
army,  and  were  at  once  sent  over 
to  the  extreme  right  of  Missionary 
Ridge,  to  defeat  a  movement  of 
the  enemy  in  that  direction.  The 
enemy  had  been  crossing  the  river 
on  a  pontoon,  with  the  aid  of  two 
steamers.  That  day  we  had  no 
fighting  to  speak  of,  only  a  little 
skirmishing,  which  showed  the 
enemy  that  we  were  inclined  to 
dispute  their  advance.  On  the 
left,  however,  the  case  was  differ- 
ent. The  whole  day  long,  and  a 
great  part  of  the  night,  a  battle  had 
been  raging  on  Lookout  Mountain, 
which  ended  in  the  enemy  driving 
Major-General  Stevenson,  together 
with  his  division,  from  their  posi- 
tion, with  a  loss  on  their  side,  as 
they  admit,  of  5000  killed  and 
wounded.  The  next  day  the  ball 
opened  pretty  briskly  on  the  right. 
Three  times  did  they  charge  our 
position,  and  three  times  were  they 
repulsed.  General  Stevenson  was 


ordered  to  report  to  General  ( 'le- 
burne,  who  made  use  of  OIK;  of  the 
regiments  of  (Jamming's  brigade. 
The  third  charge  was  the  most  de- 
termined of  the  lot.  They  man- 
aged to  reach  the  crest  of  the  hill, 
and  there  they  fought  us  for  about 
two  hours,  at  a  distance  varying 
from  twenty  to  thirty  paces  ; — so 
close  were  they  that  our  ollicers 
threw  stones.  Our  men  fought 
behind  some  breastworks,  which 
had  been  hastily  constructed  dur- 
ing the  night.  General  (Jleburne 
ended  this  prolonged  fight  by  or- 
dering a  charge  to  be  made  on  the 
enemy,  both  in  front  and  in  Hank: 
by  this  gallant  movement,  we  cap- 
tured about  400  or  5(»0  prisoners, 
and  seven  stands  of  colours.  Gene- 
ral Sherman's  corps  was  the  one  we 
fought  on  the  right.  It  must  have 
numbered  about  2S,()()0  muskets. 
Sherman  had  promised  his  men  a 
furlough  if  they  took  the  Ridge, 
which,  thank  God,  they  never  did. 
During  the  second  charge  my  horse 
was  shot  in  the  neck,  and  1  was 
.ordered  to  change  my  horse,  which 
I  was  unable  to  do,  so  I  had  to  foot 
it  for  the  rest  of  the  fight.  When 
we  took  the  prisoners,  some  400  of 
them  were  put  in  my  charge,  3153  I 
turned  over  to  the  Provost-Marshal, 
the  rest  to  the  surgery,  and  returned 
to  my  post.  Uy  this  time  General 
(Jleburne  had  heard  of  the  sad  cata- 
strophe on  the  left  and  centre  of 
our  line,  and  that  he  was  expected 
to  cover  our  retreat.  He  ordered 
me  at  once  to  send  the  prisoners  to 
Chicamauga,  which  I  did,  footing 
it  all  the  way.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  sight  which  I  witnessed  next 
morning,  when  I  joined  General 
Cleburne  again.  He  was  in  (Jhica- 
mauga with  the  division  in  the  best 
spirits  possible,  and  in  excellent 
order,  whilst  the  most  of  the  army 
resembled  more  the  miserable 
crowds  you  would  behold  gather- 
ing around  some  gallows.  Greedy 
for  loot,  they  were  to  be  seen  eagerly 
ransacking  all  the  burning  stores. 
At  last  we  managed  to  bundle  these 
useless  fellows  out,  and  the  retreat 
commenced  in  a  more  regular  man- 


156 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


ner.  On  the  26th  the  enemy's  ad- 
vance came  upon  us  at  Ringold. 
General  Cleburne  ambushed  his 
men,  and  waited  quietly  for  them 
to  drive  our  cavalry  in.  You  know 
the  name  the  cavalry  have  out  here, 
so  you  may  judge  he  had  not  long 
to  wait.  The  enemy  evidently  ex- 
pected to  meet  some  opposition  in 
and  on  Taylor's  Gap  and  Ridge,  for 
they  dismounted  their  cavalry  and 
sent  them  forward  to  feel  us.  Gen- 
eral Cleburne  sent  me  round  the 
skirmishers  on  our  left  to  tell  them 
not  to  fire  a  shot  till  the  enemy 
should  get  up  close  on  us,  and  then 
to  let  them  have  it.  They  obeyed 
the  order  well,  and,  together  with 
the  only  two  cannon  we  had,  which 
had  been  double-shotted  with  grape, 
we  gave  the  enemy  '  what  for.' 
All  the  rest  of  our  cannon  had  been 
pushed  on  to  the  rear.  You  may 
readily  guess  that  the  enemy's  cav- 
alry did  not  stop  long  to  consider 
what  to  do ;  they  just  broke  and  ran. 
Thus  their  first  line  was  broken. 
Their  infantry,  then  in  heavy  mass- 
es, tried  to  dislodge  us.  Every 
advance  of  theirs  was  boldly  met 
by  us,  and  always  ended  in  their 
being  badly  repulsed  and  roughly 
handled.  I  was  hit  on  the  right 
arm  by  a  Minie  ball  whilst  carrying 
one  of  the  enemy's  colours  that  we 
had  just  captured.  Joe  Hooker 
was  the  man  we  had  the  pleasure 
of  fighting  there.  We  retired  from 
there,  carrying  with  us  about  fifty 
prisoners  and  two  stands  of  colours. 
You  may  see  my  arm  was  not  very 
badly  hurt,  as  I  am  writing  to  you 
now.  The  army  now  is,  for  the  most 
part,  around  Dalton,  Ga. ;  and  we, 
the  advance-guard,  are  stationed  at 
Tunnel  Hill,Ga. ;  General  Cleburne 
commands  the  cavalry  in  our  front 
as  well  as  his  own  division.  It  is 
generally  supposed  that  he  will  be 
made  lieutenant-general  for  having 
saved  the  army.  The  enemy's  loss 
on  the  right  at  Missionary  Ridge 
must  have  been  very  heavy  ;  at 
Ringold  they  left  505  graves,  besides 
carrying  off  with  them  two  cartloads 
of  dead.  Our  loss  in  the  two  en- 
gagements was  comparatively  small ; 


600, 1  think,  will  cover  it  all.  They 
burnt  the  town  of  Ringold  only 
for  revenge  ;  also  the  pretty  little 
village  of  Greenville,  and  have  left 
the  population  without  food.  Grant 
and  Hooker  and  Casey  were  the 
three  major-generals  before  us  at 
Ringold.  At  the  end  of  our  last 
fight  we  got  up  two  more  cannons 
to  help  us. — I  remain,"  &c. 

Early  in  December  we  proceeded 
to  Richmond,  accompanied  by  Cap- 
tain Fearn.  We  had  been  intro- 
duced to  the  conductor  of  the  train, 
who  secured  us  comfortable  seats, 
and  our  hospital  friends  at  Wil- 
mington had  provided  us  with  a 
large  hamper  of  provisions  of  all 
sorts — a  very  useful  precaution  be- 
fore a  long  railroad  journey  in  the 
present  state  of  affairs.  Thus  our 
travels  were  not  so  unpleasant  as 
they  might  otherwise  have  been. 
Thirty  hours  of  railway  brought  us 
to  our  destination,  and  we  took 
up  our  old  quarters  at  the  Ballard 
House.  Richmond  now  presented 
a  very  different  aspect  from  what  it 
had  done  in  summer.  Congress,  as 
well  as  the  State  Legislature  of  Vir- 
ginia, was  in  session;  the  shops 
were  full  of  stores,  and  crowded 
with  purchasers ;  hosts  of  f  ur- 
loughed  officers  and  soldiers  per- 
ambulated the  streets  ;  hotels,  res- 
taurants, and  bar-rooms  were  crowd- 
ed with  guests,  and  the  whole  city 
presented  a  lively  appearance. 

There  was  some  outcry,  even 
from  the  pulpits,  against  the  gaie- 
ties that  were  going  on,  but  General 
Lee  was  reported  to  have  said  that 
the  young  ladies  were  quite  right 
to  afford  the  officers  and  soldiers 
on  furlough  as  much  amusement  as 
possible  ;  and  balls,  tableaux  viv- 
ants,  and  all  kinds  of  social  gather- 
ings were  the  order  of  the  day. 

Gambling,  however,  as  an  unmiti- 
gated vice,  has  lately  been  checked 
by  the  Virginia  Legislature.  They 
debated  a  little  whether  to  legalise 
gambling,  and  by  making  it  a  pub- 
lic amusement  to  check  gamblers 
by  public  opinion,  or  whether  to 
put  it  down  by  severe  measures, 


:>.  ] 


Confederate  Stales,  18G3-G4. — Conclusion. 


157 


and   decided    for   the    latter.     All  in  murderers  being  hanged.     And 

gamblers  caught  in  the  fact  were  to  there  is  another  consideration  with 

be  heavily  fined,  and  the  banker  to  regard  to  flogging,  namely,  that  in 

be  flogged.    Corporal  punishment  is  time  of  war  many  men  have  to  be 

not  otherwise  generally  popular  in  shot  for  otl'ences  for  which  other- 
this  country, and  has  been  abolished 
even   in  the  army,  where   it  is  so 


wise  a  sound  flogging  would  be  an 
adequate   punishment,  and,  as   an 


necessary  for  the  protection  of  the     example,  a  sufficient  preventive. 


good  soldiers,  who  under  the  lock- 
up anil  imprisonment  system  are 
punished  by  extra  duty  for  the 
faults  of  unworthy  comrades,  to 


Colonel  IJrien  and  Major  Von 
lioivke  met  us  at  the  hotel,  and 
carried  us  off  to  the  "Oriental 
Saloon,"  when  we  had  a  capital  sup- 


whom a  term  of  imprisonment  is     per,  and  sat  talking  till  a  late  hour. 


generally  a  matter  of  indifference, 
if  not  of  positive  satisfaction. 
(Jood  soldiers  are  never  flogged, 
and  there  is  no  more  hardship  to 
them  in  bad  ones  being  thus  pun- 


As the  South  is  supposed  just 
now  to  be  in  a  starving  condition,  I 
will  insert  here  the  bill  of  fare  of 
the  Oriental  Saloon,  together  with 
a  little  bill  or  two  for  meals  par- 


ished than  there  is  to  good  people     taken  at  that  establishment : — 


OKIKXTAL,  Srn  JANTAHY  1804. 

UILL   OF    FAUF.. 


Beef. 

Chicken 

Macaroni. 

Vegetable. 

Clam. 

Oyster. 

Terrapin. 

Turtle. 

Mock  tmtlt' 


Roast  tnrkt-y 3.oO 

Roast  poos.-. 
Roast  'lucks. 
Roast  chickens, ..3.  JO 

rait. 

Rod;  fish, 5.00 

Chub. 
Bhad. 
Perch. 

Herrinns 

Crabs  and  lobsters. 


MEATS. 
1 

Roast  beef,  

:;  o  » 

Ro-isted  oysters,  .5 
Raw  oysters,  ....;; 

00 
00 

Pure  coffee,  .  .  . 

Cup 

?  00 

Pun1  tea  

•J  (Ml 

Roast  mutton.   .  . 

•:  0  i 

KIRM. 

Fresh  milk,  ..  .. 

..j.oo 

Roast  pork  

3.00 

Partridge  3 

50 

WINES. 

Roust  lamb. 

Sora. 

1-ottla 

Roast  veal,  

•;  oo 

(  'li'l  in  l  fi  'lie 

so.  oo 

Robin. 

Madeira 

r)0  0  ) 

STEAKS. 

nnipc. 

Plover 

Port  

•2.1.00 

Beef  steaks,  .... 

Woodcock. 

Claret  

20.00 
35.00 

Pork  steaks,   .... 

Chery,  

Mutton  chops,    . 

3.  50 

VEGETABLES. 

LIQUORS. 

Veal  cutlets,  .  .  . 
Veuison  steaks,  . 

:;  :,o 

C.ibba-e  1 

00 

French  brandy, 
Apple  brandy,  . 

.  .  8.  00 
..•2.01 

Tomato. 

SUNDRIES. 

(ireen  pease. 
Black  eyed  pease. 

Peach  biandy,  . 
Holland  gin,.  .  . 

..2.00 
..'200 

Ham  and  eggs,  . 

3.50 

Cucumbers. 
Onions,  1 

00 

Rye  whisky,  .  .  . 

..•2.00 

Boiled  eggs  

•_'  00 

Lettuce 

MALT    LIO.UO 

is. 

Poached  eggs,  .  . 
Scrambled  e""s, 

'J.OO 
.'i.OO 

Stpiashcs. 

Porter  

llotllc 

1-2.00 

Fried  eggs  
Omelette,  

3.00 

Snaps. 

Lima  beans. 
Irish  j>otatocs,   .  .1 

00 

Ale,  

.12.10 
.   C.OO 

Haifa  bottle,.. 

Sweet  potatoes,..! 

00 

cm  A  us. 

OYSTERS. 

Salad  •> 

00 

Fine  havana,  .  . 

..1.00 

Fried  oysters  5  00 

Asparagus. 

Other  brands  of  a  fine 

Scolloped  oysters 

5.00 

Celery  '2 

00 

quality. 

Bread,  50  cents— Butter,  1  dol.  — Hot  rolls,  1  dol.  50  cents. 

C.AMF.   OF    AM.    KINDS    IN    SEASON. 

Terrapins  served  i/;>  in  trery  utiilr. 

PKTKR   K.    MORGAN,  Sen.,  Proprietor. 


Soup  for  nine. 
Venison  steak,  nine, 
Fried  potatoes, 
7  binls,   . 
Baked  potatoes, 
Celery, 

Bread  and  butter,   . 
Coffee,     . 
Apples,   . 


Dols. 

i:j.r>o 

31.50 

9.00 

24. 00 

9.00 

13.50 

14.00 

18.00 

12.00 


ORIENTAL  SALOON,  15(h  Jan.  1864. 

Doll. 

5  bottles  of  madeira,  .  .  2.r.0.00 
G  bottles  claret,  .  .  .  120.00 
1  urn  cocktail,  .  .  .  05.00 

Jelly, 20.00 

Cake, 20.00 

1  dozen  cigars,          .          .          .        12.00 


Wines  and  desserts, 
Dinner,     . 


487.00 
144.50 


Dinner, 


144.50 


Total, 


031.50 


158 


A  Visit  to  tlw  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


These,  it  is  true,  are  most  remark- 
able for  the  nominal  high  prices  of 
everything,  but  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  reason  the  paper 
money  here  is  worth  so  little  is 
that  there  is  such  a  profusion  of 
it.  Indeed,  the  country  has  been 
swamped  with  bank-notes.  For  a 
time,  such  was  the  confidence  of 
the  people  that  they  would  eventu- 
ally pay  their  debt,  that  paper  was 
only  at  a  small  discount ;  but  in 
the  spring  of  this  year  (1863)  Con- 
gress passed  a  measure  enabling 
the  Government  to  issue  fifty  mil- 
lions of  dollars  a-month  in  paper 
money,  without  pledging  any  ma- 
terial guarantee  for  its  eventual  re- 
demption, and  since  then  the  cur- 
rency has  naturally  become  more 
and  more  worthless.  At  present 
Congress  is  engaged  in  passing  a 
measure  to  correct  all  this ;  the 
whole  floating  debt  is  to  be  fund- 
ed, and  a  new  currency  issued  on 
secondary  principles. 

But  to  return  to  the  question  of 
starvation  in  the  Southern  States, 
for  it  is  true  that  many  people  here 
apprehended  such  a  misfortune.  I 
have  no  opportunity  of  seeing  much 
of  what  goes  on  in  the  private 
houses  of  the  poorer  people,  and 
can  only  judge  from  what  I  see  at 
hotels,  and  eating  and  boarding 
houses.  Here,  not  hundreds,  but 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  peo- 
ple take  their  meals,  and  one  may 
fairly  conclude  that  what  is  set  be- 
fore them  is  what  they  are  accus- 
tomed to  expect  at  their  own 
homes. 

I  confess  I  never  saw  such  uni- 
versal profusion,  and,  I  may  say, 
waste.  Hot  meats  and  cold  meats, 
venison  pies,  fish,  oysters  (prepar- 
ed in  half-a-dozen  different  ways), 
eggs,  boiled,  poached,  "scrambled," 
and  in  omelettes,  hot  rolls  and 
cakes,  several  kinds  of  bread,  fruit 
in  the  season,  <fcc.,  <fec.,  are  served 
up  for  breakfast,  with  "  confeder- 
ate" (i.e.,  artificial)  coffee  and  tea, 
at  hotels  and  boarding-houses,  in 
quantities  sufficient  to  satisfy  an 
army  of  hungry  soldiers. 


At  three  o'clock  a  proportionate 
amount  of  food  is  served  up  for 
dinner,  and  the  supper  at  eight  is 
little  less  abundant.  And  for  lodg- 
ing and  this  board,  a  sum  about 
equivalent  to  two  shillings  or  half- 
a-crown  has  to  be  paid.  At  the 
eating-houses  on  the  railroad,  where 
the  trains  stop  for  meals,  the  supply 
is  similar. 

Accustomed  to  this  extraordinary 
plenty,  many  families  may  now 
complain  at  having  to  content 
themselves  with  less  than  their  for- 
mer profusion,  and  yet  the  country 
is  evidently  very  far  from  the  star- 
vation which  the  Yankees  so  chari- 
tably reckon  upon  as  one  of  their 
chief  auxiliaries  in  destroying  the 
population  of  the  South. 

I  never  happened  to  see  the  offi- 
cial order  for  rations  to  soldiers, 
but  the  following  order  shows  the 
ample  allowance  made  to  the  negro 
labourers  when  I  was  at  Mobile : — 

"  Engineer  Office,  Department  of  tlie  Gulf. 
"  Mobile,  Ala.,  December  9,  1SG3. 

' '  General  Orders,  No.  2. 

"I.  The  rations  furnished  by  the 
Government  to  negroes  employed  on 
public  works  will,  in  accordance  with 
General  Order  No.  138,  A.  &  I.  G.  O., 
consist  of : — 

Beef — 1  Ib.  to  the  ration,  daily  issue. 

Pumpkins — 1  Ib.  to  the  ration,  daily 
issue. 

Meal — 1 1  Ib.  to  the  ration,  daily  issue. 

Rice — 10  Ib.  per  100  rations,  8  days 
in  15. 

Pease — 15  Ib.  per  100  rations,  7  days 
in  15. 

Vinegar — £  gallon  per  100  rations, 
daily  issue. 

Soap— -4  Ib.  per  100  rations,  daily 
issue. 

Salt — 44  Ib.  per  100  rations,  daily 
issue. 

"II.  Yard-masters  will  see  that 
their  Commissaries  and  Overseers  are 
furnished  with  the  necessary  scales, 
weights,  and  measures  to  weigh  and 
measure  the  issues  of  rations  made  for 
each  yard. 

"III.  The  attention  of  Overseers  is 
again  called  to  Par.  I.  of  General  Rules 
and  Regulations,  ordered  Nov.  11,  '63. 
They  will  see  that  the  negroes  in  their 
charge  receive  not  only  full  rations, 
but  also  that  they  be  properly  prepared 
and  justly  distributed. 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  18G3-(54. — Conclusion. 


1 59 


"They  will  report  to  the  Yard-mas- 
ter any  deficiency  in  the  issue  of  rations, 
and  in  all  cases  in  which  the  Overseer 
shall  have  neglected  to  observe  this 
rule,  rations  shall  be  purchased  by  the 
Yard-commissary,  and  their  price  be 
deducted  from  the  wages  of  the  delin- 
quent Overseer. 

"  V.  SHKLIIIA,  Lieut. -Colonel." 

I  have  alluded  before  to  the  visit 
we  now  paid  to  the  Libby  Prison, 
•where  970  Yankee  officers  were  con- 
fined. As  1  then  said,  their  quar- 
ters were  remarkably  clean  and 
comfortable.  At  Belle  Isle  we 
found  TOOO  Yankee  prisoners  in 
tents.  They  had  only  thirteen  sick 
at  the  time. 

Amongst  the  prisoners  General 
Neil  Dow,  the  Maine  -  liquor  -  law 
man,  was  pointed  out  to  us.  He 
was  caught  in  Louisiana,  where  he 
used  to  be  subject  to  very  severe 
attacks  of  kleptomania,  and  it  was 
a  matter  of  surprise  and  indigna- 
tion to  some  that  he  had  not  been 
called  to  account  here  for  some  of 
his  misdoings  ;  but  I  suppose  the 
authorities  thought  it  better  that 
some  good  Southerner  in  captivity 
should  be  liberated  by  an  exchange 
for  him,  which  was  soon  afterwards 
done. 

For  a  long  time  all  prisoners 
taken  on  either  side  were  immedi- 
ately paroled  and  sent  home  to 
their  own  country  till  an  exchange 
could  be  effected,  which  was  done 
by  the  heads  of  the  Bureaux  of  Ex- 
change on  either  side,  to  whom  the 
written  paroles  of  the  prisoners 
had  been  forwarded.  Now,  how- 
ever, on  different  pretexts,  the  Yan- 
kees refuse  to  exchange,  as  from 
obvious  reasons  it  is  more  worth 
their  while  to  keep  40,000  South- 
erners in  prison  than  to  release  an 
equal  number  of  their  own  men. 
That  the  poor  fellows  on  both  sides 
suffer  and  die,  is  not  the  kind  of 
thing  to  influence  the  Washington 
Administration. 

We  visited  the  Tredegar  Iron- 
works, the  largest  establishment  of 
the  kind  in  the  Southern  States. 
Heavy  guns,  rails,  and  railroad-car 


wheels  are   made  here,  and  every 
kind  of  manufacture  in  iron. 

We  met  several  friends  who  had 
come  on  furlough  to  Richmond 
from  Longstreet's  army  in  Eastern 
Tennessee.  They  all  said  that 
Knoxville  would  have  been  cer- 
tainly taken  if  they  had  had  two 
days  more  to  spare,  as  the  key  to 
the  position  was  already  in  their 
hands  ;  but  Bragg' s  defeat  at  Chat- 
tano<  >ga  enabled  the  Yankees  to  send 
reinforcements  to  Burnside,  and 
Longstreet  was  forced  to  give  it  up. 
One  day,  at  Major  Norris's,  I 
met  a  gentleman  from  Maryland 
who  has  lately  been  obliged  to  take 
refuge  in  the  South.  Colonel 
Sothern  had  a  large  plantation  on 
the  Patuxent,  in  St  Mary's  county, 
Maryland.  One  day  a  steamer 
came  up  the  river  and  landed  some 
twenty-five  or  thirty  negro  soldiers, 
with  two  officers,  at  a  wharf  near  to 
Colonel  Sothern's  house.  It  soon 
became  evident  that  they  were  on 
a  recruiting  expedition — i.  e.,  bent 
on  kidnapping  darkies  for  substi- 
tutes. One  of  the  officers,  Lieutenant 
Ebenezer  White  of  Massachusetts, 
with  two  men,  came  up  to  the 
plantation  where  the  negroes  were 
at  work  in  the  fields,  and  without 
further  ado  laid  hands  upon  some 
forty  of  them,  and  was  carrying 
them  off  to  the  steamer.  Up- 
on this  Colonel  Sothern,  seiz- 
ing his  fowling-piece,  which  was 
loaded,  and  followed  by  his  son, 
sallied  out  to  protect  his  servants 
and  his  property,  and  on  reaching 
the  party  called  to  his  negroes  to 
return  to  him.  Reassured  by  the 
appearance  of  their  master,  they 
immediately  did  so,  and  in  spite  of 
the  threats  and  menaces  of  the  offi- 
cer refused  to  proceed  any  further 
with  him.  An  altercation  ensued, 
and  the  lieutenant,  furious  at  his 
disappointment,  seized  a  musket 
from  one  of  his  men,  and,  pointing 
it  at  young  Sothern,  pulled  the 
trigger.  Fortunately  the  cap  ex- 
ploded without  discharging  the 
piece  ;  the  lieutenant  then  rushed 
at  Mr  Sothern  with  fixed  bayonet, 


160 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


which  was  within  an  inch  of  his 
son's  breast  when  Colonel  Sothern 
fired  and  shot  the  ruffian  dead. 

The  two  soldiers  ran  off  as  fast 
as  they  conld,  and  the  other  lieute- 
nant with  his  party  of  soldiers  im- 
mediately got  on  board  the  steamer 
and  made  off. 

Although  no  homicide  could  be 


more  justifiable  than  that  commit- 
ted on  this  occasion  by  Colonel 
Sothern,  who  acted  entirely  in  de- 
fence of  his  son's  life,  yet,  under  the 
present  circumstances,  he  could  not 
hope  for  an  impartial  judgment ; 
so,  returning  home, he  and  his  son  at 
once  saddled  their  horses  and  escap- 
ed across  the  lines  to  the  South. 


CHArTKR    XI. 


General  Stuart  had  invited  L., 
V.,  and  myself  to  spend  Christmas 
with  him  at  his  headquarters  near 
Orange  Court-House.  L.  was  pre- 
vented, but  V.  and  I  "  took  the 
cars"  in  that  direction  on  Decem- 
ber the  24th,  a  bitterly  cold  day. 

We  found  an  ambulance  waiting 
for  us  at  the  station,  and  Pearson, 
the  driver,  took  us  up  and  down 
hill  to  the  camp,  over  two  miles  of 
frozen  road,  as  hard  as  his  mules 
could  scamper.  We  had  a  race 
with  a  soldier  on  horseback,  and 
we  beat  him  hollow.  All  the  time 
we  had  to  hold  on  tightly,  or  the 
jolting  of  the  springless  waggon 
would  have  pitched  us  out. 

Stuart  and  the  officers  of  his 
Staff  gave  us  a  hearty  welcome,  and 
before  long  we  were  seated  around 
a  roaring  fire  in  the  General's  tent. 
The  two  Sweenies  played  the  banjo 
and  violin  ;  a  quartett  of  young 
fellows,  couriers  of  the  General, 
sang  some  capital  songs,  in  the  cho- 
ruses of  which  we  all  joined  ;  V., 
who  is  a  great  favourite  of  the 
General's,  told  some  of  his  best 
stories ;  and  altogether  we  passed 
as  merry  a  Christmas  eve  as  we 
could  desire. 

One  of  the  songs  sung  was  writ- 
ten by  Captain  Blackford,  one 
of  General  Stuart's  Staff  -  officers. 
Here  it  is  : — 

THE    CAVALIER'S    GLEE. 

Am — "  The  Pirate's  Glee." 

"  Spur  on  !  spur  on!  we  love  the  hounding 

Of  barbs  that  bear  us  to  the  fray  ; 
'  The  charge'  our  bugles  now  are  sound- 
ing, 
And  our  bold  Stuart  leads  the  way. 


Chorus. 

"  The  path  to  honour  lies  before  us, 
Our  hated  foemen  gather  fast  ; 
At  home  bright  eyes  are  sparkling  for 

us  ; 

We  will  defend  them  to  the  last. 
At  home,  &c. 

"  Spur  on  !  spur  on  !  we  love  the  rushing 
Of  steeds   that   spurn  the  turf  they 

tread ; 
We'll  through  the  Northern  ranks  go 

crushing, 

With  our  proud  battle-flag  o'erhead. 
The  path  of  honour,  &c. 

'•'  Spur  on  !  spur  on  !  we  love  the  flashing 

Of  blades  that  battle  to  be  free  ; 
'Tis  for  our   sunny  South   their  clash- 
ing— 
For  household  gods  and  liberty. 

The  path  of  honour,  &c." 

Stuart's  camp  is  always  one  of 
the  j oiliest ;  as  the  General  is  very 
fond  of  music  and  singing,  and  is 
always  gay  and  in  good  spirits  him- 
self, and  when  he  laughs  heartily, 
as  frequently  happens,  he  winds  up 
with  a  shout  very  cheering  to  hear. 
One  of  his  couriers,  Grant,  has  a 
magnificent  voice. 

The  couriers,  a  certain  number 
of  whom  are  attached  to  every 
general's  staff,  do  not  rank  as  offi- 
cers, though  they  perform  pretty 
much  the  same  duty  as  is  done  in 
European  armies  by  aides-de-camp 
and  galopins.  They  are  usually 
young  fellows  of  good  family,  and, 
of  course,  provide  their  own  horses. 

Stuart  gave  up  his  tent  and  blan- 
kets to  me  when  we  retired  to  rest, 
and  the  next  morning  we  paid  our  re- 
spects to  Mrs  Stuart,  who  was  stay- 
ing at  a  gentleman's  house  not  far 
off.  Here  we  were  also  introduced 


1865.1 


Confederate  States,  1863  64. — Conclusion. 


1(51 


to  "  (Jencral  Jimmy  J.  E.  15.  Stuart, 
junior,"  as  he  culls  himself,  a  sturdy 
young  four-year-old,  very  fond  of 
visiting  his  father's  camp,  and  run- 
ning about  amongst  the  horses'  legs. 
Horses  never  kick  in  this  country, 
but  the  same  cannot  be  said  of  the 
mules,  so  this  propensity  of  the 
young  gentleman  causes  some  anx- 
iety. 

We  went  on  to  visit  General  Lee. 
The  General,  who  was  just  return- 
ing from  church,  welcomed  us  very 
kindly,  and  we  sat  in  his  tent  and 
conversed  for  some  time. 

General  Lee  lamented  the  suffer- 
ing caused  by  the  war,  especially  to 
the  poor  country-people  in  this 
neighbourhood.  They  have  been 
stripped  of  everything,  he  told  us, 
by  the  Yankees,  and  their  houses 
often  burnt  down,  for  no  practical 
purpose,  as  this  part  of  the  country 
was  far  too  much  exhausted  to  ex- 
tract any  supplies  from.  But  it 
appeared  to  be  part  of  the  war 
policy  of  the  enemy  to  devastate 
the  whole  country  wherever  they 
occupied  it. 

When  I  began  to  mention  the 
way  his  own  property  had  been 
treated  at  Arlington,  he  interrupt- 
ed me  at  once,  saying,  "  That  I  can 
easily  understand,  and  for  that  I 
don't  care  ;  but  I  do  feel  sorry  for 
the  poor  creatures  I  see  here  starved 
and  driven  from  their  homes  for 
no  reason  whatever." 

General  Lee  pressed  us  to  remain 
and  partake  of  his  Christmas  fare, 
but  we  were  obliged  to  decline  the 
honour,  as  we  were  already  engaged 
to  General  .Stuart.  Just  as  we  had 
started  on  our  return,  however,  a 
messenger  came  galloping  up  to 
advise  us,  if  we  Avere  invited  to 
dinner,  to  accept  by  all  means,  as 
the  turkey  and  ducks  and  other 
delicacies  had  not  arrived.  But  it 
was  too  late.  We  got  a  pretty 
good  dinner  notwithstanding. 

The  amount  of  good  cheer  that 
has  been  sent  up  to  the  army 
this  Christmas  by  their  friends  at 
home  is  something  wonderful.  One 
North  Carolina  regiment  is  said  to 


have  received  two  hundred  turkeys. 
Stuart  had  an  enormous  box  of 
oysters  sent  him.  They  were  all 
hard  frozen.  In  the  evening  our 
amusement  was  to  throw  them  into 
the  burning  embers  of  our  roaring 
fire,  and  pick  them  out  roasted. 
Oysters  in  this  country  are  rather 
too  large  to  eat  raw,  but  roasted 
they  are  delicious. 

A  story  has  gone  abroad  and 
been  widely  circulated  that  the 
General  had  been  in  the  habit 
last  summer  of  always  decking 
his  horse  with  garlands  of  Mowers, 
iVc.  Stuart  had  been  rather  an- 
noyed by  it,  as  not  only  had  all  the 
newspapers  abused  him  for  his 
levity,  but  many  persons  had  re- 
monstrated with  him  by  letter  on 
the  subject,  so  that  he  had  had  no 
end  of  worry. 

It  seems  that  the  only  founda- 
tion for  the  story  is  that  one  day, 
as  Stuart  was  riding  through  a  vil- 
lage, a  young  lady  came  out  and 
hung  a  chaplet  of  flowers  over  his 
horse's  neck.  Of  course  the  Gen- 
eral was  too  polite  to  take  it  oil'  as 
long  as  the  lady  was  within  sight ; 
but  although  he  did  so  immedi- 
ately afterwards,  several  persons 
had  seen  him  riding  with  it,  and 
rumour,  with  her  thousand  tongues, 
got  hold  of  the  story.  So  much 
was  this  absurd  affair  exaggerated, 
that  at  one  time  it  was  seriously 
injuring  his  reputation. 

A  deserter  was  brought  in  in  the 
course  of  the  evening.  He  had 
entered  the  old  army  seven  years 
ago,  but  had  never  bargained  up- 
on fighting  against  his  own  coun- 
trymen, he  said.  Till  very  lately 
he  had  been  stationed  in  the  Far 
West,  and  his  company  had  only 
just  joined  the  army  of  the  Poto- 
mac, where  they  were  very  much 
disgusted  with  everything  they 
saw — the  oflieers  were  always  drunk 
— none  of  them  knew  their  duty. 
He  and  all  his  comrades  had  made 
up  their  minds  to  quit  at  the  first 
opportunity,  and  here  he  was. 

General  Stuart  is  an  absolute  tee- 
totaller, and  never  drinks  anything 


162 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  tJie 


[Feb. 


stronger  than  lemonade.  He  says 
that  if  he  were  to  drink  any  strong 
liquors  at  all,  he  is  sure  he  should 
be  too  fond  of  it,  and  there- 
fore prefers  total  abstinence.  Nor 
does  he  ever  smoke.  It  was,  how- 
ever, imperative  that  V.  and  I 
should  have  some  egg-nogg,  a  com- 
pound which  is  universally  par- 
taken of  in  Virginia  at  this  season 
of  the  year.  Accordingly,  next 
morning,  we  walked  over,  about  a 
mile,  to  the  Quartermaster's  camp, 
where  some  of  this  beverage  had 
been  prepared.  It  is  a  very  nice 
mixture  of  rum,  sugar,  and  eggs. 

Captain  Grattan,  the  General's 
ordnance  officer,  who  was  with 
us,  told  us  an  anecdote  of  his 
political  life  before  the  war. 
He  had  been  a  candidate  for 
some  county  office,  for  which  a 
number  of  others  had  competed. 
All  had  to  make  a  stump  speech, 
and  when  Grattan's  turn  came  his 
competitors  had  exhausted  most 
subjects  :  he  thought  one  piece  of 
spouting  would  do  as  well  as  an- 
other, and  he  gave  his  audience 
"  My  name's  M'Gregor,  on  my 
mountain  heath,"  &c.,  and  treated 
them  to  a  fine  piece  of  ranting. 
All  were  delighted,  except  one  old 
farmer,  who  had  promised  him  his 
vote.  "  What  does  he  say  is  his 
name  1 "  he  complained.  "I  thought 
his  name  was  Grattan  ;  I'm  not 
going  to  vote  for  M'Gregor." 

The  camps  in  these  winter  quar- 
ters are  more  regularly  laid  out 
than  I  have  seen  them  before. 
Each  tent  has  a  large  chimney,  the 
lower  part  of  stones  and  brick,  with 
a  flue  constructed  of  logs  of  wood, 
the  interstices  filled  up  with  turf 
or  moss. 

Colonel  St  Leger  Grenfell's  tent 
and  stable  are  a  model  to  be  studied, 
and  worthy  of  such  an  old  cam- 
paigner. The  Colonel,  who  is  in- 
spector-general of  cavalry,  has  only 
lately  been  transferred  to  this  army, 
and  looks  back  with  regret  to  the 
stirring  and  fighting  time  when  he 
was  with  Morgan  in  the  West. 

He  told  us  some  capital  stories 


of  his  various  adventures.  Few 
men  can  have  seen  and  done  more 
fighting  than  he  has.  He  at  one 
time  commanded  the  body-guard 
of  Abd-el-Kader.  At  another  lie 
fitted  out  a  privateer,  and  cruised 
on  his  own  account  against  the  Riff 
pirates.  He  has  served  in  Turkey, 
India,  South  America,  and  I  know 
not  how  many  other  places.  Mor- 
gan's men  in  the  West  adored  their 
"  fighting  old  Colonel,"  and  would 
have  followed  him  anywhere. 

Few  young  men  of  twenty  are  as 
active  and  full  of  life  as  Colonel 
Grenfell,  who  is  now  not  far  from 
sixty.  One  day  I  rode  with  the 
General  and  Blackford  to  Clarke's 
Mountain,  whence  we  could  see  the 
position  of  both  armies  very  clearly. 
Coming  back  we  went  into  a  farm- 
house for  some  milk.  A  crazy  gen- 
tleman sat  by  the  fire  apparently  in 
his  second  childhood,  but  when  we 
said  something  about  his  being  old, 
they  exclaimed,  "  Oh  no  !  he's  not 
old  at  all ;  he's  only  seventy-seven." 
"  Time  to  lose  his  body  as  well  as 
his  mind,"  Stuart  remarked  after 
we  had  left. 

Enlivened  by  our  symposium,  we 
galloped  home  merrily,  singing  the 
'  Cavalier's  Glee,'  and  many  other 
songs  as  we  rode  through  the  night. 

Of  course  all  the  scouts  report  to 
Stuart,  and  their  adventures  were 
often  the  theme  of  conversation  in 
camp.  The  scouts  here  are  gener- 
ally young  Virginians,  who  are  in- 
timately acquainted  with  every  hole 
and  corner  in  the  country,  for  Vir- 
ginians are  fond  of  field-sports,  and 
their  old-fashioned  slow  style  of 
hunting  gives  them  a  perfect  know- 
ledge of  the  country. 

The  other  day,  or  rather  night, 
three  young  fellows  who  were  re- 
connoitring had  lain  down  in  a 
wood  to  sleep  under  their  blankets. 
Amongst  them  was  one  of  Stuart's 
most  famous  scouts,  but  I  must 
not  mention  names.  In  the  night, 
which  was  rainy,  they  were  dis- 
covered by  a  party  of  some  half- 
dozen  Yankees.  Bringing  a  lan- 
tern to  bear  upon  the  sleepers, 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64. — Conclusion. 


103 


"  Hollo  !  Rebs,"  one  of  them  called 
out — "  hollo  !  Rebs  ;  come  along 
with  us,  and  we'll  give  you  better 
quarters."  "Oh  Frank,  I  do  wish 
you  would  leave  me  alone,"  said 

— ,  pretending  to  be  half  asleep  ; 
but  all  the  time  he  was  fumbling 
about  under  his  blanket  for  his  six- 
shooter,  and  when  he  had  got  it 
ready  he  let  tly,  and  shot  the  Yan- 
kee stone  dead.  Singularly  enough, 
the  musket  of  the  man  discharged 
itself  as  he  was  falling,  and  killed 
one  of  —  — 's  companions.  The  re- 
maining two  were  on  their  feet  in 
ii  trice — bang,  bang — bang,  bang — 
went  the  six  -  shooters  on  either 
side,  and  in  half  a  second  three 
more  of  the  Yankees  were  dead, 
and  the  others  were  off. 

The  headquarters  of  the  generals, 
both  on  the  Federal  and  the  Con- 
federate side,  are  distinguished  by  a 
large  flag,  which  is  always  guarded 
by  a  sentinel,  and  the  scout  I  have 
been  speakingof  once  brought  in  the 
very  flag  which  had  been  floating 
before  the  headquarters  of  Meade, 
the  Yankee  commander-in-chief. 

An  amusing  story  was  told  of  his 
disappointment  on  one  occasion 
when  he  hoped  to  capture  a  Yan- 
kee quartermaster,  who  he  knew 
had  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
greenbacks  about  his  person.  He 
rode  with  him  for  a  long  while, 
pretending  to  be  himself  a  Yankee, 
and  saying  he  knew  the  gentlemen 
in  the  neighbourhood  were  a  set  of 
rebel  scoundrels  whom  it  would  be 
meritorious  to  rob,  and  pointing  to 
one  house  and  another  declared 
there  was  capital  whisky  to  be 
found  there,  and  dwelt  on  the  ad- 
vantage it  would  be  to  his  quarter- 
master stores  to  prig  some  of  it ; 
but  it  was  all  in  vain.  Either  the 
quartermaster  was  not  thirsty,  or 
he  had  a  private  bottle,  or  perhaps 
he  was  an  honest  man  ;  at  any  rate 
he  resisted  every  temptation,  and 
thus  saved  his  bacon  and  his  green- 
backs. 

Stuart  accompanied  us  back  to 
Richmond  on  the  last  day  of  De- 
cember. 

VOL.  xcvu. — NO.  DXCII. 


On  Xew  Year's  Day  we  paid  our 
respects  at  court  like  everybody 
else.  The  President  looked,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  was,  very  much 
fatigued  with  the  exertion  of  shak- 
ing hands  and  exchanging  compli- 
ments with  the  multitude  of  visitors 
who  called  upon  him  on  the  occa- 
sion. Of  generals  at  present  in 
Richmond  there  are,  as  they  say 
here,  "  quite  a  number/' — Hood, 
who  is  fast  recovering  from  the 
severe  wound  he  received  at  Chica- 
mauga,  A.  P.  Hill,  Buckner,  Pres- 
ton, Williams,  Gordon,  and  others  ; 
but  the  hero  of  the  day  is  John 
Morgan.  He  lately  made  his  es- 
cape from  prison,  having  been 
captured  last  July  during  a  raid  in 
Ohio.  On  his  coming  to  Rich- 
mond a  grand  reception  was  given 
to  him  by  the  city. 

I  met  him  often,  and  one  even- 
ing had  a  long  conversation  with 
him.  He  is  a  very  fine  fellow,  tall 
and  handsome,  and  his  men  are 
devoted  to  him. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  he 
was  to  take  the  field  again  with  a 
separate  command,  every  one  was 
anxious  to  join  him,  and  his  ad- 
jutant-general told  me  afterwards 
that  within  three  weeks  he  had 
answered  above  fourteen  thousand 
applications.  But  none  are  al- 
lowed to  join  Morgan  except  na- 
tive Kentuckians. 

As  Morgan's  men  are  always 
called  guerillas  by  the  Yankees,  it 
may  be  as  well  to  say  here  that 
they  are  regular  soldiers. 

Guerillas  are  civilians  who  take 
up  arms  on  an  emergency  to  de- 
fend their  homes  and  property, 
but  who  resume  their  peaceful  pur- 
suits as  soon  as  the  enemy  has 
left  their  own  immediate  neighbour- 
hood. 

Morgan's  command  consists,  and 
always  did  consist,  almost  exclu- 
sively of  young  Kentuckians,  sons 
of  country  gentlemen  in  that  State, 
who  have  voluntarily  taken  up 
arms  and  regularly  enlisted  in  the 
Confederate  service.  Kentucky  be- 
ing still  nominally  a  Yankee  State, 
M 


A  Visit  to  tlie  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


they  could  not  now,  if  they  wished 
it,  return  to  their  home. 

That  the  Yankees,  when  they 
captured  Morgan  and  a  large  part 
of  his  command  last  summer,  should 
have  confined  them  in  a  peniten- 
tiary, and  subjected  them  to  all 
manner  of  indignities,  is  a  disgrace 
to  them  and  not  to  Morgan  and 
his  brave  followers.  If  they  had 
been  accused  of  anything  contrary 
to  the  rules  of  war,  they  ought  to 
have  been  tried  by  a  court-martial, 
but  such  a  pretence  was  never  set 
up.  They  simply  treated  them  as 
malefactors  because  they  chose  to 
do  so,  and  when  the  Confederate 
authorities  demanded  an  explana- 
tion and  threatened  them  with  re- 
taliation, it  was  found  that  no  one 
was  responsible  for  the  outrage. 

Nothing  would  be  easier  than 
for  the  Confederates  to  confine  an 
equal  number  of  prisoners  in  a  peni- 
tentiary and  shave  their  heads  in 
retaliation,  but  they  have  not 
done  so. 

Congress,  in  both  houses,  has 
been  voting  thanks  to  the  generals 
and  armies,  and,  what  we  all 
thought  an  especially  graceful  act, 
both  houses  gave  a  particular  vote 
of  thanks  to  Major  Von  Borcke,  a 
Prussian  officer  who  has  done  gal- 
lant service  under  General  Stuart, 
and  was  very  severely  wounded 
during  the  Pennsylvania  campaign. 
A  similar  compliment  was  paid 
during  the  revolutionary  war  to 
Lafayette. 

There  are  very  few  foreigners  in 
the  Confederate  service.  As  Presi- 
dent Davis  said  to  Captain  Feilden 
at  Charleston  a  short  time  ago — 
"  Our  service  offers  but  little  in- 
ducement to  the  soldier  of  fortune, 
but  a  great  deal  to  the  man  of 
principle."  The  few  who  have 
entered  the  Confederate  service 
have,  almost  without  exception, 
distinguished  themselves  highly. 

The  Yankee  service,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  crowded  with  adventurers. 
Not  only  was  the  North  easy  of 
access,  but,  from  having  been  for 
a  long  time  the  receptacle  of  the 


"  scum  and  refuse  of  Europe," 
most  of  the  revolutionary  heroes 
of  1848  and  later,  such  as  Blenker, 
were  there  already. 

In  European  armies  numberless 
officers  are  obliged  to  quit  their 
profession,  mostly  from  having 
been  extravagant ;  and  to  these 
"  soldiers  of  fortune  "  the  American 
war  has  been  a  perfect  godsend. 
They  have  all  espoused  the  North- 
ern cause,  not  because  it  was  dear- 
est, but  because  it  was  nearest  to 
them.  Many  of  them  are  excel- 
lent officers.  The  Southern  Con- 
federacy being  very  difficult  of 
access,  the  foreigners  who  have 
taken  service  here  have  all  been 
impelled  to  do  so  by  their  sym- 
pathy with  the  cause,  which  is  in 
truth  a  noble  one.  Very  few  for- 
eign officers  even  visit  the  South- 
ern States  now,  which  surprises 
me,  for  nothing  could  exceed  the 
courtesy  and  kindness  with  which 
strangers  are  received;  and  so  in- 
teresting a  period  of  seeing  the 
country  can  hardly  be  expected  to 
occur  again.  At  present,  there  is 
a  young  English  officer  of  engin- 
eers here,  who,  with  but  a  very 
short  leave  of  absence,  crossed  the 
lines  on  foot  with  a  small  kit,  saw 
the  army  in  Northern  Virginia, 
visited  Charleston,  Wilmington, 
&c.,  and  is  now  going  to  walk 
across  the  lines  again  on  his  re- 
turn. With  the  exception  of  Colo- 
nel F.,  no  other  "  tourist,"  as  far 
as  I  am  aware,  has  visited  the 
country  since  I  have  been  here. 
I  attended  the  sittings  of  Con- 
gress on  several  occasions,  and  was 
struck  with  the  fluency  of  the  mem- 
bers and  the  general  excellence  of 
the  speeches  made. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  from  con- 
versation with  politicians  here,  how 
very  little  it  had  been  expected  in 
the  South  that  secession  would 
have  been  followed  by  war.  When 
South  Carolina,  thirty  years  ago, 
"nullified" — that  is,  refused  to 
carry  out  a  law  which  had  been 
passed  by  the  Federal  Congress — 
the  argument  against  her  was  that 


1865.] 


Confederate  Sfatet,  1663-64. — Conclusion. 


1G5 


she  had  no  riyht  to  remain  in  tlte. 
Union  if  she  would  not  accept  the 
laws  passed  in  Congress.  When 
Texas  was  received  into  the  Union 
H.S  a  slave  State,  the  Legislature  of 
Massachusetts  actually  passed  an 
ordinance  of  secession  ;  but  as  no 
other  State  followed  the  example, 
no  further  action  was  taken  in  the 
matter.  No  one  would  have  dreamt 
of  coercion  if  Massachusetts  had 
persisted  in  her  resolution.  At  the 
election  of  Buchanan  there  was  a 
great  outcry  in  the  North  for  se- 
cession ;  but  when  Hill  of  New 
Hampshire  introduced  a  motion 
into  the  Senate  that  the  Union 
should  be  dissolved,  lie  found  only 
two  supporters.  Their  names  were 
Seward  and  Chase,  both  now  the 
most  prominent  supporters  of  the 
Union.  As  to  the  doctrine  of 
sovereign  states  rights,  the  North- 
ern States  were  formerly  the  great 
supporters  of  it.  During  the  war 
of  1812,  the  New  England  States 
refused  to  allow  their  troops  to  be 
used  beyond  the  borders  of  their 
own  respective  States,  on  the 
ground  that  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment had  no  business  to  interfere 
with  their  sovereign  rights  ;  and  it 
is  not  thirty  years  now  since  the 
State  of  New  York  very  nearly 
engaged  in  a  war  with  England 
upon  her  own  responsibility,  by 
refusing,  at  the  demand  of  the 
Federal  Government,  to  release  a 
British  subject  who  had  been  arrest- 
ed by  the  New  York  State  authori- 
ties on  suspicion  of  having  been 
concerned  in  the  destruction  of  the 
Caroline,  a  steamer  fitted  out  by 
American  sympathisers  in  aid  of 
the  rebellion  in  Canada. 

On  the  9th  of  January  I  accom- 
panied General  Stuart  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  to  see  some  of  his  bri- 
gades near  Fredericksburg.  We 
got  out  of  the  cars  at  Hamil- 
ton's Crossing,  and  visited  General 
Young's  brigade,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  Fredericksburg.  The 
two  Generals  drove  in  a  sledge, 
whilst  I  rode  with  an  orderly,  who 
was  to  take  care  of  my  horse,  and 


who  was  a  very  communicative  fel- 
low. He  gave  me  lots  of  informa- 
tion on  their  cavalry  matters,  which 
I  need  not  repeat. 

The  Mayor  of  Fredericksburg — 
who  possesses,  what  is  remaikablc 
since  the  battles  last  year,  an  entire- 
house,  with  furniture  in  it — enter- 
tained us  hospitably,  and  in  the 
evening  we  went  to  a  ball. 

Fredericksburg,  which,  before 
the  war,  is  said  to  have  been  a 
delightful  residence,  has  undergone 
manifold  misfortunes  in  the  last 
two  years.  After  having  been  in 
Yankee  hands  in  the  summer  of 
1:^(52,  it  suffered  a  terrible  ordeal 
in  December  of  that  year  when  the 
battle  took  place  to  which  it  gives 
its  name.  It  was  bombarded  for 
hours  together,  after  which  the 
Yankees  took  possession  ;  and 
finally,  before  leaving,  they  totally 
pillaged  it.  Again,  during  the  bat- 
tle of  Chancellorsville,  the  enemy 
got  possession,  and  again  they  pil- 
laged it.  It  is  still  so  near  the 
Yankee  lines  that,  although  safe 
at  present,  it  may  at  any  moment 
be  subjected  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  their  armies.  Consequently, 
although  the  inhabitants  have  re- 
turned to  their  homes,  they  are  by 
no  means  as  particular  as  they  used 
to  be  about  having  good  furniture, 
and  everything  nice  and  stylish 
about  them.  In  the  ball-room,  at 
the  private  house  where  we  danced, 
there  was  very  little  furniture 
besides  the  piano,  and  it  was  illumi- 
nated by  tallow-candles  stuck  into 
empty  black  bottles.  Perhaps  some 
of  the  ladies  may  have  been  dressed 
in  homespun  instead  of  silks  and 
satins — but  it  was  too  dark  to  see. 
For  all  that,  we  had  as  pleasant  a 
party  as  could  possibly  be  ;  and 
were  very  sorry  when  twelve 
o'clock  came  and  put  an  end  to  the 
ball,  as  the  next  day  was  Sunday. 

On  leaving  —  there  had  been 
none  but  young  ladies  there,  no 
chaperon  es  —  every  young  lady 
paired  off  with  a  gentleman  who 
accompanied  her  to  her  home. 
Unacquainted  with  the  customs  of 


106 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


the  country,  I  was  left  out  in  the 
cold  without  &  partner,  much  to 
Stuart's  amusement.  This  was  a 
new  experience,  although  I  _  had 
seen  and  admired  before  the  inde- 
pendence which  young  ladies  are 
allowed  in  America. 

I  rode  over  the  battle-field  of 
Fredericksburg  with  General  Stu- 
art, who  described  the  battle  and 
pointed  out  the  different  positions 
to  me.  Fredericksburg  is  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Rappahannock, 
close  to  the  river.  The  Stafford 
Heights,  which  Burnside  occupied, 
rise  immediately  on  the  other  side. 
They  were  covered  with  heavy 
guns,  which  not  only  commanded 
the  city,  which  they  bombarded 
for  several  hours  to  clear  it  of  the 
Confederates,  but  could  also  sweep 
the  plains  beyond  ;  and  it  was  un- 
der cover  of  these  guns  that,  after 
effecting  the  passage  of  the  river, 
the  Federals  advanced  against  the 
position  occupied  by  Lee.  This 
was  by  no  means  as  formidable  a 
one  as  I  had  always  before  ima- 
gined. 

About  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
from  the  city  there  are  some  low 
hills.  Marye's  Height,  on  Lee's  left 
centre,  is  in  itself  very  insignifi- 
cant ;  but  it  happened  that  just 
below  it  there  was  a  road,  which 
for  a  few  hundred  yards  was  sunk 
about  five  feet  lower  than  the  open 
plain  which  intervenes  between 
Fredericksburg  and  the  hills. 

Thus  a  most  formidable  natural 
breastwork  was  formed,  out  of 
which,  even  if  there  had  been  faint 
hearts  amongst  the  gallant  troops 
who  lined  it,  no  one  could  retreat 
without  exchanging  comparative 
safety  for  great  exposure  and  dan- 
ger. 

It  struck  me,  as  I  looked  at  this, 
that  a  line  of  defence  might  be 
made  much  more  formidable  by 
digging  deep  ditches,  than  by 
throwing  up  breast-works,  from 
which  men  are  often  driven  by  a 
panic.  Two  lines,  a  hundred  yards 
apart,  like  this  sunken  road — they 
of  course  need  not  be  made  so 


broad — would  be  an  awkward  thing 
to  storm. 

Meagher's  Irish  brigade  attacked 
Marye's  Hill  with  a  gallantry  which 
was  the  admiration  of  all  who  be- 
held it,  but  they  were  literally  an- 
nihilated by  the  Confederates  lining 
the  road,  who  themselves  suffered 
hardly  any  loss.  Fourteen  hun- 
dred and  sixty  Irish  were  buried, 
who  in  this  attack  had  fallen  on  a 
piece  of  ground  about  forty  yards 
deep  and  three  hundred  broad.  As 
is  well  known,  the  Yankees  were 
everywhere  repulsed,  and  next  day 
retired  across  the  river  under  cover 
of  the  guns  on  the  Stafford  Heights. 

Some  surprise,  I  remember,  was 
expressed  when  the  news  of  Burn- 
side's  defeat  reached  Europe  that 
Lee  had  not  pressed  his  retreat ; 
but  as  any  advance  of  the  Con- 
federates over  the  open  plain  which 
intervened  between  them  and  the 
Rappahannock  would  have  ex- 
posed them  to  the  sweep  of  the 
Federal  artillery  on  the  high  hills 
which  rise  abruptly  on  the  northern 
bank,  it  would  not  have  been  easy 
to  do  so. 

A  more  favourable  place  for  cross- 
ing a  river  in  the  face  of  the  enemy 
than  at  Fredericksburg  could  not 
well  be  found ;  that  is  to  say,  by  an 
army  coming  from  the  north,  and 
being  consequently  in  possession  of 
the  Stafford  Heights.  To  force  a 
passage  there  from  the  south  in  the 
face  of  those  heights  would  be 
simply  out  of  the  question.  The 
position  on  the  northern  bank  of 
the  river  is  entirely  impregnable ; 
and  in  comparing  it  with  that  on 
the  southern  side  in  the  early  part 
of  the  war,  and  long  before  the 
battle,  one  of  the  Southern  Gene- 
rals— I  think,  Joe  Johnstone — is  re- 
ported to  have  said  that  there  was 
as  much  difference  between  the  two 
positions  as  between  a  horse  chest- 
nut and  a  chestnut  horse. 

We  returned  in  time  for  church, 
where  Dr  Moore  of  Richmond,  a 
celebrated  preacher,  gave  us  an  ex- 
cellent sermon.  The  clergyman  was 
a  Presbyterian,  but  the  congrega- 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64. — Conclusion. 


167 


tion  was  almost  entirely  Episco- 
palian. In  Virginia  all  the  old 
families  are  Episcopalians,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  higher  classes 
were  universally  so  in  the  South. 
In  country  places,  I  understand 
that  many,  though  professing  them- 
selves Christians,  and  attending 
some  service  regularly,  are  of  no 
particular  denomination,  but  fre- 
quent any  church  that  may  be  most 
convenient  to  them. 

The  next  day  we  drove  to  Hamil- 
ton's Crossing,  and  met  there  ( !ene- 
ral  Wade  Hampton,*  who  commands 
one  of  Stuart's  divisions  of  cavalry. 
General  Hampton  is  a  gentleman 
of  very  large  landed  property  in 
South  Carolina,  and  was  not  a  pro- 
fessional soldier  before  the  war. 
At  its  commencement,  however,  lie 
raised  a  "  legion,"  and  equipped  it 
at  his  own  expense,  and  is  now 
very  highly  thought  of  as  a  cavalry 
general. 

He   was    severely  wounded    at 


Gettysburg  both  by  sabre  and  bullet, 

but  seems  to  have  perfectly  re- 
covered. From  Hamilton's  Cross- 
ing we  took  the  cars  to  Guiness 
Station,  whence  we  proceeded  to 
General  Gordon's  cam]),  and  re- 
viewed his  brigade  of  North  Caro- 
liniansyjt  was  too  cold  for  the 
men  to  tirrn  out  regularly,  but  we 
rode  and  walked  about  through  the 
camp,  and  saw  how  they  were  get- 
ting on.  The  horses  were  in  good 
condition  in  spite  of  the  severe 
weather  ;  of  course  they  were  as 
shaggy  as  bears. 

We  spent  a  pleasant  evening  at 
the  house  of  a  Mr  Coleuian,  where 
we  slept,  and  next  day  we  returned 
to  Richmond. 

On  the  14th  of  January  a  grand 
dinner  was  given  at  the  Oriental 
to  L.,  who  is  returning  to  Eng- 
land, much  to  the  regret  of  his 
many  friends  here.  Some  excellent 
speeches  were  made  on  the  occa- 
sion. 


After  spending  six  weeks  very 
pleasantly  at  Richmond,  I  decided 
to  visit  Mobile  and  the  army  of  the 
Mississippi.  A  journey  of  such 
length  by  rail  in  the  present  state 
of  the  cars  is  rather  an  undertaking, 
but  I  was  fortunate  in  having  two 
very  pleasant  travelling  compan- 
ions, Colonel  Walton  and  Colonel 
Deas. 

We  started  about  the  end  of 
January,  and  slept  the  first  night 
at  Petersburg.  Here  we  spent  the 
evening  with  Captain  Dunne,  aide- 
de-camp  to  General  Longstreet,  who, 
having  been  wounded  at  Knoxville, 
was  now  staying  with  his  wife  and 
family  at  his  home  in  the  city. 
Here  too  we  met  Captain  Winthrop 
again,  an  Englishman,  who  was 
badly  wounded  at  Bean's  Station, 
where  he  distinguished  himself 
very  highly. 


At  Wilmington  we  made  a  longer 
stay.  V.  left  us,  going  by  the 
Hansa  to  Nassau,  and  thence  to 
Europe.  General  Whiting  took  us 
down  one  day,  and  we  went  over 
all  the  fortifications  at  the  mouth 
of  the  river.  Fort  Caswell,  and  the 
other  works  at  the  south  outlet  of 
the  river,  I  had  not  seen  before. 
They  are  exceedingly  strong.  "  Not 
fortifications,"  says  Colonel  Deas, 
but  "  tiftyfications  at  least." 

Another  day  there  was  a  review. 
The  garrison  here  is  numerous,  and 
the  regiments  more  complete  than 
is  usual.  They  were  more  uni- 
formly dressed,  too,  than  I  had 
seen  any  Confederate  troops  before. 
The  men — chiefly  North  Carolini- 
ans— are  a  fine-looking  race,  and 
went  through  their  evolutions  un- 
exceptionably.  General  Whiting, 
who,  at  West  Point,  graduated  No. 


*  He  is  the  general  who  made  the  successful  cavalry  raid  lately,  rapturing 
3000  head  of  cattle. 


1G8 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  tJie 


[Feb. 


1  in  everything,  is  an  excellent 
soldier,  and  had  evidently  taken  a 
great  deal  of  pains  with  his  division. 
A  brigade  of  his  about  this  time 
went  on  an  expedition  against  the 
Yankees,  near  Newbern,  in  this 
.State,  North  Carolina,  and  gained 
much  success  and  credit.  As  we 
were  not  pressed  for  time,  we  deter- 
mined to  avoid  the  main  thorough- 
fare by  Atlanta,  which  was  sure 
to  be  excessively  crowded,  and  to 
travel  by  Charleston  and  Savannah. 

Colonel  Gordon,  an  Englishman 
in  the  Confederate  service,  and  C., 
accompanied  us  as  far  as  Savannah, 
so  we  were  "  quite  a  party." 

At  Charleston  we  remained  for 
two  days.  The  Yankees  had  re- 
commenced shelling  the  city  some 
time  before,  but  comparatively 
little  mischief  was  being  done. 
Few  shells  fall  beyond  the  part  of 
the  town  which  was  destroyed  by 
a  fire  previous  to  the  first  bombard- 
ment, and  the  houses  of  Charleston, 
as  in  most  cities  of  the  Southern 
States,  are  very  much  scattered, 
except  in  two  or  three  business 
streets,  each  one  standing  in  a  large 
courtyard,  and  having  besides  a 
garden  of  shrubs  and  "  shade  trees." 
Thus  nine  out  of  ten  shells  fall 
harmless ;  and  the  hope  of  the 
Yankees  to  set  fire  to  the  city  or  to 
batter  it  down  has  been  hitherto 
entirely  disappointed. 

The  district  nearest  the  bay, 
which  is  most  exposed  to  the  shell- 
ing, is  nearly  deserted  by  the 
inhabitants,  but  still  ladies  enter 
it  without  hesitation  to  visit  their 
houses ;  and  a  friend  of  mine, 
Captain  Mordecai,  told  me  that  he 
had  in  vain  attempted  to  prevail 
on  his  old  negro  housekeeper  to 
evacuate  his  premises.  "  Them 
shells  never  do  nobody  any  harm," 
she  argued. 

In  walking  through  this  part  of 
the  city,  the  only  observable  results 
of  the  bombardment  are  the  broken 
windows  in  houses  where  shells 
have  exploded  ;  and  General  Jor- 
dan never  even  hinted  the  possi- 
bility of  its  being  an  objection  to 


our  visiting  the  Battery  and  other 
exposed  places  to  have  a  look  at 
Fort  Suinter,  the  Blakeney  guns, 
and  other  objects  of  curiosity,  and 
he  and  several  of  his  fellow  officers 
accompanied  us  on  the  expedition. 

Various  individuals  were  loung- 
ing about  in  the  streets  and  on  the 
Battery,  which  Battery,  I  think  I 
have  mentioned  before,  is  not  a 
battery,  but  a  promenade  from 
whence  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of 
the  harbour  and  bay.  Of  the  row 
of  fine  houses  here — the  best  in 
Charleston— fronting  the  bay,  only 
one  has  been  struck  by  a  shell. 

In  the  "  safe  district"  we  visited 
the  "  Soldiers'  Home,"  where  every 
soldier,  whether  wounded  or  sick, 
or  travelling  on  furlough  to  visit 
his  friends,  is  provided  with  board 
and  lodging.  Everything  was  ad- 
mirably clean  and  well  kept,  and 
the  dinner,  which  was  just  being 
served,  appeared  excellent.  In 
almost  every  town  in  the  South 
there  is  an  establishment  of  the 
same  description,  generally  close  to 
the  railway  station.  They  are  sup- 
ported by  the  surrounding  country, 
and  in  many  of  them  the  ladies  of 
the  neighbourhood  take  it  by  turns 
to  wait  upon  their  guests. 

The  establishment  at  Charleston 
is  extensive,  and  we  were  shown 
over  it  by  Mr  Gibbs,  a  wealthy 
Charlestonian,  who  has  remained 
in  the  beleaguered  city,  determined 
to  abide  by  his  native  place  in  its 
dark  hour ;  and  he  makes  this 
"  Home  "  an  object  of  his  chief  care 
and  solicitude. 

We  had  a  very  pleasant  journey 
to  Savannah.  The  weather  was 
delightful  ;  indeed,  from  the  time 
we  reached  Wilmington  we  had 
found  the  climate  entirely  different 
from  that  we  had  left  at  Richmond. 

A  Mr  B n  had  joined  our  party, 

— a  New  Orleans  gentleman,  and  a 
friend  of  Colonel  Deas,  who  was 
very  amusing. 

Savannah  is  the  largest  city  of 
Georgia,  on  the  south  bank  of  the 
Savannah  river,  eighteen  miles  from 
the  sea,  and  has  a  population  of 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-64.— Conclusion. 


about  16,000  whites  and  12,000 
blacks. 

A  city  with  less  than  30,000  in- 
habitants in  the  Northern  and 
North-Western  States  of  America 
is  at  the  utmost  considered  a  rising 
and  promising  young  place  ;  but  it 
is  different  in  the  »South,  where 
population  does  not  congregate  at 
commercial  centres,  and  the  compa- 
ratively ancient  town  of  Savannah 
is  an  important  city.  It  was 
founded  by  General  Oglethorpe  in 
1732,  and,  like  most  of  the  seaboard 
towns,  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
British  during  almost  the  whole  of 
the  Revolutionary  War.  It  is  a 
beautiful  place,  and,  to  quote  an 
American  guide-book,  "  regularly 
built,  with  streets  so  wide  and  so 
unpaved,  so  densely  shaded  with 
trees,  and  so  full  of  little  parks, 
that  but  for  the  extent  and  elegance 
of  its  public  edifices,  it  might  seem 
to  be  a  score  of  villages  rolled  into 
(.ne.  There  are  no  less  than  twenty- 
four  little  green  squares  scattered 
through  the  city,  and  most  of  the 
streets  are  lined  with  the  fragrant 
flowering  China  tree,  or  the  Pride 
of  India,  while  some  of  them  have 
four  grand  rows  of  trees,  there 
being  a  double  carriage-way,  with 
broad  walks  on  the  outer  sides,  and 
a  promenade  between."  The  neigh- 
bourhood is  exceedingly  pretty, 
with  drives  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  avenues  of  live  oaks,  bay- 
trees,  magnolias,  and  orange-trees. 
A  favourite  drive  is  to  the  Cemetery 
of  Bonaventure,  which  was  origi- 
nally a  private  estate,  laid  out  in 
broad  avenues ;  and  these  avenues 
of  live  oak,  now  grown  to  an  im- 
mense size,  with  their  huge  branches 
sweeping  the  ground,  and  carrying 
heavy  festoons  of  the  hanging 
Spanish  moss,  are  magnificent.  We 
were  at  the  Pulaski  House,  which 
is  a  capital  hotel.  General  Beau- 
regard  was  staying  there,  and  we 
paid  our  respects  to  him  the  morn- 
ing after  our  arrival. 

He  was  looking  remarkably  well, 
and  said  he  had  never  in  his  life 
been  in  better  health,  which  was 


169 

the  more  gratifying  to  hear,  as  it 
was  from  ill  health  that  the  Gene- 
ral had  been  obliged  to  give  up  his 
command  in  the  iield  two  years 
ago. 

General  Beaurcgard  repeated  what 
General  Jordan  had  told  us  at 
Charleston,  that  he  considered  Fort 
Sumter  stronger  now  for  internal 
defence  than  it  had  ever  been  be- 
fore. 

At  the  railway  station  we  parted 
with  our  friends  Gordon  and  C., 
and  proceeded  on  our  journey  to 
Mobile.  It  was  long  and  tedious, 
but  we  got  on  pretty  well.  Some 
time  before  this  we  had  discovered 
the  dodge  of  fraternising  with  the 
conductor  as  soon  as  he  came  round 
to  collect  tickets,  and  the  result 
was  that  we  were  generally  intro- 
duced by  him  to  his  private  box  or 
to  the  mail-room,  where  there  were 
always  chairs  and  plenty  of  space 
for  making  ourselves  comfortable. 

Between  Columbus  and  Mont- 
gomery General  Bragg  entered  the 
cars  and  travelled  with  us  some 
distance.  He  told  us  that  he  had 
just  been  all  through  south-western 
Georgia  and  eastern  Alabama,  and 
had  found  surprising  abundance 
everywhere.  The  tax  in  kind 
which  was  now  being  levied  by  the 
Government  was  working  exceed- 
ingly well,  and  provisions  had 
already  been  collected  amply  sufh'- 
cient  to  supply  the  armies  in  the 
West  till  the  next  harvest. 

An  old  farmer  in  the  car  became 
intensely  excited  when  he  heard 
what  an  illustrious  passenger  he 
was  travelling  with,  and  rushed  up 
saying,  "  Are  you  Mr  Bragg  /  are 
you  General  Bragg  ]  Give  us  your 
paw  !"  and  the  General  very  good- 
naturedly  shook  hands  with  him. 
Then  he  sat  down  and  stared  in 
mute  admiration  ;  but  when  the 
General  had  left  he  attacked  Colo- 
nel Deas  :  "What  big  ears  you've 
got !  Why,  you've  got  ears  like  a 
mule  ! — haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  You 
mustn't  mind  me, — I'm  an  old  fool, 
— haw  !  haw  !  But  I've  shook 
hands  with  Mr  Bragg  anyhow, — 


170 


A  Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


haw  !  haw !  haw  ! "  And  so  he 
went  on  like  a  maniac,  much  to  our 
amusement. 

We  stopped  a  few  hours  at  Mont- 


gomery, and  reached  Mobile  after 
a  journey  from  Savannah  of  a 
little  more  than  two  days  and  two 
nights. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


Mobile  had  suffered  very  little 
from  the  war,  and  still  carried  on 
a  brisk  commerce  with  the  outer 
world  in  spite  of  the  blockade.  It 
is  pleasantly  situated  on  a  broad 
plain,  and  has  a  beautiful  prospect 
of  the  bay,  from  which  it  receives 
refreshing  breezes.  Large  vessels 
cannot  come  directly  to  the  city, 
but  pass  up  Spanish  River  six  miles 
round  a  marshy  island  into  Mobile 
river,  and  then  drop  down  to  Mo- 
bile. 

We  took  up  our  quarters  at  the 
Battle  House,  an  enormous  cara- 
vanserai ;  and  after  a  refreshing 
bath,  and  a  capital  breakfast  at  a 
French  restaurant,  we  sallied  forth 
for  a  walk  in  the  city. 

Colonels  Walton  and  Deas,  who 
are  well  known  here,  were  greeted 
by  friends  almost  at  every  step,  and 
we  presently  adjourned  to  the  Ma- 
nassas  Club,  where  our  arrival  was 
celebrated  with  a  "  cocktail."  We 
then  paid  our  respects  to  Admiral 
Buchanan  and  to  General  Maury, 
who  commands  the  military  depart- 
ment of  the  Gulf. 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  a 
grand  wedding  -  party  and  ball, 
where  all  the  beauty  of  Mobile  was 
assembled  ;  and  the  reports  I  had 
heard  of  the  charms  of  the  fair  sex 
at  Mobile  I  found  to  be  not  at  all  ex- 
aggerated. This  was  the  last  ball 
of  the  season,  as  Lent  was  about  to 
commence,  but  they  had  been  very 
gay  here  during  the  carnival.  There 
is  always  a  great  deal  of  social  inter- 
course at  Mobile,  and  I  shall  ever 
cherish  amongst  my  most  agreeable 
recollections  of  the  South  the  plea- 
sant hours  spent  with  the  genial 
inhabitants  of  that  city.  It  is  usual 
to  pay  visits  in  the  evening  between 
seven  and  ten  o'clock. 

We  were  not  much  pleased  with 


our  accommodation  at  the  hotel,  and 
were  removing  to  a  boarding-house  ; 
but  Colonel  Scheliha,  now  chief 
engineer  of  the  Department  of  the 
Gulf,  whom  I  had  met  in  the  West, 
insisted  upon  my  taking  up  my 
quarters  with  him,  which  I  accord- 
ingly did.  He  also  placed  his  horses 
at  my  disposal,  and  we  had  many 
rides  together.  The  Colonel  is  en- 
gaged in  erecting  a  new  line  of  forts 
round  Mobile,  which  are  perfect 
models  of  strength  and  judicious 
arrangement.  They  are  built  en- 
tirely of  sand,  with  revetments  of 
turf  alone.  The  turf  on  the  em- 
bankments is  fastened  down  to  the 
sand  by  slips  of  the  Cherokee 
rose,  an  exceedingly  prickly  shrub, 
which  when  grown  will  become  a 
very  disagreeable  obstacle  to  a 
storming  party.  Though  I  must 
not  say  much  more  about  them, 
I  may  mention,  as  a  proof  of  the 
solidity  of  these  works,  that  the 
parapets  are  25  feet  wide,  the  tra- 
verses against  splinters  of  shell  are 
18  feet  wide,  against  enfilading 
fire,  32  feet  wide.  Besides  these 
forts  there  are  two  other  lines  of 
defence  at  Mobile,  which  will 
soon  be  one  of  the  most  strongly 
fortified  places  in  the  world. 
The  forts  in  the  harbour,  which 
are  built  on  artificial  islands,  were 
being  much  strengthened ;  and 
everything  was  being  done  now 
with  great  energy,  as  it  was  report- 
ed that  the  Yankees  designed  to 
attack  the  city. 

Sherman  had  advanced  upon 
Jackson,  but  it  was  not  supposed 
that  an  attack  by  land  would  be 
made  from  that  quarter,  as  the  coun- 
try through  which  the  Yankees 
would  have  to  pass  was  poor  and 
thinly  populated,  so  that  they  would 
find  it  difficult  to  obtain  supplies. 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-G4. — Conclusion. 


171 


To  attack  Mobile  by  land  they 
would  have  to  make  Pascocoula 
their  base. 

One  day  we  went  down  the  bay 
to  visit  the  outer  defences  in  a 
magnificent  river  -  steamer.  The 
Governor  of  Alabama,  Admiral 
l.uchanan,  General  Maury,  and 
other  gentlemen  and  ladies,  were 
of  the  party.  A  very  good  band 
of  music  from  one  of  the  regiments 
of  the  garrison  played,  and  dancing 
•was  soon  got  up  in  the  splendid 
saloon.  They  dance  the  "finale" 
of  the  quadrille  here  with  all  sorts 
of  figures — one  of  them  like  the 
last  figure  in  the  Lancers,  walk- 
ing round  and  giving  the  right  and 
left  hand  alternately.  Admiral 
Buchanan,  who  was  looking  on, 
joined  in  this,  and  naturally  by 
doing  so  created  a  great  deal  of 
confusion  and  merriment,  at  which 
he  was  in  high  glee.  He  is  im- 
mensely popular,  and  the  young 
ladies  all  call  him  a  charming  old 
gentleman,  although  he  is  at  least 
ten  years  too  young  to  be  an  ad- 
miral in  England. 

We  landed  at  Fort  Morgan  and 
went  over  the  place.  I  confess  I 
did  not  like  it  at  all.  It  is  built 
in  the  old  style,  with  bricks  here, 
there,  and  everywhere. 

Now  when  bricks  begin  to  fly 
about  violently  by  tons'  weight  at 
a  time,  which  is  the  case  when  they 
come  in  contact  with  15-inch  shells, 
they  make  themselves  very  unplea- 
sant to  those  who  have  trusted  to 
them  for  protection.  This  was  con- 
clusively shown  at  Fort  Sumter. 

Fort  Gaines.  which  we  did  not 
visit,  was,  they  told  me,  a  much 
better  place,  lately  finished  and 
strengthened  on  newer  principles  ; 
but  all  agreed  that  these  two  forts 
were  a  very  inadequate  defence  for 
the  bay,  into  which  the  Yankees 
might  enter  whenever  they  chose 
to  make  the  attempt. 

Governor  Ward  made  a  speech 
to  the  garrison,  and  complimented 
the  men  who  had  lately  re-enlisted 
for  the  war.  At  the  commence- 
ment of  the  present  struggle  the 


soldiers  only  enlisted  for  three 
years,  and  in  the  whole  army  the 
term  of  enlistment  was  now  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  This  was  very  awk- 
ward, as  these  men  could  not  be 
dispensed  with,  and  Congress  would 
have  been  obliged  to  pass  some  law 
on  the  subject.  But  it  was  spared 
all  trouble.  The  men  knew  as  well 
as  the  Government  that  they  were 
''  bound  to  fight  it  out,"  and  came 
forward  voluntarily,  re-enlisting 
with  great  enthusiasm  for  "  ten 
years,''  "  forty  years,''  some  even 
for  "  ninety-nine  years."  or  "  the 
war."  The  alacrity  with  which  the 
army  has  come  forward  on  this  oc- 
casion has  caused  much  good  feel- 
ing, and  the  few  who  before  wrere 
inclined  to  croak  and  despond  are 
now  again  as  confident  as  ever  of 
ultimate  success. 

From  Fort  Morgan  we  went  on 
to  Fort  Powell,  a  beautiful  little 
sandwork  in  Grant's  Pass.  This  is 
an  inlet  to  the  bay,  through  which, 
in  former  days,  steamers  used  to 
take  a  short  cut  to  New  Orleans, 
paying  a  toll  to  a  Mr  Grant,  who 
had  deepened  the  channel  for  them, 
and  who  was  rewarded  by  a  large 
fortune  for  his  enterprise.  Fort 
Powell,  which  was  only  just  being 
completed,  had  six  guns,  Fort  Mor- 
gan about  fifty.  There  were  still 
strong  rumours  of  a  contemplated 
attack  upon  Mobile,  but  General 
Maury  told  me  he  did  not  believe 
in  them.  A  gentleman  on  board 
the  steamer  gave  the  General  and 
myself  a  touching  description  of  a 
melancholy  journey  he  had  made 
to  the  battle-field  of  Chicamauga,  in 
search  of  the  body  of  his  son  who 
was  killed  there.  Ultimately,  after 
great  trouble  and  dilliculty,  lie  had 
succeeded  in  his  object.  The  Gene- 
ral suggested  that  after  all  a  soldier 
could  hardly  find  a  better  resting- 
place  than  where  he  had  fallen  in 
battle,  and  the  father  said,  "  Yes, 
he  had  always  thought  and  said  so 
himself,  and  his  wife  had  agreed 
with  him  ;  but  when  the  blow 
really  came  they  had  both  felt  that 
they  could  never  be  happy  again, 


172 


A   Visit  to  the  Cities  and  Camps  of  the 


[Feb. 


until  their  sou's  body  had  been 
found  and  laid  near  the  place  where 
they  themselves  would  one  day  rest." 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the 
heartless  indifference  to  similar 
feelings  in  the  North  Avhich  had 
been  shown  by  the  Yankee  com- 
mander after  Chicamauga,  and  I 
shuddered  at  the  recollection  of 
what  I  had  seen  on  the  battle-field 
there. 

The  tide  was  low  at  the  Dog 
River  bar  when  we  returned,  and 
although  our  river -steamer  drew 
but  little  water,  we  were  detained 
a  couple  of  hours. 

Whilst  at  Mobile  we  visited  the 
men-of-war  in  the  harbour,  of  which 
the  Tennessee  was  the  most  for- 
midable. The  great  difficulty  is 
how  to  get  this  ship  over  the  Dog 
River  bar,  which  has  never  more 
than  nine  feet  of  water,  whilst 
the  Tennessee  draws  full  thirteen. 
They  have  therefore  to  raise  her 
four  feet  by  "  camels,"  which  with 
the  dearth  of  mechanical  appliances 
in  the  South  is  a  very  difficult 
operation,  and  Admiral  Buchanan 
almost  despaired  of  succeeding. 

Apropos  of  the  detention  of  the 
rams  in  England,  Admiral  Buch- 
anan told  me  that  during  the  war 
between  the  Brazils  and  Buenos 
Ayres,  some  sixteen  years  ago,  he 
himself  commanded  and  took  out 
to  Rio  Janeiro  one  of  two  ships 
of  war  which  were  built  at  Balti- 
more for  the  Brazilians.  He  had 
given  a  grand  dinner — I  think  he 
said  to  500  persons — before  leaving 
Baltimore,  and  no  secret  was  made 
of  his  destination.  The  Minister 
of  Buenos  Ayres  at  Washington 
was  perfectly  aware  of  what  was 
going  on,  but  never  dreamed  of 
making  a  complaint  to  the  United 
States  Government,  and  had  he 
done  so  it  would  most  certainly 
have  been  disregarded. 

Another  American  of  the  name 
of  Chase,  was  in  the  service  of 
Buenos  Ayres,  and  in  command  of 
a  little  fleet  of  smaller  vessels  than 
the  one  Buchanan  took  out,  and  he 


told  Buchanan  afterwards  that  he 
had  been  on  the  look-out  for  him, 
and  had  orders  to  capture  him  on 
the  way  if  he  could;  in  which  case, 
the  Admiral  said,  there  would  very 
likely  have  been  a  row  between 
Buenos  Ayres  and  Uncle  Sam. 

Again,  during  the  insurrection  of 
Texas  against  Mexico,  ships  of  war 
were  openly  built,  and  sent  to  the 
assistance  of  the  insurgents,  yet  the 
Mexican  Minister  never  thought  of 
complaining,  and  if  he  had  it  would 
have  been  of  no  avail. 

Were  it  not  for  the  friendly 
neutrality  of  the  British  Govern- 
ment towards  the  North,  the  Con- 
federates would  have  had  a  fleet, 
arid  the  war  in  consequence  would 
have  been  over  long  ago. 

Although  the  Confederates  think 
that  they  have  been  very  unhand- 
somely and  unfairly  treated  by  the 
British  Government,  and  comment 
freely  upon  the  "  extraordinary 
conduct"  of  Earl  Russell,  I  may 
say  here  that  they  appreciate  very 
highly  the  sympathy  of  English- 
men, which  they  believe  to  be  en- 
tirely with  them ;  and  I  never  in 
the  South  heard  an  unpleasant  re- 
mark made  about  the  people  of 
England,  whom  they  believe  to  be 
misrepresented  by  their  present 
Foreign  Secretary. 

A  few  days  after  our  excursion 
down  the  bay,  Fort  Powell  was  at- 
tacked by  a  fleet  of  gunboats,  and 
underwent  some  shelling;  but  after 
a  day  or  two,  finding  they  could 
make  no  impression,  the  Yankees 
retired. 

There  is  a  capital  hard  "shell 
road,"  so  called  from  being  made 
of  oyster-shells,  which  runs  along- 
side the  bay  for  some  seven  miles. 
It  is  the  favourite  drive  for  car- 
riages at  Mobile.  At  the  end  is  a 
house  where  refreshments  are  taken. 
We  drove  there  one  day,  and  were 
in  the  house  whilst  the  firing  at 
Fort  Powell  was  going  on.  When 
the  heavy  Brooks  gun  in  the  fort 
was  fired,  it  shook  the  windows  so 
as  to  make  them  jingle,  although 
the  distance  was  near  thirty  miles. 


1865.] 


Confederate  States,  1863-G4. — Conclusion. 


173 


Owing  to  scarcity  of  .stone,  there 
are  very  few  good  roads  in  the 
Southern  States,  except  near  the 
mountains.  The  sand  is  often 
so  deep  that  horses  can  hardly  get 
along.  For  traffic  they  have  rail- 
ways, and  as  Southerners,  male 
and  female,  prefer  riding  to  driv- 
ing, they  care  little  for  their  roads. 
The  shell  road  at  Mobile,  however, 
is  excellent,  and  at  New  Orleans  I 
am  told  they  have  some  equally 
good  made  of  the  shell  of  the  co- 
quille. 

I  met  a  gentleman  here,  the 
fidelity  of  whose  negro  servant 
(slave)  deserves  to  be  put  on  record. 
He  had  had  to  fly  in  haste  from 
Natchez  on  the  Mississippi,  when 
that  place  was  occupied  by  the 
Yankees,  and  had  left  very  impor- 
tant papers  and  a  large  sum  of 
money  securely  hidden  at  his  house 
there.  Not  being  able  to  return 
himself  to  his  home,  he  sent  his 
negro  servant,  who,  with  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,  dodged  his  way  in 
and  out  of  the  Federal  lines,  and 
brought  his  master  all  his  impor- 
tant papers  and  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars in  gold  (two  thousand  pounds). 
How  many  white  servants  could 
be  trusted  with  a  similar  mission  1 

I  have  said  before  that  Southern- 
ers are  the  reverse  of  severe  with 
their  servants.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, they  show  a  refinement  of  in- 
genuity in  correcting  them  which 
is  remarkable. 

A  lady  here  told  me  of  a  little 
boy  about  ten  years  old,  whom 
I  saw  about  the  house,  that  he  had 
been  an  incorrigibly  wicked  little 
rascal,  whom  no  correction  could 
improve,  till  she  hit  on  the  follow- 
ing mode  of  punishing  him.  She 
got  another  child  of  about  the  same 
age,  and  treated  him  to  sweetmeats, 
whilst  the  naughty  boy  had  to  look 
on  and  got  none.  The  moral  afflic- 
tion was  intense,  but  it  proved  "  a 
perfect  cure." 

I  was  present  at  Mobile  at  two 
weddings  ;  one  was  that  of  General 
Tom  Taylor,  and  the  other  of  my 
friend  Colonel  Von  Scheliha  with 


Miss  Williams,  upon  which  occasion 
1  otliciated  as  groomsman.  On  the 
day  this  ceremony  took  place, 
we  heard  that  nine  other  couples 
had  been  wedded.  The  happy  men 
were  all  officers  in  the  army.  They 
say  that  marriages  were  never  more 
frequent  in  the  South  than  now. 
General  Stuart  was  a  great  pro- 
moter of  matches.  He  used  to  tell 
his  officers  that  now  was  their  time  ; 
they  could  marry  without  any  ques- 
tions being  asked  as  to  how  they 
could  support  their  wives,  who 
would  naturally  remain  at  their 
homes  and  be  taken  care  of  by  their 
parents.  If  they  waited  till  the 
war  was  over  it  would  be  different. 
It  was,  to  be  sure,  shockingly  im- 
provident, but  seeing  difficulties  far 
ahead  was  not  a  foible  of  Stuart's. 
I  believe  his  advice  was  frequently 
acted  upon. 

I  was  disappointed  of  my  trip 
to  the  army  in  Mississippi,  as  it  had 
fallen  back  from  Meridian,  and 
Sherman  advancing  had  cut  the 
railroad.  I  did  not  know  exactly 
where  I  should  find  General  Folk's 
headquarters,  and  delayed  my  ex- 
cursion till  it  was  too  late  to  un- 
dertake it  at  all. 

We  had  decided  to  return  by 
steamer  up  the  Alabama  river  as  far 
as  Montgomery,  as  it  was  a  much 
pleasanter  mode  of  travelling  than 
by  rail.  The  steamers  all  over  this 
continent  are  splendid  vessels,  and 
we  were  very  comfortable  on  board 
our  boat.  The  country  through 
which  we  passed  was  fertile  and 
cultivated,  and  produces  much  cot- 
ton. 

The  cultivation  of  cotton  in 
America  is  of  comparatively  recent 
date.  Colonel  Deas  told  me,  that 
in  1774  his  grandfather,  who  then 
resided  in  England,  wrote  out  to  his 
agents  in  Charleston,  and  directed 
them  to  attempt  the  cultivation  of 
a  sufficient  amount  of  cotton  to  sup- 
ply the  negroes  on  his  plantation 
with  homespun.  At  that  time  the 
great  staple  in  the  Southern  States 
was  indigo,  the  cultivation  of  which 
is  now  so  entirely  discontinued  that 


174 


A  Visit  to  tlie  Cities  and  Camps  of  tlie 


[Feb. 


they  were  not  able  to  make  the 
naval  uniform  in  the  Confederacy 
blue,  as  every  one  knows  a  naval 
uniform  ought  to  be.  It  is  now 
the  same  colour  as  the  military  uni- 
form. I  believe  the  reason  that 
seamen  dress  in  blue,  is  because  it 
is  the  only  colour  which  is  not 
stained  by  salt  water. 

At  Selma  a  large  body  of  soldiers 
came  on  board  our  boat,  and  for 
the  rest  of  our  journey  to  Mont- 
gomery we  were  crowded.  How- 
ever, the  colonels  and  myself  took 
refuge  in  "  Texas,"  a  glass  shed 
built  high  over  the  centre  of  every 
river -steamer,  whence  the  vessel 
is  piloted.  The  cabins  below 
this,  and  above  the  grand  saloon, 
where  the  officers  of  the  ves- 
sel are  accommodated,  also  be- 
long to  "  Texas/'  Here  we  had 
chairs,  plenty  of  room,  and  a  fine 
view. 

The  soldiers  belonged  to  Har- 
dee's  corps,  which  had  been  sent 
to  reinforce  General  Polk,  but  they 
were  now  no  longer  required,  as 
Sherman  had  retreated.  He  for- 
tunately never  reached  the  rich 
country  about  Demopolis,  but  the 
already  desolate  country  his  army 
passed  through  he  devastated  in 
the  most  frightful  manner,  both 
coming  and  going,  and  everybody 
says  he  deserves  to  be  hanged. 

After  a  short  stay  at  Montgomery 
we  proceeded  on  our  journey  and 
reached  Macon  the  next  morning. 
There  is  a  magnificent  railroad 
station  here  and  a  capital  hotel, 
the  Brown  House,  where  we  break- 
fasted. At  the  station  there  were 
a  large  number  of  Yankee  prison- 
ers, who  had  been  picked  up  dur- 
ing Sherman's  retreat. 

We  slept  that  night  at  Savannah 
and  went  on  to  Charleston  next 
morning.  Here  we  made  a  two 
days'  rest,  and  I  took  up  my  quar- 
ters with  Mr  Ch.,  finding  a  dinner- 
party assembled  as  usual,  and  old 
friends  among  the  guests.  One  of 
them,  as  a  parting  gift,  made  me  a 
present  of  an  enormous  cigar-case 
full  of  Havannah  cigars,  a  princely 


benefaction  under  present  circum- 
stances in  Dixie,  when  Havannah 
cigars  are  not  to  be  purchased  at 
any  price. 

Soon  after  we  reached  Wilming- 
ton my  two  friends  and  travelling 
companions  returned  to  Richmond, 
their  leave  of  absence  having  ex- 
pired, whilst  I  with  much  regret 
prepared  to  say  farewell  to  "  the 
sunny  South."  A  few  pleasant 
days  flew  quickly  by,  and  then 
with  C.,  whose  business  called  him 
to  Nassau,  I  embarked  in  the 
Hansa,  a  noble  ship,  which  was 
now  to  run  the  blockade  for  the 
eighteenth  time. 

It  was  exhilarating  enough  when, 
the  moon  having  set  at  midnight, 
we  slipped  out  of  Cape  Fear  river, 
and  dashed  at  full  speed  through 
the  blockading  fleet.  It  was  pitch 
dark,  and  not  even  a  cigar  was 
allowed  to  be  alight  on  deck.  For 
nearly  an  hour  we  kept  peering 
through  the  night  to  discover 
whether  any  Yankee  ship  lay  in 
our  way,  but  we  passed  unobserved, 
and  then  all  immediate  danger  was 
over. 

The  next  day  we  saw  a  large 
number  of  cotton-bales  floating  in 
the  sea,  and  on  arriving  at  Nassau 
we  heard  that  they  had  been  thrown 
overboard  by  the  Alice,  which  had 
left  the  night  before  us,  and  had 
been  chased  for  a  whole  day  by  a 
Yankee  cruiser.  A  little  schooner 
was  engaged  in  picking  them  up, 
and  as  a  single  bale  is  worth  £40 
she  was  no  doubt  making  a  good 
thing  of  it.  We  performed  our 
voyage  to  Nassau  in  about  sixty 
hours,  and  were  loudly  cheered  as 
we  steamed  into  the  harbour. 

Nassau,  which  before  the  war 
was  rather  an  insignificant  place, 
is  now  a  flourishing  town,  large 
amounts  of  money  being  made  and 
spent  there.  The  island  of  Provi- 
dence, of  which  Nassau  is  the  ca- 
pital, is  very  fertile,  and  used  to  be 
a  great  place  for  cotton  cultivation. 
It  still  grows  weeds  in  profusion, 
but  nothing  else.  Every  ounce  of 
butcher-meat,  every  potato  or  other 


1865.1 


Confederate  States,  18G3-C4. — Conclusion. 


175 


vegetable,  milk — which  comes  in 
tin-cases — in  short,  every  necessary 
of  life,  is  imported  from  New  York 
or  Havana.  Blockade-running  has 
made  everything  very  dear,  and 
the  natives  complain  of  being  re- 
duced to  live  upon  turtle  and  pine- 
apples. 

The  sponges  which  are  picked  up 
near  the  island  are  said  to  lie  .su- 
perior to  those  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean, and  conch-shells  used  in 
the  manufacture  of  cameos  are  also 
an  article  of  export.  These  shells 
have  given  a  name  to  the  natives 
of  the  Bahamas,  who  are  known 
in  this  part  of  the  world  as 
Concha. 

We  were  invited  to  a  pic-nie  and 
fishing  party  on  the  island,  about 
ten  miles  from  Nassau,  and  spent 
a  pleasant  day.  Our  party  was  a 
large  one,  and  consisted  of  most 


of  the  officers  of  the  garrison  and 
a  good  many  gentlemen  from  Nas- 
sau. 

We  commenced  fishing  early  in 
the  morning  and  dragged  a  creek, 
and  we  caught  amongst  other  iish 
a  small  shark.  But  the  most  curi- 
ous things  were  the  balloon  fish  ; 
they  are  very  small,  but  if  you 
tickle  them  on  the  stomach  they 
blow  themselves  up  to  the  size  of 
a  football,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  some  of  our  party  were  so 
cruel  as  to  use  them  a.s  balls.  It 
did  them  no  harm,  however.  I  put 
several  back  into  the  water  after 
they  had  been  Hying  about  in  the 
air,  propelled  by  the  boots  of  some 
of  the  company,  and  they  immedi- 
ately collapsed  and  swam  away 
merrily. 

From  Nassau  I  proceeded  to 
Havana. 


176 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


KNIGHT-ERRANTRY   IN   THE  NINETEENTH   CENTURY. 


IF  there  is  one  sentiment  that  one 
hears  more  constantly  repeated  than 
another  by  the  British  tourist  now- 
adays, it  is  that  he  "hates  to  travel 
without  an  object."  He  begins  well 
enough,  but  in  the  course  of  time 
the  objects  become  exhausted,  and 
he  wanders  about  the  world  blase 
and  discontented,  or  ceases  to  wan- 
der at  all.  I  found  myself  fast 
approaching  this  stage,  when  I  en- 
countered a  series  of  adventures 
which  have  provided  me  Avith  an 
interest  for  life,  and  suggested  to 
me  an  occupation  which  has  enabled 
me  to  prove  a  blessing  to  a  large 
and  yearly -increasing  class  of  my 
fellow-creatures. 

I  remarked  that  in  almost  every 
country  I  had  visited,  I  had  been 
preceded  by  some  unprotected  fe- 
male tourist,  who  had  inspired 
terror  and  dismay  by  the  sternness 
of  her  aspect,  her  thirst  for  infor- 
mation, and  her  invincible  deter- 
mination to  engage  in  impracticable 
or  dangerous  enterprises.  I  had 
frequently  witnessed  the  panic  pro- 
duced in  a  foreign  community  by 
the  announcement  that  a  literary 
spinster  was  expected  to  arrive,  and 
perceived  that  the  prejudices  excit- 
ed against  her  were  so  strong  that 
when  she  did  make  her  appearance 
she  would  be  without  a  friend. 
When  I  came  calmly  to  consider 
this  state  of  affairs,  all  the  chival- 
rous instincts  of  my  nature  became 
aroused,  and  I  determined  to  travel 
about  the  world,  as  the  professed 
protector  and  champion  of  this 
strong-minded  but  misunderstood 
class  of  persons.  When  I  say  that 
I  am  riot  afraid  to  face  one  of  them 
quite  alone  in  a  savage  country,  I 
am  aware  that  I  lay  claim  to  a  very 
high  order  of  courage  ;  and  if  I  go 
on  to  assert  that  I  would  even  go 
out  of  my  way  to  meet  such  an  in- 
dividual— that  I  extremely  enjoy  as 
much  of  her  society  as  she  will  con- 
descend to  bestow  upon  me — the 


fact  that  most  of  my  readers  will 
consider  this  mere  empty  swagger 
shall  not  deter  me  from  describing 
the  qualities  which  so  eminently 
adapt  me  for  my  present  noble  mis- 
sion. I  need  scarcely  say,  in  pass- 
ing, that  I  am  totally  indifferent  to 
all  considerations  connected  writh 
personal  appearance.  There  is  no 
greater  delusion  than  to  imagine 
that  these  ladies  can  take  care  of 
themselves;  circumstances  are  of  ne- 
cessity constantly  arising  in  which 
they  are  utterly  helpless,  and  all 
the  consolation  they  then  get  is, 
"  Serve  them  right !  what  business 
has  a  woman  to  go  poking  her 
nose  into  such  places  by  herself  ?  of 
course  she  will  get  into  scrapes." 
Decidedly,  thought  I,  I  will  become 
a  Knight-errant  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century ;  and  immediately  I  started 
off  in  chase  of  poor  Ida  Pfeiffer. 
I  followed  her  to  India,  Ceylon, 
and  the  Straits,  till  she  finally  beat 
me  in  Borneo.  Then  I  turned  my 
attention  to  the  authoress  who 
writes  a  book  about  a  country  and 
calls  herself  "  The  Englishwoman." 
And  here  again  I  would  remark 
casually,  that,  from  my  constant  as- 
sociation with  these  remarkable  and 
interesting  specimens  of  their  sex, 
many  of  the  most  striking  features 
of  my  own  style  have  been  derived. 
For  instance,  now  and  then  I  find 
it  has  a  tendency  towards  egotism. 
Frequently  I  enter  into  very  pro- 
found disquisitions  upon  subjects  I 
don't  the  least  understand,  nor  do 
I  think  it  necessary  to  dive  very 
deeply  into  questions  which  present 
themselves  for  consideration,  or  to 
verify  the  accuracy  of  statements 
furnished  to  me  by  good-natured 
informants.  Thus,  even  when  I  am 
profound  I  am  amusing,  and  those 
who  most  thoroughly  appreciate  my 
descriptions  of  the  countries  I  have 
visited  are  the  inhabitants  them- 
selves. 

There  is  hardly  a  country  now 


18G5.] 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


177 


left  for  the  Englishwoman  to  write 
about.  There  is  '  The  English- 
woman in  America,'  '  The  English- 
woman in  Italy,'  'The  English- 
woman in  Turkey,'  '  The  English- 
woman in  Russia' — not  the  same 
Englishwoman  of  course,  though  of 
the  same  genus.  Nor  must  it  be 
supposed  that  because  I  am  devoted 
to  their  service  I  am  blind  to  their 
faults  and  peculiarities.  From  long 
experience  I  know  them  now  at  a 
glance.  They  all  sketch,  most  of 
them  are  short-sighted,  and  wear 
thick  boots  and  spectacles,  very  little 
crinoline,  with  what  there  is  of  it 
rather  long.  The  younger  ones  are 
reserved,  the  older  ones  gushing. 
Their  desire  for  knowledge  is  alarm- 
ing to  the  slenderly-educated  peo- 
ples among  whom  they  travel,  and 
who,  rather  than  appear  ignorant, 
invent  copiously.  They  are  con- 
stantly guilty  of  perpetrating  acts 
which,  in  the  opposite  sex,  would 
be  accounted  "  cool ;"  and  a  certain 
faculty  of  taking  people  by  storm, 
and  putting  them  at  once  into  servi- 
tude, insures  them  the  best  possible 
letters  of  introduction  to  the  next 
place.  The  victim,  in  order  to 
achieve  his  freedom,  overwhelms 
his  fair  guest  with  these  epistolary 
recommendations,  and  chuckles,  as 
he  waves  his  hand  to  her  in  final 
adieu,  over  the  sufferings  he  has 
prepared  forhis  unsuspectingfriend. 
The  Englishwoman's  strong  point 
is  society  :  this  she  generally  de- 
scribes graphically  and  well  ;  no- 
thing escapes  her,  except  that  she 
is  considered  a  bore.  Her  weak 
point  is  science,  and  consequently 
she  is  devoted  to  it,  and  goes 
about  with  a  geological  hammer 
and  a  botanical  dictionary.  For 
many  weeks  my  vocation  obliged 
me  to  attach  myself  to  "  The  Eng- 
lishwoman in  Venezuela."  She  has 
written  a  charming  book  since,  in 
which  I  am  honourably  mentioned 
by  the  first  letter  of  my  name  as 
authority  for  her  statement  that 
"  in  this  country  the  woods  are  in- 
fested by  a  peculiar  sort  of  serpent 
who  milk  the  cows,  which  accounts 


for  the  scarcity  of  this  article."  It  is 
now  some  years  ago.  As  nearly  a.s 
I  can  calculate,  she  was  fifty-one; 
I  was  twenty-four.  She  was  my 
second  "Englishwoman."  We  were 
in  a  very  out-of-the-way  part  of  the 
world,  driving  in  a  cart  of  the  coun- 
try, discussing  the  origin  of  species. 
This  was  many  years  before  Dar- 
win's book,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
now  where  he  got  his  ideas  from. 
She  had  her  sketch-book,  her  um- 
brella, her  hammer,  and  her  botany- 
book  with  her.  We  were  alone  in 
the  cart.  In  fact,  it  was  our  habit 
to  take  these  tete-a-tete  drives,  and 
when  we  came  to  a  pretty  view  she 
would  scramble  out,  adjust  her 
spectacles,  cut  her  pencils,  perch 
herself  on  the  smoothest  point  of 
stone  she  could  find,  and  set  to 
work.  When  it  rained  I  stood  near, 
holding  the  horse  with  one  hand 
and  the  umbrella  over  her  with 
the  other.  Then  she  would  finish 
her  sketch,  chip  oft  the  point  of 
rock  upon  which  she  had  been 
sitting  with  her  hammer,  and  put 
it  into  a  bag  full  of  stones  which 
she  used  to  pick  up  and  I  used 
to  carry,  and  then  we  would  jog 
home — she  to  an  entertainer  upon 
whom  she  had  quartered  herself  ; 
I  to  a  miserable  inn.  Well,  upon 
the  occasion  to  which  I  allude,  I 
parted  from  her  rather  abruptly. 
We  were  skirting  the  edge  of  a 
vast  forest,  when  suddenly  she  saw 
a  fern.  As  usual  she  dived  into 
the  wood  after  the  "  specimen/' 
Then  calling  to  me  that  she  saw 
another  further  on,  she  vanished 
in  its  gloomy  recesses.  In  about 
half  an  hour  it  came  on  to  rain 
heavily.  I  could  not  leave  the 
cart  and  horse  to  go  in  search  of 
her,  so  I  shouted  violently.  This 
exercise  I  continued  for  half  an 
hour  more,  and  then,  feeling  damp, 
got  under  the  cart,  and  squatted 
within  six  inches  of  the  horse's 
heels  for  another  hour  ;  then  it  got 
dark.  I  felt  she  had  been  lost  in 
the  wood,  and  wrung  my  hands  in 
despair.  It  was  not  so  much  that 
I  thought  her  host  would  miss  her, 


178 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


as  the  dreadful  fate  I  pictured 
would  overtake  her.  The  forest 
abounded  in  wild  animals.  It  was 
almost  pathless  ;  there  were  no 
habitations  nearer  than  a  village, 
from  which  we  were  separated  by 
a  river.  As  the  country  sloped 
down  into  a  valley,  I  thought  it 
not  impossible  she  might  endeavour 
to  find  her  way  by  following  the 
watercourses,  and  so  I  despond- 
ingly  struggled  along  a  muddy 
track  towards  the  stream.  It  had 
become  swollen  by  the  rain,  and 
the  rushing  of  the  torrent  in  the 
dusk  was  not  an  encouraging 
sound.  Tying  up  the  horse  to  a 
tree,  I  followed  down  the  bank  of 
the  stream  through  wet  tangled 
brushwood,  giving  periodically  the 
shrill  yell  known  to  Indians  by 
clapping  my  hand  rapidly  before 
my  open  mouth.  To  my  intense 
relief  I  heard  it  answered  by  a 
plaintive  cry,  and  following  the 
sound  I  discovered  Miss  Smith — 
the  Englishwoman  is  almost  in- 
variably unmarried — seated  on  a 
prostrate  log,  clinging  tenaciously 
to  a  bundle  of  ferns,  with  her  face 
marked  with  broad  streaks  of  black 
loam,  the  result  of  rain,  tears,  and 
muddy  fingers.  When  she  threw 
herself  into  my  arms  with  a  cry  of 
gratitude  and  relief,  and  burst  into 
an  agony  of  tears  on  my  shoulder, 
I  felt  a  glow  of  chivalrous  enthu- 
siasm. I  was  accomplishing  my 
mission  to  protect  the  unprotected  ; 
to  be  the  stay  and  solace  of  that 
"  Englishwoman"  who  created  ter- 
ror and  dismay  in  society,  but  who 
was  clinging  to  me  now  like  a  girl 
of  sixteen  ;  and  I  felt  it  was  not 
"  gushing" — it  was  genuine  down- 
right emotion.  Tenderly  I  bore 
her  along,  for  she  was  scratched 
and  torn  by  struggling  through 
brambles,  and  even  the  thick  wool- 
len petticoat  and  stout  laced  boots 
had  suffered.  Eor  years,  probably, 
this  strong-minded  woman  had  van- 
quished weakness.  No  other  man, 
since  that  early  history  which  I  sup- 
pose she  had  in  common  with  all 
of  us,  had  ever  seen  her  break 


down  but  myself ;  but  to  me,  in  a 
thousand  little  acts,  she  revealed 
her  womanhood.  We  gave  up 
talking  philosophy  and  science  ; 
indeed,  she  did  little  else  but  sob  ; 
and  I  revelled  in  the  triumph  of 
a  situation  I  had  hardly  earned. 
When  we  reached  the  cart  we 
pushed  the  old  horse  into  the 
stream,  but  it  was  rapid,  and  I 
missed  the  ford  in  the  dark,  so 
he  was  carried  off  his  legs,  and 
the  cart  was  upset.  Fortunately, 
though  deep,  the  river  was  narrow, 
and  after  whirling  round  two  or 
three  times  I  brought  up  on  the 
shelving  bank  of  shingle,  one  hand 
tightly  clutching  a  handful  of  pet- 
ticoat that  I  had  seized  at  the 
critical  moment.  Our  bath  had 
the  effect  of  washing  my  fair  com- 
panion's face,  and  subduing  her 
even  more  than  she  had  been  be- 
fore the  last  episode.  Meekly  she 
draggled  and  stumbled  after  me, 
weighed  down  with  the  burden  of 
her  drenched  habiliments.  Geo- 
logical collection,  sketch-book, 
ferns,  all  had  gone  down  the 
stream  with  the  horse  and  cart, 
and  nothing  was  ever  found  after, 
except  the  vehicle  and  the  drowned 
animal  in  the  shafts.  At  last, 
after  more  than  an  hour's  wander- 
ing along  a  barely  discernible  foot- 
path, from  which  we  often  strayed, 
and  to  find  which  I  was  some- 
times obliged  to  feel  with  my 
hands,  we  heard  the  cheering 
sound  of  a  dog's  bark,  and  soon 
after  saw  the  welcome  glimmer 
of  a  light.  It  was  a  small  na- 
tive hut ;  and  never  did  wattle 
and  dab  walls,  a  thatch  of  leaves, 
and  a  floor  of  cow-dung,  offer  a  more 
grateful  sight  to  benighted  and  fam- 
ished mortals.  An  old  man  and 
woman  were  its  sole  tenants,  and 
the  accommodation  consisted  but  of 
one  apartment,  one  side  of  which 
was  occupied  by  the  fire — the  smoke 
curled  about  over  our  heads,  and 
found  its  way  out  between  the 
leaves  of  the  thatch  as  best  it  could. 
There  were  overhanging  eaves  so 
deep  as  almost  to  form  a  verandah 


1805.] 


Knight-errantry  in  t/ie  Nineteenth  Century. 


171) 


all  round  to  protect  the  walls.  The 
costume  of  our  entertainers  con- 
sisted of  nothing  but  petticoats 
reaching  from  the  waist  to  the 
ankles ;  the  man's  was  drawn  up 
between  his  legs,  and  the  end 
tucked  in  at  the  small  of  his  back. 
The  old  woman's  hung  down.  She 
wore  nothing  above  her  waist.  It 
was  absolutely  necessary  that  we 
should  get  rid  of  our  drenched 
garments  ;  but  the  difficulty  was 
what  to  put  on,  and  how  to 
put  it  on.  It  was  evident  that  we 
were  destined  to  pass  the  night 
here.  The  black  darkness,  the 
fearful  storms  that  threatened  to 
carry  away  the  little  cottage  bodily, 
our  own  exhaustion,  rendered  the 
idea  of  going  farther  impossible  ; 
besides,  we  might  fare  worse.  What 
we  wanted  was,  first  to  dry  our- 
selves ;  second,  to  fill  ourselves ; 
third,  to  rest  ourselves.  Some 
bruised  Indian  corn  was  being 
kneaded  with  milk  into  a  paste  ; 
some  chickens  running  about  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  a  boiled  fowl 
and  eggs.  I  also  espied  some 
honey  in  a  honeycomb,  so  I  mixed 
the  milk,  eggs,  Indian  corn,  and 
honey  in  one  pot,  and  put  the 
fowl  into  some  hot  water  in  another, 
and  then  recurred  to  the  difficult 
subject  of  attire  ;  for  by  this  time 
our  teeth  were  chattering,  and 
fever  and  ague  were  becoming  im- 
minent. In  spite  of  my  companion 
being  strong-minded,  I  had  some 
difficulty  in  inducing  her  to  enter- 
tain the  idea  of  divesting  herself 
entirely  of  her  dripping  clothing, 
and  of  appearing  in  a  costume  im- 
provised out  of  the  materials  which 
our  semi-civilised  entertainers  could 
supply.  At  last  she  consented  to 
judge  of  the  nature  of  the  experi- 
ment by  the  result  as  illustrated 
by  myself.  I  therefore  retired  from 
the  interior  of  the  cabin,  and,  stand- 
ing under  the  dripping  eaves,  took 
off  my  wet  raiment.  I  found  that 
the  old  man's  petticoat,  which  was 
not  unlike  what  the  Malays  call  a 
sarong,  only  reached  a  little  below 
my  knee  ;  the  second  petticoat  I 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCII. 


threw  round  my  shoulders,  some 
what  after  the  fashion  of  a  plaid, 
leaving  the  arms  free.  Thus  at- 
tired, and  feeling  I  represented 
a  pretty  fair  combination  of  the 
Scotch  shepherd  and  the  lloman 
gladiator,  I  re-entered  the  cabin 
with  as  much  dignity  as  circum- 
stances permitted  me  to  assume. 
.Miss  Smith  had  taken  off  her  spec- 
tacles in  anticipation  of  too  great  a 
shock,  and  I  was  thus  enabled,  so 
to  speak,  to  break  myself  to  her 
gradually.  So  much  encouraged 
was  she  by  the  modesty  of  my 
aspect,  and  so  wretchedly  uncom- 
fortable did  she  feel  in  her  then 
plight,  that  she  requested  me  to 
take  the  old  man  back  with  me 
under  the  eaves,  while  she  per- 
formed her  toilet  under  the  super- 
vision of  his  wife.  It  was  like  a 
game  where  you  are  told  to  go  out 
of  a  room  and  come  back  when 
they  are  all  ready.  In  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  the  old  woman  summoned  me, 
and  I  found  my  fair  friend  swaddled 
like  a  mummy;  not  a  vestige  of  her 
skin,  except  her  face,  was  visible 
anywhere.  So  clumsily  had  she 
arranged  it  that  both  her  hands 
were  occupied  holding  her  things 
together  from  the  inside  ;  thus  the 
appearance  she  presented  was  irre- 
proachable so  long  as  she  remained 
still,  but  the  slightest  movement 
was  attended  with  the  most  fright- 
ful risk.  One  of  the  most  delight- 
ful sensations  I  ever  experienced 
was  feeding  this  dear  creature  with 
mouthfuls  of  tough  boiled  chicken 
and  Indian-corn  pudding,  and  then 
holding  to  her  lips  a  huge  can  of 
water,  the  only  drinking  utensil  in 
the  establishment,  and  supporting 
her  head  with  one  hand  as  she 
tilted  it  gently  back.  Then  I  put 
on  her  spectacles  for  her,  and  finally 
tied  a  line  in  front  of  the  fire,  upon 
which  I  strung  all  her  garments  as 
well  as  my  own.  Once  I  had  to 
scratch  her  ear,  and  ultimately  to 
help  her  to  bed.  This,  however,  ia 
a  figure  of  speech.  I  should  more 
properly  say  to  "  hammock."  The 
task  of  hoisting  her  gracefully  into 

N 


180 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


it  without  disarranging  her  wrap- 
pers, was  one  of  the  most  difficult 
operations  I  ever  performed.  We 
slung  her  in  a  corner  by  herself, 
near  the  fire,  and  the  old  man  and 
his  Avife  and  I  huddled  together  on 
the  floor,  in  the  other  utmost  ex- 
tremity. In  spite  of  an  airy  feel- 
ing about  the  legs,  and  a  virulent 
attack  from  fleas,  I  slept  so  soundly 
and  so  far  on  into  the  morning, 
that  I  found  my  friend  dressed  in 
her  own  garments  and  looking 
quite  blooming  ;  but  there  was  an 
expression  of  shy  timidity  on  her 
face  which  was  quite  foreign  to  it. 
I,  on  the  contrary,  who  am  consti- 
tutionally modest,  swaggered  about 
in  my  short  petticoat,  and  felt 
every  inch  a  true  errant  knight. 

I  have  frequently  met  Miss  Smith 
in  society  since  then.  She  is  as 
learned  and  strong-minded  as  ever, 
except  when  I  appear;  but  she 
quails  before  a  single  glance  from 
me.  She  is  now  considerably  over 
sixty  ;  but  I  alone  possess  the  secret 
of  calling  into  those  somewhat  thin 
cheeks  a  roseate  hue,  and  of  caus- 
ing those  sharp  grey  eyes  to  disap- 
pear temporarily  beneath  their  lids. 
Dear  Miss  Smith  !  she  never  tra- 
velled in  savage  countries  by  her- 
self after  that ;  but  she  will  tell 
you  unending  stories  about  her  ad- 
ventures and  experiences.  The 
only  one  her  friends  don't  know, 
and  never  will  know — for  I  have 
never  betrayed  our  secret  to  a  living 
soul — is  the  one  I  have  now  re- 
counted. Nor  would  I  have  told 
it  now,  did  I  not  feel  sure  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  any  one  to 
recognise  in  my  "  Englishwoman  in 
Venezuela  "  the  heroine  of  the  ad- 
venture. 

Besides  the  Englishwomen  who 
travel  in  quest  of  information,  are 
those  who  are  actuated  by  motives 
of  philanthropy  or  political  en- 
thusiasm. Oppressed  nationalities 
act  as  a  powerful  stimulus  to  the 
formation  of  this  class.  No  sooner 
do  Italy,  or  Poland,  or  Hungary 
rise,  than  your  Englishwoman  packs 
up  her  portmanteau,  furnishes  her- 


self with  letters  of  introduction  of 
the  most  compromising  character, 
and  starts  off  on  a  mission  to  suf- 
fering humanity.  With  unreason- 
ing impulse  she  flings  herself  heart 
and  soul  into  the  cause  she  has 
espoused,  and  induces  the  unfor- 
tunate people  to  whom  she  has 
accredited  herself  to  believe  that 
the  whole  British  nation  is  as 
wildly  enthusiastic  in  their  behalf 
as  she  is.  She  probably  makes  her 
debut  by  two  or  three  indiscretions  ; 
for  she  is  totally  unused  in  her 
own  country  to  act  under  the  ever- 
present  consciousness  that  all  her 
movements  are  watched.  When, 
however,  she  is  once  initiated  into 
the  mysteries  of  a  national  con- 
spiracy, it  cannot  be  charged  against 
her  that  she  is  wanting  in  resource. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  my  conviction 
that  your  philanthropico-political 
Englishwoman  does  more  good 
than  harm,  and  is  a  credit  to  the 
country  that  produces  her.  By  such 
experiences  do  they  fit  themselves 
to  become  the  mothers  of  heroes — 
only,  as  I  said  before,  they  so  rarely 
marry.  There  are,  however,  bril- 
liant exceptions  to  this  rule.  I 
remember,  during  the  recent  insur- 
rection in  Poland,  attending  as 
knight-errant  upon  two  Miss  Browns 
at  Cracow.  I  don't  know  which  cre- 
ated most  sensation — Mademoiselle 
Pustovoytov,  Langiewicz's  female 
aide-de-camp,  who  was  captured  on 
the  day  of  their  arrival,  or  my  two 
charming  compatriots  themselves. 
It  was  a  refreshing  sight  to  watch 
them,  in  little  pork-pie  hats  and 
tucked-up skirts,  paddling  about  the 
muddy  streets  of  Cracow,  arid  one 
that  cheered  the  hearts  of  the  poor 
people  they  came  to  comfort.  And 
then  to  go  with  them  through 
wards  of  wounded  youths,  and  see 
how  the  presence  of  the  "  English- 
woman "  would  cause  the  wasted 
features  to  light  up  with  a  glow  of 
gratitude  and  pleasure,  and  how 
the  poor  lads  would  look  with  won- 
der and  astonishment  at  these  two 
unprotected  beings  who  had  come 
all  the  way  from  England  for  no 


18G5.] 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


other  purpose  than  to  minister  to 
their  necessities.  Depend  upon  it 
"the  Englishwoman  abroad"  is  a 
glorious  institution.  Why,  she 
even  sometimes  penetrates  to  places 
where  the  Englishman  has  not  been 
seen,  and  then,  what  is  the  impres- 
sion she  leaves  on  the  inhabitants  ] 
They  say,  of  course,  "If  England 
produces  this  sort  of  woman,  what 
splendid  fellows  the  men  must  be  ! " 
She  does  more  to  maintain  the  pres- 
tige of  the  British  empire  than  all 
our  iron-dads  put  together,  for  she 
is  elad  in  the  triple  panoply  of  vir- 
tue, benevolence,  and  pluck.  I  was 
knight-errant  to  the  Miss  Browns 
when  they  were  in  the  middle  of  a 
forest  surrounded  by  Cossacks,  dis- 
tributing provisions  to  an  insurgent 
band,  which  they  were  visiting  at 
the  peril  of  their  lives  ;  and  their 
presence  so  affected  the  rugged  chief 
of  the  band,  and  the  presence  of  the 
rugged  chief  of  the  band  so  affected 
them,  that  they  all  wept  together, 
and  in  the  energy  of  their  enthusi- 
asm they  distributed  among  his 
men  every  disposable  ornament 
they  had  about  them  down  to 
their  hair-pins.  Don't  you  sup- 
pose, as  I  stood  looking  on  with 
glistening  eyes,  that  I  felt  proud  of 
my  countrywomen  ?  and  don't  you 
suppose  that  the  remnant  of  those 
two  hundred  reckless  spirits,  who 
are  now  in  exile  in  Siberia  or  else- 
where, when  they  hear  the  name  of 
England,  will  associate  that  coun- 
try in  their  minds  with  two  rather 
young  women  in  pork-pie  hats,  such 
as  they  had  never  seen  before,  who 
fed  them  and  wept  with  them,  and, 
perchance,  tended  them  when  they 
were  wounded  I  Mayhap  a  stray 
Briton,  pushing  his  explorations 
years  hence  into  Asiatic  Russia, 
will  be  astonished  at  the  over- 
whelming civility  of  some  poor 
lonely  exile,  and  little  think  he 
owes  it  all  to  the  Miss  Browns. 
It  was  some  satisfaction,  too,  to 
know  that  they  obliged  the  whole 
police  of  Austria  and  Russia  to  keep 
on  the  <jni  rii-e.  .Sheltered  under 
the  protecting  tugis  of  that  Foreign 


Office  which  guards  so  jealously  the 
honour  of  the  British  subject,  and, 
above  all,  of  the  female  British  sub- 
ject, the  Miss  Browns  used  to  defy 
the  Government.  Knowing  well 
the  chivalrous  nature  of  their  coun- 
trymen, they  moved  about  in  the 
happy  consciousness  that,  though 
England  would  not  go  to  war  tor 
Poland,  or  for  any  other  oppressed 
race,  the  nation  would  rise  like  one 
man  in  defence  of  the  Miss  Browns. 
The  truth  is,  that  no  country  with- 
out this  magnificent  sen.se  of  hon- 
our could  produce  Miss  Browns. 
It  was  amusing  to  see  them  receive 
a  Government  spy  disguised  as  a 
patriot,  and,  knowing  what  his  real 
character  was,  to  hear  them  express 
their  political  views,  with  the  in- 
tention of  the  conversation  being 
immediately  reported  to  the  head 
of  the  police.  Think,  again,  what 
an  opinion  that  functionary  must 
have  had  of  the  "  Englishwoman." 
No  wonder  that  the  authorities 
ended  by  dreading,  and  the  insur- 
gents by  adoring,  them.  Their 
rooms  used  to  be  a  sort  of  nest  of 
conspirators  from  morning  till  night, 
and  the  confidence  they  inspired 
was  unbounded.  Among  the  most 
frequent  visitors  was  a  certain  ex- 
general  of  the  Garibaldian  army, 
who,with  his  aide-de-camp,  had  come 
to  seek  service  in  the  insurgent 
ranks.  The  general  was  English, 
the  aide-de-camp  Italian.  The  latter 
was  a  man  offarouche  aspect — a  grey 
grizzled  mustache,  pointed  savage- 
ly, and  a  grey  grizzled  chin-tuft, 
pointed  too.  He  had  wild  gleam- 
ing eyes,  high  cheek-bones,  sallow 
sunken  cheeks,  a  gash  over  the 
temple,  and  a  stern  military  bear- 
ing. We  used  to  call  him  Sacripanti, 
as  the  nearest  approach  we  could 
make  to  his  name.  He  spoke  no  lan- 
guage but  Italian,  and  his  usual  mode 
of  procedure  was  to  sit  in  a  corner 
and  silently  smoke  cigarettes,  which 
Miss  Brown  the  younger  rolled 
for  him.  Frum  beneath  the  over- 
hanging brow  those  fiery  Italian 
eyes  used  to  gleam  upon  her  like  a 
basilisk's ;  but  the  Miss  Browns 


182 


Knight-errantry  in  tJie  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


were  impervious  to  attacks  of  this 
description — all  travelling  English- 
women are — and  used  to  shower 
attentions  upon  him  by  pantomime 
— as  they  were  unable  to  respond  to 
his  Italian.  One  day  the  Miss  Browns 
went  to  Lemberg,  to  see  what  was 
to  be  done  in  the  hospitals  there, 
and  the  General  and  Sacripanti 
went  to  Lemberg,  and,  of  course, 
the  knight-errant  went  to  Lemberg ; 
and  all  of  a  sudden  there  came  a 
warning  that  the  police  were  on  the 
track  of  the  General  and  Sacri- 
panti, and  that,  if  they  did  not  at 
once  vanish  from  the  scene,  they 
might  be  detained  in  it  longer  than 
agreeable.  This  was  more  easily 
said  than  done,  as  their  passports 
were  not,  so  to  say,  quite  in  order. 
When  the  news  was  broken  to  us 
that  we  were  to  part  thus  abruptly, 
and  Sacripanti  put  the  last  cigar- 
ette he  could  ever  hope  to  see  rolled 
expressly  for  him  into  his  mouth, 
his  eye  gleamed  more  fearfully  than 
ever.  Suddenly  he  burst  forth  in 
a  loud  military  tone  of  voice,  as  if 
he  was  making  a  report  on  the 
state  of  his  company  to  his  general. 
The  nature  of  the  communication 
evidently  embarrassed  that  gentle- 
man, and  as  I  had  understood  it  I 
was  not  surprised.  It  was  couched 
in  the  following  words:  —  "Gen- 
eral, I  have  the  honour  to  announce 
through  your  excellency,  that  I 
have  a  communication  to  make  to 
the  youngest  Miss  Brown.  I  re- 
quest that  you  will  state  to  that 
most  beautiful  lady  that  you  are 
empowered  to  offer  her  my  hand. 
You  will  also,  General,  inform  her 
precisely  what  my  means  and  posi- 
tion in  my  own  country  are,  which 
you  will  be  able  to  confirm  from 
your  own  knowledge.  My  annual 
income  derived  from  private  sources 
amounts  to  two  thousand  francs 
(£80),  and  my  rank  is  captain  of 
the  army  of  the  most  illustrious 
Garibaldi.  This  fortune  and  this 
rank  I  request  the  most  gentle 
Miss  to  share  with  me  in  my  own 
country  so  soon  as  I  shall  surrepti- 
tiously have  succeeded  in  reaching 


it."  It  was  with  no  little  hesita- 
tion and  difficulty  that  the  worthy 
General  conveyed  to  the  astounded 
ears  of  both  the  Miss  Browns,  and 
of  one  Miss  Brown  in  particular, 
the  startling  nature  of  Sacripanti's 
communication.  As  there  were 
three  casual  visitors  in  the  room  at 
the  time,  and  as  the  General  be- 
came as  confused  as  if  he  was  pro- 
posing for  himself  instead  of  for 
his  friend,  and  as  the  visitors 
sat  in  open-mouthed  astonishment, 
and  the  Miss  Browns,  though 
not  easily  taken  aback,  seemed 
for  once  disconcerted,  my  impulse 
to  burst  into  an  uncontrollable 
fit  of  laughter  was  only  check- 
ed by  the  fearful  aspect  of  Sacri- 
panti's  countenance.  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  for  a  moment 
it  inspired  me  with  such  terror 
that  I  suffered  acute  agonies  from 
my  desire  to  laugh  and  my  fear  of 
doing  so.  I  saw  drops  of  perspira- 
tion standing  out  on  the  General's 
forehead,  and  the  points  of  Sacri- 
panti's  grizzled  mustache  were 
finding  their  way  into  the  corners 
of  his  eyes.  What,  in  my  capacity 
of  knight-errant,  ought  I  to  do 
under  the  circumstances  ?  Miss 
Brown  rescued  me  from  the  diffi- 
culty, and  emerged  triumphant 
from  the  trying  ordeal.  With  in- 
finite presence  of  mind  she  seized 
the  only  thing  which  was  on  the 
table  near  her,  and  which  hap- 
pened to  be  a  saline  draught,  mixed 
it  with  an  unshaking  hand,  and  in 
the  most  silvery  tone  said  to  the 
General  as  she  handed  it  to  him 
fizzing  and  bubbling,  "Ask  dear 
Captain  Sacripanti  to  take  this 
saline  draught  for  my  sake,"  ac- 
companying it  with  a  most  expres- 
sive glance.  While  Sacripanti  was 
losing  his  breath  in  the  effervescing 
fluid — for  he  was  too  much  taken 
aback  to  refuse  it — we  were  all  re- 
gaining ours.  Conscientiously  he 
drained  it  to  its  last  drop.  "  Now," 
said  Miss  Brown,  with  a  beaming 
face,  "  tell  the  Captain  that  I  think 
we  quite  understand  each  other." 
The  Captain  looked  radiant.  Whe- 


18G5.] 


Knight-errantry  in  tht  Nineteenth  Century. 


1S3 


then  he  thought  that  the  English 
way  of  accepting  a  proposal  was  to 
drink  off  a  .saline  draught,  or  whe- 
ther he  was  pledging  in  it  his  fu- 
ture wedded  happiness,  or  what  his 
idea,  we  have  never  discovered  ; 
but  lie  bade  us  all  an  affectionate 
adieu,  left  his  card  and  Italian  ad- 
dress for  Miss  Brown,  and  is  prob- 
ably waiting  on  his  paternal  acre — 
for  he  can't  have  much  more — for 
the  arrival  of  the  bellissima  Signo- 
rina  Brown.  The  two  ladies  once 
caught  sight  afterwards  of  these 
two  heroes  at  a  railway  station  in 
Austria;  they  were  hurrying  across 
the  platform,  Sacripanti  disguised 
as  a  courier,  the  General  as  a 
milord  Anglais.  Sacripanti  gave  a 
long  thirsty  glance,  which  spoke 
volumes,  and  then  bounded  obse- 
quiously to  his  master's  side,  hat 
in  hand,  as  he  recognised  an  ap- 
proaching police  functionary.  Poor 
Sacripanti !  his  chance  is  for  ever 
gone,  as  the  youngest  Miss  Brown 
is  the  brilliant  exception  of  whom 
1  spoke — she  belongs  to  another  ; 
and  I  would  never  have  told  Sacri- 
panti's  love  had  I  not  received  the 
permission  of  her  husband. 

While  in  troublous  times  these 
political  Englishwomen  may  be 
frequently  met  with,  it  not  un- 
commonly happens  that  an  unpro- 
tected female  of  this  description 
gets  the  credit  of  being  a  political 
emissary,  when,  in  fact,  she  is  only 
seeking  refuge  from  the  gnawing 
of  her  blighted  affections,  or  some 
other  equally  justifiable  cause. 

A  remarkable  illustration  of  this 
came  to  my  notice  some  years  ago, 
prior  to  the  Crimean  war,  when  I 
chanced  to  touch  at  a  small  port  on 
the  Circassian  coast.  An  exceed- 
ingly pretty  young  woman,  accom- 
panied by  a  burly  sons-ojficier  of  a 
Cossack  regiment,  came  on  board 
the  steamboat  which  was  to  take 
us  on  to  Kertch.  The  devotion 
of  the  Russian  to  this  young 
person  was  so  marked  that  he 
evidently  was  not  her  husband  ; 
and  as  they  seemed  to  converse 
entirely  by  signs,  it  was  equally 


clear  that  either  she  was  dumb  or 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  Russian 
or  any  other  language  current  in 
those  parts.  They  had  got  a  long 
box  among  their  luggage  that  she 
wanted  to  have  sent  below,  and  he 
wished  should  remain  on  deck  ;  so, 
seeing  the  difficulties  under  which 
their  intercourse  was  being  carried 
on,  with  that  eagerness  which  has 
always  characterised  the  true  spirit 
of  knight-errantry,  I  haxarded  the 
remark  in  French  that  I  would  be 
glad  to  interpret  for  her  to  the  best 
of  my  ability.  Judge  of  my  sur- 
prise when  I  received  the  somewhat 
pettish  reply  of  "  Hout,  man,  gae 
wa'  wi'  ye  !  "  Said  I,  determined  not 
to  be  outdone,  though  so  staggered 
by  the  shock  that  you  might  have 
knocked  me  down  with  a  feather, 
"  And  what  brings  a  bonny  Scotch 
lassie  like  you  to  siccan  pairts'J" 
I  did  not  know  much  Scotch,  but 
I  had  a  strong  recollection  of  hav- 
ing looked  out  "  siccan "  in  the 
glossary  at  the  end  of  the  '  Anti- 
quary,' and  found  it  to  mean 
"such."  It  was  her  turn  to  be  as- 
tounded now,  for  1  forgot  to  men- 
tion that  I  was  in  full  Circassian 
costume,  having  just  returned  from 
paying  a  longish  visit  to  Prince 
Michael  of  Abkhasia.  On  my  head 
was  a  pointed  cap,  trimmed  with 
fur  eighteen  inches  high  ;  on  my 
breast  two  rows  of  cartridges  with 
ivory  tips  ;  at  my  back  a  ritle  in 
a  sheepskin  ;  in  my  waist  three 
knives,  the  smallest  somewhat  lar- 
ger than  an  ordinary  dirk  ;  baggy 
red  trousers,  like  knickerbockers, 
surmounted  handsomely  embroi- 
dered gaiters  ;  and  my  well  formed 
feet  were  encased  in  thin  leather 
boots  without  soles,  so  tight  that 
they  caused  me  agony  when  I  got 
them  wet.  I  was  a  young  knight 
in  those  days,  and  my  chief  de- 
light was  to  rush  into  the  costume 
of  whatever  country  I  happened  to 
be  visiting. 

AVhile  she  was  recovering  her- 
self I  was  wondering  what  on  earth 
she  was.  Never  before,  and  for  that 
matter  I  may  say  since,  had  I  ever 


184 


Knight-errantry  in  tJw  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


seen  the  Englishwoman,  or  rather 
the  Scotchwoman,  abroad  in  such 
a  guise.  In  the  first  place,  she 
was  clearly  not  a  lady  ;  then,  so 
young  and  pretty,  and  alone  :  what 
could  she  be  doing  at  Souchoum 
Kaleh  witli  this  burly  sous-officier  I 
While  thus  speculating,  the  young 
person  had  undergone  a  revulsion 
of  feeling;  she  first  threw  her  arms 
round  my  neck,  and  then  burst 
into  a  paroxysm  of  tears.  The  sous- 
officier  looked  puzzled  and,  I  thought, 
a  little  jealous ;  but  he  muttered 
something  about  a  compatriot,  and 
busied  himself  about  the  luggage. 
Then,  to  my  surprise,  he  came  back 
before  she  had  done  sobbing,  and, 
bidding  her  a  somewhat  curt  adieu, 
disappeared  over  the  side  just  as 
the  steamer's  paddles  began  to  turn. 
Here  was  a  pretty  predicament  for  a 
young  man  with  knight-errant  prin- 
ciples and  a  full  Circassian  costume 
to  find  himself  in — the  after  part  of 
the  steamer  all  to  himself,  and  a 
fair  compatriot  sobbing  in  his  arms 
— amost  brilliant  moon  just  showing 
over  the  magnificent  ranges  of  the 
snowy  Caucasus,  tinging  distant  ice- 
peaks,  throwing  masses  of  forest 
into  gloom,  and  setting  the  bay  in 
a  blaze  of  glittering  ripples.  I  had 
not  met  Miss  Smith  at  this  time, 
but  the  List  two  lines  are  quite  in 
her  style.  I  regret  that  it  is  not  in 
my  power,  as  is  clear  from  the  at- 
tempt at  Scotch  which  I  have  al- 
ready made,  to  give  her  history  in 
the  pure  Doric  in  which  it  was 
conveyed  to  me  ;  but,  so  far  as  I  am 
able,  I  will  tell  the  singular  story, 
which  I  have  no  doubt  still  sur- 
vives in  those  regions,  and  will 
long  be  narrated  among  the  Rus- 
sians as  an  illustration  of  the  ec- 
centricity of  Britons  generally,  and 
of  British  women  in  particular ; 
also  of  the  perfidy  and  Machiavel- 
lian tactics  of  our  present  Premier. 
Jenny  —  she  told  me  her  other 
name,  but  I  have  forgotten  it — was, 
it  appears,  the  maidservant  of  a 
certain  Scotch  lady,  whom  we  will 
therefore  call  Miss  Mactavish,  who, 
for  some  reason  which  Jenny  never 


could  penetrate,  decided  upon  in- 
vestigating the  progress  which  Rus- 
sia was  making  in  the  Caucasus. 
With  this  view  she  furnished  her- 
self with  letters  of  introduction  at 
St  Petersburg,  and  never  stopped 
travelling  till  she  reached  Stavropol. 
This  was  the  headquarters  of  the 
army  at  that  time  ;  and  her  arrival 
at  that  remote  garrison  during  a 
period  of  active  operations  created, 
as  may  be  imagined,  no  little  won- 
der and  comment.  Who  could 
Miss  Mactavish  be  1  what  had  she 
come  for  ?  why  did  she  want  to 
accompany  a  reconnaissance  into  the 
Kabardas]  How  were  you  to  ac-  ^ 
commodate  a  woman  and  her  maid 
on  a  rough  campaign  along  the 
southern  shore  of  the  Kuban  1  The 
Commander -in -Chief  felt  uneasy  ; 
he  was  therefore  more  polite  than 
usual — Russians  always  are  when 
they  suspect  you.  He  surrounded 
Miss  Mactavish  with  attendants, 
overwhelmed  her  with  attention, 
and  found  that  whenever  she  pro- 
posed to  go  anywhere  some  in- 
superable difficulty  interposed.  But 
Miss  Mactavish  had  not  got  Cel- 
tic blood  in  her  veins  for  no- 
thing. She  was  a  stern,  determined 
woman,  it  appears,  u  near  six  feet 
high,  awfu'  muckle-jinted,  and  with 
reed  hair,"  so  said  Jenny.  So  she 
bought  two  steeds  and  a  guide — 
they  cost  about  the  same  in  those  ••• 
parts — and  started  off  one  morning. 
Jenny  did  not  know  where  they 
were  bound  to,  as  they  were  almost 
immediately  caught  and  brought 
back.  But  the  General's  suspi- 
cions were  still  more  roused,  and  he 
and  his  officers  came  to  the  startling 
conclusion  that  Miss  Mactavish  was 
a  man  in  disguise,  and  a  secret 
agent  of  LordPawmerston,  as  Jenny 
called  him.  The  state  of  her  clieve- 
lure  went  to  confirm  this  hypothe- 
sis, as  Miss  Mactavish  had  had  a 
fever  not  long  before,  when  her 
head  had  been  shaved,  and  her 
golden  locks  were  now  about  three 
inches  long.  Having  arrived  at 
the  conviction  that  she  was  a  man, 
the  next  link  in  the  chain  was  evi- 


1865.] 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Cfntury. 


165 


dent  ;  Jenny  was  clearly  the  wife. 
Is'o  sooner  does  the  General  arrive 
at  this  conclusion  than  he  tells  oil' 
two  handsome  young  officers  on 
special  service — one  to  make  love 
to  the  pretended  Miss  Mactavish, 
the  other  to  Jenny.  "  By  these 
means,"  thinks  His  Excellency  Gen- 
eral  Blozesky,  who  judged  Scotch- 
women  by  a  Russian  standard,  "  I 
must  arrive  at  the  truth  ;  for  if 
this  emissary  of  Palmerston's  be 
really  a  female,  she  will  never  resist 
the  fascinations  of  the  seductive 
Hititoff;  no  unmarried  woman  of 
forty — if  she  be  a  woman — could 
resist  Hititoff.  He  must  be  sacri- 
ficed at  the  shrine  of  elderly  spin- 
sterhood  in  the  service  of  his  coun- 
try. If,  on  the  other  hand,  she 
resents  his  attentions,  it  will  be 
strong  presumptive  evidence  of  her 
belonging  to  the  male  sex  ;  and  if 
she  is  jealous  of  this  pretty  little 
Miss,  it  will  be  beyond  doubt  that 
she  is  really  he.  Tickeleff  speaks 
English  like  a  native.  1  will  order 
him  at  once  to  open  the  campaign 
with  the  maid.  Lucky  dog,  Ticke- 
leff ! "  So  spake  and  plotted  this 
immoral  old  Russian  General,  as  if 
he  could  possibly  know  anything 
about  Scotchwomen. 

"  Eh, -man,"  said  Jenny,  "ye  suld 
ha'  seen  my  leddy  dingin'  awa'  at 
the  lugs  o'  the  puir  bairn  Hititoff, 
and  him  tryin'  to  get  up  frae  his 
knees,  and  she  just  giein'  him  such 
bangs  that  I  had  to  come  atwixt 
them — and  then  she  went  off  screech- 
in'  and  sobbin'  in  my  arms  ;  but  I 
kenweel  the  laddie's een  were  fuller 
o'  tears  than  Miss  Mactavish's,  and 
he  couldna  tak  his  handkerchief  frae 
his  nose,  but  was  just  aff  without 
ance  lookin*  ahint  him."  So  far, 
then,General  Blazesky  was  satisfied. 
Hititoff  reported  that  no  woman 
could  have  inflicted  the  pun- 
ishment he  had  received  ;  while 
the  arts  which  he  had  frequently 
proved  were  infallible  with  the  sex, 
had  in  this  case  been  tried  with 
exactly  the  opposite  result  to  the 
one  desired  :  ergo,  Miss  Mactavish 
was  clearly  a  man.  There  only 


remained  the  confirmation  to  be 
obtained  by  Tickeleff.  Ha!  ha! 
laughs  Tickeleff,  no  fear  of  my  ears 
and  nose  getting  such  treatment  as 
Hititoff's,  and  boldly  he  opens  the 
siege.  ^ 

"  Weel,  sir,"  went  on  Jenny, 
"  this  Tickeleff  was  aye  glowerin' 
at  me,  and  squeezin'  o'  my  haund, 
so  I  jist  glowered  at  him,  and  whiles 
I  squeezed  his  haund — what  for  no  I 
— there's  nae  harm,  and  there  was 
sac  little  to  do  at  Stavropol  ;  and 
one  day  he  fumbled  away  at  my 
fingers  wi'  his  lips.  Thinks  I,  ye 
gowk,  what  are  ye  at  wi'  my  haunds 
when  my  face  is  no  that  far  aff  ] 
and  then  down  he  plumps  on  his 
hunkers,  just  the  samequeer  fashion 
as  the  ither  ane,  and  niaks  what  he 
ca's  his  declaration.  Weel,  he  was 
workin'  awa'  wi'  my  haund,  and 
havering  on  wi'  his  declaration,  and 
I  was  wearyin',  when  wha  suld  look 
in  but  my  mistress  ;  and  she  jist 
come  doon  upon  the  hair  o'  his 
heed  like  a  hawk.  '  Ye  unprin- 
cipled loons/  says  she,  '  are  ye  no 
content  wi'  attackin'  me,  but  ye 
must  assaut  my  maid  I  Gae  wa'  wi' 
ye  ; '  but  he  couldna  do  that,  for 
she  had  a  firm  grip  o'  him  by  the 
hair,  and  was  shakin'  him  maist 
awfu',  and  I  fit  to  split  my  sides. 
'  Ye  ca'  yersells  members  o'  the 
Greek  Church,'  says  she,  '  and  I 
can  weel  believe  it — there's  nae- 
body  but  pagans  would  do  the 
like  ; '  an'  wi'  that  she  gicd  him  a 
cuff,  and  he  went  aff  wi'  his  heed 
hangin'  doon  for  a'  the  warld  like 
Hititoff." 

Proof  conclusive  ;  what  more 
could  Blazesky  want  ?  Reports  to 
his  Government  important  discov- 
ery. Spy  of  Lord  Palmerston's  in 
female  disguise,  with  wife  passing 
as  maid — desires  instructions.  Great 
commotion  in  the  Eoreign  Office — 
probable  meeting  of  the  Council  to 
consider  what  shall  be  done  ;  deci- 
sion finally  arrived  at ;  send  Lord 
Palmerton's  spy  wherever  he  wants 
to  go  ;  let  him  always  be  accom- 
panied by  an  officer,  ostensibly  for 
the  protection  of  the  virtue  of  Miss 


186 


Knight-errantry  in  tlie  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


Mactavish  in  these  savage  countries ; 
order  arrives  at  Stavropol,  and  is 
instantly  put  into  execution.  Sous- 
officier  of  Cossacks  told  off  to  ac- 
company Miss  Mactavish  every- 
where. So  the  lady,  her  maid,  and 
her  escort  cross  by  the  Dariel  Pass 
to  Tifiis,  and  then  skirt  the  southern 
Caucasus  and  come  down  into  Min- 
grelia.  But  Miss  Mactavish' s  repu- 
tation has  preceded  her.  Nobody 
doubts  for  a  moment  that  she  is  not 
a  man,  but  all  admit  she  plays  her 
part  well.  Innumerable  are  the 
traps  set  to  catch  her,  but  al- 
ways ending  in  the  discomfiture  of 
those  who  devise  them.  "  Know- 
ing old  fox  that  Palmerston,"  say 
the  authorities ;  "  how  well  he 
chooses  his  agents ! "  To  talk  to  that 
red-haired  man  in  petticoats,  you 
would  suppose  he  had  no  ideas  be- 
yond the  conversion  of  the  heathen 
and  the  preservation  of  his  femi- 
nine honour ;  and  how  well  he  dis- 
guises his  voice  !  Clever  little  wo- 
man his  wife  is,  too  ;  took  two  hun- 
dred rubles,  and  told  us  nothing. 
Wonder  whether  she  is  his  wife,  or 
only  another  agent  of  Palmerston's, 
and  if  he  shifts  them  about  in 
couples  as  he  thinks  they  suit ; 
wonder  how  many  male  and  how 
many  female  spies  he  has  got.  How 
well  she  took  us  in  about  her  cor- 
respondence, too — that  long  letter 
to  her  brother  the  Presbyterian 
minister  !  Suppose  that  in  Palmer- 
ston's cipher  Presbyterian  stands 
for  foreign.  Then  that  curious 
phrase  about  "justification,''  and 
"  adoption,"  and  "  the  Assembly's 
Shorter  Catechism," — wish  we  could 
hit  off  the  key.  The  Assembly  is 
probably  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  the  Shorter  Catechism  questions 
to  be  asked  Palmerston  on  foreign 
policy  ;  "  justification  "  perhaps 
means  "  casus  belli/'  and  "  adop- 
tion "  "  annexation." 

So  completely  had  the  idea  of 
Miss  Mactavish's  real  character 
taken  possession  of  the  public  mind, 
that  when  she  arrived  at  Sugdidi 
she  got  into  a  serious  scrape  with  a 
certain  Prince  D for  having,  in 


the  fulness  of  her  emotion,  wound 
up  a  religious  discussion  with  his 
wife  by  clasping  her  round  the 
neck  and  kissing  her  warmly.  She 
thought  she  detected  signs  of  con- 
version, and  thus  naturally  did  she 
give  vent  to  her  feelings.  Prince 

D entering   at   the    moment, 

finding  his  wife  in  this  questionable 
embrace,  was  furious,  and  sent  a 
formal  challenge  to  Miss  Mactavish, 
who  doubtless  would  have  gladly 
fought  him,  so  far  as  her  pluck  was 
concerned,  but  who  entertained  a 
conscientious  objection  to  all  duel- 
ling. Time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of 
all  her  remarkable  adventures  with 
the  different  escorts  which  conduct- 
ed her  through  the  country  under 
this  erroneous  impression  —  how 
they  insisted  on  making  the  most 
marked  distinction  between  her 
and  her  maid,  reserving  all  that 
was  best  in  the  way  of  night 
accommodation  for  the  latter. 
"  'Deed,  sir,"  said  Jenny,  "  it  was 
nae  use  my  telling  them  that  the 
puir  leddy  wasna  a  man  ;  but  the 
time  came  -  when  a'  doubts  were 
at  an  end.  An'  a  richt  gude  and 
kind  mistress  she  aye  was.  to  me, 
and  me  a  giddy  thing  that  was  fu' 
o'  a'  kinds  o'  cantrips.  But  I  tended 
her  a'  through  her  last  illness,  and 
for  seven  nights  did  I  never  sleep 
one  wink,  amang  savages  as  we 
were  too,  awa'  up  i'  the  mountains, 
and  me  no  able  to  speak  a  word  o' 
their  gibberish,  and  she  in  a  raging 
fever,  and  they  all  thinking  she  was 
telling  a'  her  political  secrets  in  her 
wandering  speech.  And  the  way 
she  went  on  about  the  Free  Kirk, 
and  would  keep  telling  me  her  ex- 
periences, and  putting  a'  kinds  o' 
maist  awfu'  difficult  questions  to 
me,  thinking  I  was  Dr  Candlish  ; 
and  a  chiel  they  had  there,  who 
knew  English,  taking  notes  o'  a'  she 
said,  and  making  out  that  Candlish 
was  Pawmerston,  and  that  the  Free 
Kirk  meant  revolution,  and  the 
Establishment  meant  the  Rooshian 
Government ;  and  they  threatenin' 
to  whip  me  if  I  didna  explain  to 
them  what  '  sittin'  under  a  minis- 


1865.] 


KniyJit-eivantry  in  (he  Nineteenth  Century. 


1S7 


ter '  was,  and  wadna  believe  me 
when  I  said  I  didna  ken  \vlia  sat 
under  Pawmerston  ;  and  they  said  I 
lee'd,  and  that  they  knew  well  'the 
auld  man  '  sat  upon  a'  the  ithers. 
They  just  seemed  clean  demented 
about  it  ;  and  at  last,  wae's  me,  the 
puir  leddy  sank  a'thegither,  and 
there  I  was  my  lane  amang  tliem  ; 
and  they  rummaged  a'  our  boxes 
and  copied  a'  her  letters  and  notes, 
headed,  '  The  Caucasus  a  Held  for 
Free  Church  enterprise.'  lint  the 
Cossack  body  was  no  that  bad,  and, 
if  he  had n a  been  a  wee  too  fameel- 
iar,  would  have  done  weel  eneugh. 
.But  it  gar'd  me  greet  to  hear  my 
ain  mither  tongue  frae  you,  sir — 
hoping  ye'll  pardon  the  liberty  I 
took  wi'  kissin'  ye,  sir ;  for  I  am 
sure  ye're  a  real  gentleman,  though 
dressed  like  ane  o'  thae  savages." 
Jenny's  penetration  pleased  me, 
and  even  had  I  not  been  bound  by 
my  knightly  duty,  I  should  have 
felt  more  drawn  towards  her  and 
disposed  to  befriend  her  from  that 
moment.  "  My  good  girl,"  said  I, 
endeavouring  to  discard  as  much  as 
possible  anything  like  condescen- 
sion from  my  tone,  "  rely  upon  me 
— tell  me  if  there  is  anything  I  can 
do  for  you."  "  'Deed  is  there," 
said  she;  "  wad  ye  just  ask  them  to 
put  my  puir  mistress  below."  I 
now  discovered  what  the  long  box 
contained,  and  asked  Jenny  how 
she  had  managed  to  perform  this 
last  act  of  devotion.  "  It  wasna 
my  doing,  sir,"  she  said.  "  When 
thae  llooshians  found  that  the  poor 
leddy  wasna  a  man  at  a',  they  got  a 
wee  scared  like,  and  said  Pawmer- 
ston  might  say  that  they  had  killed 
her,  and  declare  war  immediately 
with  Kooshia,  —  and  me  in  the 
country — it  was  awfu'  to  think  o' ; 
so  they  would  send  her  home  just 
as  she  was.  And  first  they  thocht 
o'  embawming  her,  but  they  could- 
na  get  the  materials,  and  so  they 
just  stuffed  her  with  strae."  "  1  )id 
what?"  said  I,  almost  in  a  shriek. 
"Ah,  ye  may  weel  cry  out,"  said 
Jenny  ;  "  for  me,  I  couldna  bide 
near  ;  but  it  is  a'  true.  I  just  took 


a  peep  mysel'  at  the  last,  and  it 
seemed  gae  weel  dune.  An'  I  hae 
gotten  stric'  charge  to  tak'  it  to 
a  place  in  London  they  ca'  the 
Foreign  Office  ;  here's  the  address, 
see — Downing  Street." 

Now,  I  am  well  aware  that  my 
readers  will  find  some  difficulty  in 
swallowing  this  little  anecdote. 
Miss  Smith  was  all  well  enough  ; 
even  the  Miss  Browns'  history  was 
not  improbable;  but  our  chivalrous 
friend  is  coming  it  rather  too  strong, 
with  his  Scotch  maid  and  her 
stuffed  mistress.  I  am  aware  that  I 
have  a  constitutional  tendency  to 
romance  ;  who  could  lead  the  knight- 
errant  existence  which  1  have  with- 
out it  1  but  my  romantic  vein  is 
kept  within  the  most  strict  limits. 
I  know  how  to  deal  with  facts  so 
artistically  that  they  scarcely  seem 
to  be  facts — just  as  a  good  cook  can 
disguise  mutton  to  an  extent  which 
renders  it  impossible  to  know  what 
you  are  eating — but  the  mutton  is 
nevertheless  there;  so  with  these  in- 
teresting personal  experiences — they 
are  all  true,  and  the  truest  is  just 
the  least  credible.  Now,  candidly, 
do  you  think  I  could  ever  have  in- 
vented such  a  wonderful  finale  to 
Miss  Mactavish  ?  I  am  always  re- 
luctant to  admit  any  inferiority 
where  matters  of  imagination  are 
concerned ;  but  I  fairly  own  I  was 
quite  incompetent  to  have  conceived 
anything  half  so  strange  as  the  ad- 
venture which  I  have  just  described. 
If  anybody  is  still  in  doubt,  and  is 
sufficiently  interested,  in  verifying 
the  details,  to  go  as  far  as  Sugdidi, 
the  capital  of  Mingrelia,  they  will 
see  a  charming  country,  and  the 
very  Princess  who  received  the  kiss, 
and  the  husband  who  has  never  yet 
got  over  the  banter  of  his  friends  for 
having  called  out  a  lady.  But  Miss 
Mactavish  was  by  no  means  a  speci- 
men of  the  active  propagandist. 
She  was  a  dear  good  soul,  who 
merely  carried  her  theological  views 
into  everything,  but  did  not  travel 
for  the  express  purpose  of  proselyt- 
ising. There  is  your  female  colpor- 
teur, a  very  serious  person  to  meet 


188 


Knight-errantry  in  tlie  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


in  more  senses  than  one,  a  bngbear 
to  every  Catholic  government  in 
Europe,  and  to  every  British  minis- 
ter accredited  to  every  sucli  govern- 
ment. Trust  her  for  knowing  how 
to  smuggle.  She  is  as  skilful  in  dis- 
guising truth  in  every  form  which 
may  render  it  impossible  of  detec- 
tion as  I  am.  First,  she  smuggles 
a  host  of  tracts  written  by  herself, 
and  calculated  to  bring  the  whole 
Papal  fabric  down  by  the  run,  in 
the  double  lining  of  a  crinoline,  and 
then  she  smuggles  her  doctrine  into 
the  tracts  ;  then  she  is  a  match  for 
Antonelli  himself  in  dogged  per- 
tinacity of  purpose.  She  rather 
glories  in  going  to  prison  than  other- 
wise, and  knows  everything  about 
every  version  of  the  Bible  that 
exists,  and  has  tried  the  point  with 
the  Douay  with  more  governments 
than  one.  Nor  does  she  confine  her 
teaching  to  the  heterodox, — she  is 
down  upon  a  stray  Protestant  un- 
protected male  tourist  in  a  way  ter- 
rible to  behold.  She  generally  goes 
about  with  a  secretary,  a  weak  pale 
creature,  who  is  constantly  engaged 
in  copying  despatches  to  foreign 
governments,  British  ministers,  and 
"our  dear  Christian  friends  "  at  home. 
There  is  a  style  in  the  way  she  puts 
her  name  after  "  having  the  honour 
to  be,  my  Lord,"  which  stamps  her 
at  once  as  "  a  sister  with  a  work." 
Has  it  never  occurred  to  this  good 
creature,  that  as  she  has  never  been 
successful,  and  never  will  be,  there 
must  be  something  radically  wrong 
in  the  way  she  sets  about  it  ]  My 
heart  warms  towards  her  as  I  see 
her  honestly  striving  to  accomplish 
the  impossible,  in  that  cold,  stern, 
conscientious  manner  of  hers,  which 
frightens  Italians,  I  think,  more  than 
any  other  race  to  whom  she  preaches. 
She  always  seems  to  me  to  have  no 
heart  ;  perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I 
should  like  to  give  her  some  of  mine. 
Ah  !  if  she  only  knew  how  con- 
verts are  made.  If  the  best  way 
of  inducing  a  man  to  give  is 
by  appealing  to  his  stomach,  de- 
pend upon  it  the  best  way  of 
getting  him  to  believe  is  through 


the  heart.  But  your  female  mis- 
sionary is  so  full  of  hate  for  the 
system  which  degrades  him,  that 
she  has  no  love  or  softness  to  waste 
on  the  victim  ;  and  as  he  has  prob- 
ably more  brains  than  she  has,  she 
can't  appeal  to  his  intellect.  So 
she  goes  on  leading  a  life  of  war- 
fare with  custom-house  officers, 
which  sours  her  temper,  and  prac- 
tises petty  deceits  upon  them, 
which  she  thinks  justifiable,  and 
becomes  so  bigoted  in  her  views 
by  perpetually  looking  at  the  most 
exaggerated  development  of  those 
she  differs  from,  that  she  ends  by 
being  a  very  disagreeable  person  to 
all  except  the  few  who,  like  myself, 
appreciate  the  good  points  in  her 

character.     I   remember   once 

"  He's  off  again,"  you'll  say  ;  "  now 
look  out  for  a  bouncer  !"  Not  at 
all ;  this  is  strictly  true,  and  if  you 
only  knew  me,  you  would  not  won- 
der at  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you. 
Well,  I  remember  once  falling  in 
with  a  Miss  Jones,  and  her  secre- 
tary, Miss  Robinson,  at  a  frontier. 
They  declined  to  point  out  the  keys 
of  their  trunks  to  the  custom- 
house officers,  on  the  ground  that 
the  Government  had  no  moral  right 
to  search  for  Bibles  for  the  purpose 
of  sequestrating  them,  and  that 
they  could  not  afford  any  facilities 
to  its  agents.  On  which  the  in- 
spector comes — stern,  military,  and 
polite.  "  Madame,"  he  says,  "must 
expect  to  have  her  boxes  broken 
open  if  she  will  not  help  in  unlock- 
ing them."  Delighted  crowd  of 
passengers,  who  are  assisting  at 
the  altercation  with  the  English 
"  Mees" — guard,  who  says  the  train 
can't  wait — porter,  who  goes  for 
chisel  and  hammer — Miss  Robin- 
son, trembling  and  anxious  to  give 
up  the  keys — Miss  Jones  professing 
her  readiness  to  go  to  prison,  or 
incur  any  other  species  of  martyr- 
dom, but  in  the  mean  time  declares 
she  will  appeal  to  the  British  Minis- 
ter. Surrounded  by  such  sights 
and  sounds,  could  I  remain  one  in- 
stant longer  a  calm  spectator  ?  Was 
not  the  British  Minister  my  most 


1805.] 


Knight-errantry  in  (he  Nineteenth  Century. 


1KJ) 


particular  friend,  and  the  unpro- 
tected female  my  special  mission  } 
Could  I  do  either  of  them  a  greater 
favour  than  preserve  them  from 
each  other  {  With  that  readiness  of 
invention  which  characterises  me,  I 
pulled  a  white  pocket-handkerchief 
from  my  pocket,  and  tying  it  rapid- 
ly round  my  neck,  I  said  in  those 
melodious  accents  which  I  know  so 
well  how  to  assume,  and  with  an 
expression  of  resigned  deliberation, 
if  I  may  so  style  it,  "  Kxcuse  me, 
dear  madam,  for  interposing  at  such 
a  moment  ;  but,  as  a  clergyman  of 
the  Church  of  England" — here  I 
coughed,  rather  at  a  loss  how  to  go 
on — "as  a  clergyman  of  the  Church, 
dear  madam,  deeply  interested  in 
the  work —  '  Here  I  stopped  sud- 
denly. "  Surely  we  must  have  met 
before.  It  can't  be,  yet  it  is  ;  oh, 
Miss  Jones!" — having  just  deci- 
phered her  name  on  her  box — "how 
truly  grateful  I  am  to  be  permitted 
to  come  to  your  rescue.  Perhaps 
your  friend  will  show  me  the  key." 
Poor  Miss  Robinson,  who  held  the 
bunch  in  her  shaking  fingers,  was 
only  too  glad  to  hand  it  to  me,  and, 
while  Miss  Jones  was  still  trying  to 
recognise  me,  and  was  too  much 
impressed  by  the  ecclesiastical  au- 
thority which  I  brought  to  bear 
upon  her  to  remonstrate,  I  had  re- 
vealed to  the  authorities  a  row 
of  neatly-bound  "Douays"  which 
caused  their  eyes  to  glisten  as  they 
pounced  upon  them  and  carried 
them  off.  "  Never  mind,  Miss 
Jones,"  I  said  ;  "  it  will  give  us  a 
stronger  case.  Trust  me  not  to  give 
Lord  —  —  or  any  of  his  attaches  a 
moment's  peace  of  mind."  "  Oh, 
thank  you,  Mr —  "  Wilkins, 
madam — the  llev.  F.  Wilkins  ;  only 
I  am  travelling  anonymously,  if 
I  may  use  the  term,  on  behalf  of 
the  Jews,  and  do  not  wish  it  known 
that  I  am  in  the  Church."  Then 
she  tried  to  remember  where  she 
had  ever  seen  me  before,  which, 
of  course,  she  found  difficult ;  and 
after  we  had  journeyed  together  in 
the  same  carriage  for  fifteen  hours, 
I  found  that  it  would  be  quite  impos- 


sible to  undeceive  her  as  to  my  real 
character,  so  1  invested  in  a  stock  of 
stitV  white  neckcloths,  and  a  black 
waistcoat  buttoning  to  the  throat  ; 
this  gave  me  the  moral  ascendancy 
by  which  alone  1  could  secure  tran- 
quillity, and  enabled  me  to  assume 
the  right  of  preaching  to  her  ;  if 
one  of  us  was  to  preach,  1  thought 
it  had  better  be  me.  1  had  not 
been  two  days  in  her  company  be- 
fore I  had  reason  to  congratulate 
myself  on  having  adopted  this  line. 
I  have  seen  her  attack  a  retired 
general  of  the  Indian  army  in  an 
omnibus,  while  driving  from  the 
station  to  the  hotel,  in  away  which 
caused  me  the  most  acute  pain.  He 
was  looking  forward  to  meeting  a 
maiden  sister  after  a  twenty  years' 
separation  ;  and  when  he  found  she 
was  a  friend  and  correspondent  of 
Miss  Jones,  I  fully  expected  he 
would  have  turned  back  Overland, 
without  ever  getting  home  at  all. 
Then  I  saw  her  torture  a  young 
widow  who  was  hurrying  from 
Palermo,  where  she  had  just  buried 
her  husband.  Oh  the  mockery  of 
that  consolation  which  Miss  Jones 
gave  !  "  Dear  Miss  Jones,"  i  would 
say,  "  after  a  scene  of  this  sort  let 
us  improve  the  occasion  ;  I  should 
like  to  have  a  little  serious  conver- 
sation with  you."  Then  Miss  Ro- 
binson, timidly — "  May  I  be  allowed 
to  share  the  privilege  ?  "  "  Dear 
sisters,"  I  would  say,  "  1  wish  to  call 
your  attention  to  two  or  three  points 
in  which  I  see  room  for  improve- 
ment, and  I  address  myself  espe- 
cially to  Miss  Jones.  Believe  me, 
dear  lady,  you  show  too  great 
humility,  and,  if  I  may  venture  to 
say  it,  timidity,  in  your  intercourse 
with  the  unconverted.  You  seem, 
when  pointing  out  the  shortcomings 
of  another,  to  be  constantly  bur- 
dened with  the  consciousness  of 
having  sins  of  your  own.  Then 
you  make  too  great  allowances  for 
the  circumstances  under  which  per- 
haps others  have  been  brought  up  ; 
your  delicacy  and  tact  are  so  ex- 
cessive, that  you  often  allow  oppor- 
tunities of  doing  good  to  slip. 


190 


Knight-errantry  in  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


[Feb. 


There  is  such  a  tiling  as  righteous 
indignation,  and  if  you  can  occa- 
sionally infuse  a  little  bitterness 
into  your  discussions  upon  doctrinal 
points,  you  will  be  more  likely  to 
carry  conviction  ;  above  all  things, 
never  try  to  be  popular  and  loved. 
Remember  you  must  expect  perse- 
cution in  this  woi'ld,  and  if  you  get 
it,  don't  attribute  it  to  your  dis- 
agreeable manner,  and  your  pre- 
sumption in  assuming  that  every- 
body you  meet  is  a  sinner,  but  to 
your  being  so  faithful  in  telling 
them  the  truth.  More  particularly 
try  and  find  out  the  weak  points  in 
their  harness.  You  scarcely  ex- 
pressed in  sufficiently  strong  lan- 
guage, the  horror  and  disgust  with 
which  that  wicked  old  general's 
maiden  sister  will  receive  him,  when 
she  enters  into  an  investigation  of 
his  moral  nature  ;  nor  did  you  press 
the  widow  enough  as  to  the  exact 
condition  of  her  husband's  mind 
immediately  prior  to  his  death. 
It  is  so  very  important,  that  she 
should  not  be  buoyed  up  by  any 
false  hope  of  his  having  been  peni- 
tent at  last.  Then  your  mode  of 
dealing  with  the  officials  in  foreign 
countries  is  faulty.  You  do  not 
give  half  trouble  enough.  You  do 
not  sufficiently  consider  the  moral 
effect  you  may  produce  by  defying 
authority,  and  by  setting  at  nought 
all  rules  and  regulations  established 
by  despots  and  bigots,  and  holding 
them  up  to  contempt  and  scorn,  in 
your  intercourse  with  their  agents. 
You  are  too  scrupulous  in  the  means 
you  employ,  considering  that  your 
end  is  to  propagate  a  religion  of 
love,  charity,  and  tolerance.  Of 
course  you  should  endeavour  to 
create  as  much  discontent  as  pos- 
sible in  the  minds  of  these  poor  ig- 
norant people,  with  their  present 
system  of  religion.  If  you  are 
engaged  in  collecting  subscriptions 
for  a  Protestant  church  for  in- 
stance, follow  the  example  of  those 
good  Christians  at  Naples  who 
have  specially  chosen  to  erect  theirs 
at  the  door  of  a  monastery  of 
the  strictest  Catholic  order.  Thus 


the  truth  is  brought  into  very 
strong  contrast  with  error  ;  and  if 
you  cannot  conciliate,  you  may 
at  least  annoy  those  who  differ 
from  you.  By  these  means  your 
zeal  will  become  apparent,  and 
men  will  say  that  a  woman  who 
wears  herself  out  in  attempting  to 
wear  out  other  people  must  be  in 
the  right,  and  your  motives  will 
in  the  end  be  appreciated  and 
your  religion  respected.  These  are 
a  few  of  the  observations  I  would 
wish  to  make  before  parting  with 
you,  in  the  hope  that  they  may 
help  to  serve  you  both  for  your 
future  guidance  ;  and  if  it  is  any 
comfort  or  satisfaction  to  you  to 
hear  it,  dear  Miss  Jones,  believe 
me  that,  during  my  intercourse 
with  you,  I  have  learnt  many  valu- 
able lessons.  We  can  all  learn  from 
each  other,  dear  sister  ;  indeed,  I 
am  not  sure  whether  you  have  not 
done  me  more  good  than  you  have 
to  any  of  those  numerous  privi- 
leged persons  to  whom  you  have 
spoken  seriously."  Their  difficul- 
ties with  the  officials  were  at  an 
end,  and  the  services  of  the  knight- 
errant  were  no  longer  required, 
so  I  shook  hands  cordially  with 
both  ladies,  and  was  about  to 
wipe  away  something  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  my  eye,  when 
Miss  Jones  took  me  aside.  "  I 
cannot  resist/'  she  said,  "  indeed 
I  feel  it  my  solemn  duty  to  give 
you  a  piece  of  advice  before  part- 
ing. You  know  the  deep  interest 
I  take  in  you,  the  strong  affection 
I  feel  for  you."  "  Indeed,  ma- 
dam, no  one  can  be  more  sensible 
of  both."  "  Then,"  said  Miss  Jones, 
abruptly,  "  why  don't  you  marry1?" 
A  charge  straight  up  to  the  bat- 
teries, thought  I,  worthy  of  Gene- 
ral Grant.  My  breath  was  quite 
gone.  I  had  vague  thoughts  of 
precipitate  flight,  but  Miss  Robin- 
son had  executed  a  flank  move- 
ment, and  cut  off  all  access  to  the 
door.  "  Wilkins,"  said  Miss  Jones 
again,  "  I  ask  you  solemnly  and 
seriously,  why  don't  you  marry?" 
So  this,  then,  had  been  the  result 


1863.] 


Kniijht-errantry  in  the,  Nineteenth  Century. 


191 


of  all  my  preaching.     Surely  a  just 

Nemesis  had  overtaken  me  at  last, 
for  I  felt  I  had  not  been  strictly 
true  to  my  knight  -  errant  vow. 
That  extraordinary  fertility  of  re- 
source, to  which  I  have  before  al- 
luded, did  not  however  fail  me  at 
this  critical  moment.  "  Madam," 
said  I,  sternly,  "  I  am  no  more 
AVilkins  than  you  are.  I  am  an 
officer  on  leave  from  the  fastest  cav- 
alry regiment  in  the  service,  but  I 
have  shaved  off  my  mustache  to  com- 
plete the  disguise  necessary  to  en- 
able me  to  escape  from  my  creditors." 
Then  suddenly  changing  my  tone, 
and  dropping  on  one  knee,  "  But, 
lovely  Jemima,  I  will  sacrifice  my 
prospects  and  attach  myself  to  you 
for  life,  if,  dearest,  you  will  only 
pay  my  debts."  Miss  Jones  did 
not  scream,  she  uttered  no  word 
of  reproach,  but  sank  slowly  into 
u  heap  on  the  iioor.  I  propped  her 
up  with  a  footstool  at  her  back, 
and  left  Miss  Robinson  sitting  on 
it  administering  sal  volatile. 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that 
when  I  look  calmly  back  upon  this 
episode,  I  feel  a  certain  satisfac- 
tion. Of  course  I  am  not  a  cavalry 
om'cer,  and  have  not  a  debt  in  the 
world,  but  1  am  sure  Miss  Jones 
is  a  wiser  and  a  better  woman  in 
consequence  of  having  known  me. 
She  has  been  what  she  would  call 
"  chastened,"  and  I  have  been  the 
rod.  Poor  dear  !  with  a  very  little 
encouragement  she  would  have  kiss- 
ed it.  So,  perhaps,  I  did  her  an  in- 
justice, and  she  has  a  heart  after  all. 


Now,  I  know  you  will  say  what 
an  unprincipled  scoundrel  this  is, 
going  about  under  false  pretences, 
und  calling  himself  a  knight-er- 
rant. Don  Quixote,  indeed  !  how 
differently  would  that  pink  of  chi- 
valry have  behaved  under  the  cir- 
cumstances !  Not  so,  dear  friends  : 
1  appeal  confidently  to  Miss  Smith, 
the  Miss  Browns,  Jenny,  and  even 
Miss  Jones  herself.  My  object  has 
been  to  show  these  good  creatures 
how  far  they  benefit  the  human 
species,  and  how  far  they  bore  it. 
Not  for  the  world  would  I  throw 
ridicule  on  the  sublime  religion  to 
which  I  have  had  to  allude  in 
the  case  of  the  last.  Miss  Jones 
monopolises  this  task,  and  what 
I  could  I  did  to  neutralise  her 
influence  —  I  am  afraid,  to  judge 
by  a  letter  which  I  saw  from  her 
the  other  day  in  the  '  Record,' 
with  very  little  effect.  Still  there 
is  no  reason  why  others  should 
not  be  more  successful  than  I 
have  been.  My  simple  motive 
for  narrating  these  experiences 
of  my  knight-errantry  is  to  sug- 
gest an  object  to  my  male  readers 
who  are  fond  of  travelling,  and 
who  little  know  the  satisfaction 
they  will  receive  from  protecting, 
befriending,  and  assisting  these  ex- 
cellent ladies  in  the  trials  and  dan- 
gers which  their  mode  of  life  must 
necessarily  involve.  In  a  word,  to 
the  Englishman  I  leave  it  "  to  point 
the  moral;"  for  has  not  ''the  Eng- 
lishwoman ''  sufficiently  "  adorned 
the  tale  I " 


192 


Modern  Demonoloyy. 


[Feb. 


MODERN     "DEMONOLOGY. 


IF  King  James  of  pious  memory, 
the  first  who  swayed  the  double 
sceptre  of  Britain,  could  revisit  this 
terrestrial  sphere,  great  would  be 
his  exultation  at  finding  that,  in 
the  present  year  of  grace,  his  origi- 
nal theories  upon  the  subject  of 
witchcraft  and  demonology  have, 
after  the  neglect  of  centuries,  ob- 
tained a  wide  recognition  and  ac- 
ceptance. Well  indeed  might  he 
exult ;  for  the  doctrine  which  he 
so  strenuously  maintained  has,  in 
our  days,  not  only  been  enforced 
by  argument,  but  illustrated  by 
positive  demonstration.  Wizards, 
and  men  who  are  served  by  familiar 
spirits,  make  open  avowal  of  their 
powers,  and  exhibit  their  cantrips 
before  the  public  at  a  fixed  money- 
tribute  for  admittance.  The  necro- 
mancer of  the  olden  time  was  a 
sneaking  fellow,  who  hid  himself 
in  dingy  garrets  or  fetid  cellars, 
practising  his  occult  arts  with  as 
much  secrecy  and  precaution  as  are 
observed  by  the  coiner  and  the  for- 
ger. The  witch  who  molested  our 
ancestors  by  her  incantations — tor- 
turing them  by  virtue  of  pins  thrust 
into  waxen  images,  or  subjecting 
those  sympathetic  effigies  to  the 
slow  action  of  a  fire  fed  with  wolfs'- 
bane  and  the  fat  of  murderers — 
avoided  the  public  ken,  and  ad- 
mitted no  spectators  to  that  mys- 
terious seance,  where  her  succubi 
hopped  around  her  in  the  sem- 
blance of  toads,  and  Beelzebub 
himself,  in  the  figure  of  a  satyr, 
preached  blasphemous  sermons  to 
the  beldames.  Our  modern  sor- 
cerers are  fellows  of  a  different  kid- 
ney. They  affect  publicity,  exhibit 
before  Imperial  Courts,  claim  ac- 
quaintance with  and  become  the  in- 
structors of  men  of  rank  and  science, 
and  are  hand  -  in  -  glove  with  the 
spirits  of  departed  heroes,  who  most 
obligingly  obey  their  summons,  im- 
part communications,  and  playfully 
condescend  to  pinch  the  legs  of  the 


incredulous  spectators.  Let  but 
the  Yankee  Prospero  command,  and 
the  ghost  of  Washington  will  play 
on  the  banjo,  Socrates  jingle  the 
tambourine,  and  Byron  perform 
with  the  bones.  Realised  to  the 
full  extent,  and  sworn  to  as  an  un- 
doubted fact  by  a  whole  cloud  of 
Cockney  witnesses,  is  the  vaunt  of 
Faustus,  as  told  by  Christopher 
Marlowe  : — 

"  Have  I  not  made  blind  Homer  sing  to 

me 

Of  Alexander's  love,  and  CEnon's  death  ? 
And  hath  not  lie  that  built  the  walls  of 

Thebes 
With  ravishing  sounds  of  his  melodious 

harp, 
Made  music  with  my  Mephistophiles?" 

Nay,  more.  To  prove  the  un- 
rivalled and  still  undecayed  vigour 
of  the  ancient  athletes,  Milo  of 
Crotona  will  bind  the  Brothers  Da- 
venport with  ropes,  and  the  in- 
domitable Achilles  will  sustain  Mr 
Home  while  sprawling,  like  a  gigan- 
tic spider,  at  the  ceiling  ! 

We  suspect,  however,  that  King 
James,  if  included  in  the  troop  of 
revenants,  would  feel  both  indig- 
nant and  disgusted  at  the  laxity  of 
the  civil  magistrate,  in  permitting 
witchcraft  and  sorcery  to  be  openly 
practised  as  a  branch  of  lucrative 
traffic.  Upon  this  head  our  British 
Solomon  entertained  very  decided 
opinions,  not  mincing  the  matter  as 
regards  either  the  principals  or  their 
abettors.  Touching  magicians  and 
witches,  he  says — "  They  ought  to 
be  put  to  death  according  to  the 
law  of  God,  the  civil  and  imperial 
law,  and  the  municipal  law  of  all 
Christian  nations."  As  also — "All 
them  that  are  of  the  counsel  of  such 
crafts  ;  for,  as  I  said,  speaking  of 
Magie,  the  consulters,  trusters-in, 
overseers,  entertainers,  or  stirrers- 
up  of  these  craft-folks,  are  equally 
guilty  with  themselves  that  are  the 
practisers."  And  this  infliction  of 
punishment  he  held  to  be  so  para- 
mount a  duty,  that  any  leniency 


18G5.] 


Modern  Demonolugy. 


If  13 


shown  by  tlie  magistrate  was  equi- 
vulent  to  participation  in  the  crime. 
"The  prince  or  magistrate,  for  further 

trial's  cause,  may  continue  the  pun- 
ishing of  them  such  a  certain  space 
as  he  thinks  convenient :  but  in  the 
end  to  spare  the  life,  and  not  to 
strike  when  God  bids  strike,  and 
so  severely  punish  in  so  odious  a 
fault  and  treason  against  God,  it  is 
not  only  unlawful,  but  doubtless  no 
less  sin  in  that  magistrate  nor  it  was 
in  Saul's  sparing  of  Agag  ;  and  so 
comparable  to  the  sin  of  witchcraft 
itself,  as  Samuel  alleged  at  that 
time."  It  was  in  accordance  with 
such  views  that  the  celebrated  sta- 
tute entitled  'An  Act  against  Con- 
juration, Witchcraft,  and  dealing 
with  evil  and  wicked  Spirits,'  had 
been  framed  by  Parliament;  and  re- 
enacted  with  even  more  stringency 
in  the  fifth  year  of  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Multitudes  of 
convictions  ensued  ;  but  in  process 
of  time  the  British  public  sickened 
at  the  spectacle  of  wretched  old 
women  consumed  to  ashes  at  the 
stake,  on  the  accusation  of  having 
bewitched  their  neighbours'  cows, 
diabolically  abstracted  their  milk, 
or  terrified  their  children  into  fits 
by  nocturnal  visitations  under  the 
form  of  enormous  cats  ;  and  some 
philosophers  ventured  even  to  hint 
a  doubt  whether  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  had  so  much  spare  time 
as  to  permit  of  his  indulging  in 
familiar  intercourse  with  the  dregs 
and  offscourings  of  society.  So, 
by  chapter  fifth  of  9th  George  1 1. 
it  was  enacted,  that  thereafter 
"  no  prosecution,  suit,  or  proceeding 
shall  be  commenced  or  carried  on 
against  any  person  or  persons  for 
witchcraft,  sorcery,  enchantment,  or 
conjuration,  or  for  charging  another 
with  any  such  offence,  in  any  court 
whatsoever  in  Great  Britain."  This 
humane  statute  put  an  end  to  the 
atrocities  of  the  faggot  and  the  tar- 
barrel  ;  but  it  neither  gave  nor  was 
intended  to  give  full  licence  and 
immunity  to  the  professors  of  the 
occult  sciences,  insomuch  as  it 
provided  that,  "  if  any  person  shall 


pretend  to  exercise  or  use  any  kind 
of  witchcraft,  sorcery,  enchantment, 
or  conjuration,  or  undertake  to  tell 
fortunes,"  <fcc.,  he  or  she  shall  for 
such  offence  sutler  imprisonment 
for  the  space  of  a  whole  year,  and 
shall  be  exposed  once  every  quarter 
in  the  pillory,  at  a  public  market- 
place. Though  modern  squeamish- 
ness  has  led  to  the  disuse  of  that 
line  old  Knglish  institution,  the 
pillory — an  engine  which  we  ven- 
ture to  think  was  especially  suited 
for  the  exposure  and  chastisement 
of  villanous  quacks,  impostors,  and 
other  detestable  miscreants — there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  wizards,  real 
or  pretended,  may  still  be  punished 
by  imprisonment  ;  and  it  is  high 
time  that  the  penalties  of  the  law 
should  be  enforced.  We  write  this 
in  sober  earnest  ;  for  the  insolent 
and  blasphemous  pretensions  of 
those  mountebanks,  made  bold  by 
impunity,  have  now  swollen  to  such 
an  extent,  and  have  so  affected  the 
minds  of  many  weak  and  credulous 
people,  that  a  strong  example  has 
become  necessary.  Nay  more — if 
equal-handed  justice  is  to  be  ad- 
ministered in  the  P>ritish  Islands 
the  officers  of  the  law  have  no  ex- 
cuse for  allowing  those  audacious 
quacksalvers  to  escape.  1C  very  now 
and  then  we  learn,  from  the  news- 
papers, that  some  tattered  gypsy- 
woman  or  prowling  mendicant  has 
been  sent  to  the  treadmill  for  co- 
zening an  unfortunate  servant-girl 
of  her  hoarded  silver,  under  the 
pretext  of  telling  her  fortune  :  and 
such  paragraphs  usually  contain  an 
expression  of  pity  for  the  deplorable 
ignorance  and  superstition  of  the 
lower  orders  which  render  them  a 
prey  to  such  impostors.  Whereas, 
in  London,  the  better -clad  pre- 
tenders to  witchcraft  openly  adver- 
tise their  stances,  at  which  spirits  of 
the  illustrious  departed  will  favour 
the  company  with  manifestations, 
and  perform  divers  miracles  ;  they 
inveigle  crowds  of  noodles  and 
ninny-hammers  to  pay  down  their 
money  at  the  door — exhibit  some 
hocus-pocus  of  a  kind  so  ineffably 


194 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


childish,  that  the  weakest  imp  of 
Erebus  would  be  ashamed  of  partici- 
pating iu  the  game — and,  instead  of 
being  sent  to  join  the  gypsy  in  her 
wholesome  exercise  and  diet  of  di- 
luted gruel,  are  fed,  pampered,  and 
puffed  by  crazy  enthusiasts,  who  be- 
lieve that  they  have  had  communica- 
tion with  the  ghosts  of  their  grand- 
fathers, and  that  the  Bounding 
Brothers,  whom  no  network  of 
ropes  can  fetter,  are,  upon  the 
whole,  much  deeper  adepts  in  ne- 
cromancy than  the  celebrated  Witch 
of  Endor ! 

If,  however,  we  are  to  believe 
the  statements  of  their  disciples, 
the  imprisoning  of  these  eminent 
magicians  would  be  of  very  little 
use,  seeing  that  the  spirits,  who 
are  their  familiars,  and  constantly 
wait  upon  them,  are  able  to  set 
them  free.  Perhaps  the  most  re- 
volting feature  in  the  books  of 
pseudo  -  magic  and  spiritualism 
which  have  recently  issued  from 
the  press,  is  the  reiterated  assertion 
that  miracles,  similar  to  those  re- 
corded in  the  New  Testament,  are 
wrought  by,  or  in  favour  of,  the 
fellows  who,  like  Simon  Magus, 
use  sorcery  and  bewitch  the  people. 
Those  of  our  readers  who  are  for- 
tunately ignorant  of  the  tone,  nay, 
possibly  of  the  very  existence  of 
this  corrupted  literature,  will  be 
slow  to  credit  that  such  daring  im- 
piety could  be  committed  without 
meeting  with  immediate  reproba- 
tion. Yet  such  is  the  fact.  One 
of  the  books  before  us,  purporting 
to  be  a  biography  of  the  Brothers 
Davenport — a  book,  by  the  way, 
containing  more  absolute  rubbish 
than  any  volume  of  a  similar  size 
which  it  ever  was  our  fate  to  en- 
counter— contains  an  account  of  a 
pretended  miracle,  which  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  a  deliberate 
parody  of  Saint  Peter's  deliverance 
from  prison,  as  narrated  in  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles.  These  Da- 
venports, who  have  recently  been 
exhibiting  in  London,  claim  to  be 
attended  by  spirits,  the  most  po- 
tent of  whom  announced  himself 


to  be  the  ghost  of  Henry  Morgan 
the  buccaneer.  In  some  respects 
those  spirits  had  not  altogether 
divested  themselves  of  their  former 
attributes  of  humanity.  They,  ac- 
cording to  Mr  Hand,  who  acted 
as  the  Davenports'  showman,  and 
doubtless  took  the  money  at  the 
doors,  "  have  spoken  with  audible 
voices,  in  the  light,  without  a  trum- 
pet, as  we  have  rode  or  walked  by 
the  way,  and  exhibited  hands,  plac- 
ing them  upon  our  persons,  and 
handling  us  freely  " — (had  Mr  Rand 
been  a  fellow  of  any  pluck,  he 
would  have  resented  such  a  scan- 
dalous liberty  by  tweaking  the  nose 
of  the  apparition).  "  Spirits  have 
also  eaten  food  in  our  presence ; 
cake,  fish,  boiled  corn,  pineapple, 
and  other  fruits ! ! "  Did  they  not 
also  partake  of  mint-juleps,  brandy 
cock  -  tails,  phlegm  -  cutters,  and 
other  approved  Yankee  restoratives 
for  the  delectation  of  the  inner 
spirit  ?  Why  not  ]  Spirits  are 
often  afflicted  by  thirst — a  pheno- 
menon which  undoubtedly  leads 
to  a  most  melancholy  conclusion. 
Honest  William  Howitt,  who  is 
more  intimately  acquainted  with 
Pandemonium  than  any  of  his  lit- 
erary compeers,  gives  us,  in  his 
'  History  of  the  Supernatural/  a 
singular  instance  of  this,  which  oc- 
curred at  the  Castle  of  Slawensick, 
in  Silesia.  It  seems  that  venerable 
fortalice  (the  existence  of  which  we 
are  content  to  assume)  was  haunted 
by  divers  frolicsome  spirits,  who 
persisted  in  pitching  knives,  spoons, 
candlesticks,  snuffers,  and  padlocks 
at  the  worshipful  company  present. 
"  What  was  strangest  of  all,  the 
terror-stricken  inhabitants  saw  a 
jug  of  beer  raise  itself,  pour  beer 
into  a  glass,  and  the  beer  drunk  off ; 
on  seeing  which  John,  the  servant, 
exclaimed,  '  Lord  Jesus !  it  swal- 
lows !'"  On  which  anecdote,  and 
his  implicit  belief  in  its  authen- 
ticity, we  congratulate  friend  Wil- 
liam, and  dismiss  him  with  a  hearty 
wish  that  Ids  swallow  may  never 
be  less. 

To  the  economic  mind  such  phe- 


i8cr>.] 


Modern  Demonoloyy. 


195 


nomena  must  suggest  topics  of  con- 
siderable alarm.  According  to  the 
modern  doctrine,  we  are  surrounded 
by  the  disembodied  spirits  of  the 
whole  progeny  of  Adam  ;  and  as 
the  number  of  the  dead  is  infinite- 
ly greater  than  that  of  the  living, 
such  symptoms  of  unearthly  appe- 
tite, sharpened  doubtless  by  long- 
continued  fast,  are,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  sufficiently  alarming.  The 
lied  Indians  were  wont  to  provide 
some  small  viaticum  for  a  deceased 
brother,  in  the  shape  of  a  handful 
or  so  of  maize  and  a  little  dried 
venison,  to  sustain  him  on  his  way 
to  the  happy  hunting  grounds  ;  but 
it  never  entered  into  the  head  of 
either  Cherokee  or  Choctaw  that 
the  defunct  Bald  Eagle  or  Snap- 
ping Turtle  of  their  tribe  would 
haunt,  for  all  time  to  come,  the 
wigwams  of  themselves  and  their 
children,  laying  violent  invisible 
hands  on  their  .stock  of  buffalo- 
meat  and  beaver-tail,  and  causing  it 
to  disappear  as  swiftly  as  though  it 
had  been  engulfed  in  the  maw  of 
some  monstrous  anaconda  !  If  this 
new  manifestation  should  become 
general,  and  Lar  and  Lemur  should 
take  possession  of  our  larders,  we 
must  look  for  a  universal  famine. 
In  the  natural  course  of  events  it 
is  not  unusual  that  the  substance 
of  the  parents  should  be  devoured 
by  the  children  ;  but  what  is  that 
to  the  curse  of  being  compelled  to 
find  food  for  countless  generations 
of  ancestors,  whose  sharp-set  spirits 
crowd  ravenously  into  the  dining- 
room  at  the  cheerful  summons  of 
the  bell,  prepared  to  do  fuller  jus- 
tice to  the  comestibles  than  any 
horde  of  aldermen  that  ever  flocked 
to  a  City  banquet  ?  Upon  one  point 
alone  we  require  further  informa- 
tion. According  to  Howitt  and 
Hand,  the  spirits  have  a  decided 
predilection  for  articles  of  food  and 
drink.  As  many  of  them  have  ad- 
mitted their  Yankee  origin,  it 
would  be  interesting  to  know 
whether  they  continue  to  chew 
tobacco. 

But  to  recur  to  the  parody  of  the 
VOL.  xcvir. — xo.  DXCII. 


miracle.  It  appears  that  the  Mas- 
ters Davenport,  accompanied  by 
their  showman  Hand,  arrived  in  the 
course  of  their  peregrinations  at 
Oswego,  and  as  usual  advertised 
an  exhibition,  with  the  view  of 
extracting  some  dollars  from  the 
pockets  of  the  soft-heads.  "  At 
this  place,"  says  our  ridiculous  Plu- 
tarch, "  while  giving  a  private  seance, 
they  were  arrested  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  some  persons  whom  Mr  Rand 
describes  as  '  legal  bigots  and  perse- 
cutors,' who,  '  with  fiendish  exulta- 
tion,' conducted  them  before  the 
village  magistrate,  where  they  were 
charged  with  violating  a  municipal 
law,  which  provides  that  persons 
exhibiting  shows,  circuses,  menage- 
ries, Arc.,  should  procure  a  licence." 
Hand, who  seems,  like  his  compatriot 
Barmim,  to  be  an  adept  in  stump 
oratory,  undertook  his  own  defence 
and  that  of  his  interesting  proteges. 
"  He  made  a  speech  filled  with 
scriptural  quotations,  and  resting 
upon  the  facts  of  the  case."  But 
his  eloquence  was  of  no  avail.  The 
Hhadamanthus  of  Oswego  found 
the  charge  proven,  and  imposed  a 
fine  of  thirteen  dollars  thirty-nine 
cents  ;  or  in  default,  one  month's 
imprisonment  at  the  county  jail. 

Martyrs,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
resist  payment  of  fines.  That  they 
act  wisely  in  preferring  imprison- 
ment to  a  divorce  from  their  dollars, 
is  evidenced  by  the  notorious  fact 
that  the  consolations  which  they 
receive  from  friends,  not  merely  in 
the  shape  of  empty  sympathy,  but 
in  the  more  substantial  form  of 
silver  teapots  and  donations,  amply 
recompense  them  for  their  suffer- 
ings, and  far  exceed  the  amount 
they  could  have  earned  by  honest 
industry  within  the  period  of  their 
durances.  Such  resistance  is  a  fa- 
vourite device  of  Dissenters  when 
called  upon  in  any  legal  form  to 
contribute  to  the  maintenance  of 
the  Established  Churches  ;  and  not 
a  few  pigheaded  shopkeepers  have 
been  rewarded  for  their  contumacy 
by  a  large  measure  of  notoriety, 
increased  custom,  and  a  handsome 
o 


196 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


subscription  among  the  brethren. 
Beyond  this  general  principle  the 
Davenports  and  their  bear -leader 
had  an  additional  reason  for  stand- 
ing out,  inasmuch  as  "  the  intelli- 
gences who  directed  their  move- 
ments told  them  not  to  pay  a 
farthing  ! "  Henry  Morgan,  the 
buccaneer,  was  not  the  kind  of 
ghost  to  counsel  pusillanimous  sub- 
mission. So  to  jail  they  went, 
where  "they  were  met  by  their 
friends  ;  and  the  first  thing  done 
after  entering  the  prison,  was  to 
give  a  seance  for  tlie  benefit  of  the 
jailer,  who  was  as  curious  as  the 
rest  of  the  world  to  witness  the 
manifestations."  The  amount  of 
the  sum  which  thus  accrued  to  the 
American  M'Guffog  is  not  stated, 
but  it  must  have  been  considerable, 
for  we  are  presently  told  that  "  the 
jailer  became  interested,  and  in- 
quired why  the  mysterious  forces, 
so  worthy  of  '  scientific  investiga- 
tion,' did  not  unlock  their  prison 
doors'?  He  had  not  long  to  wait 
for  a  practical  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion." 

Mark  what  follows  :  "  The  last 
night  came."  They  were  all  toge- 
ther in  the  room,  Mr  Rand  and  the 
two  brothers  Davenport,  and  he 
took  the  boys  by  the  hand,  and 
talked  like  a  father  to  them.  The 
jailer  came  to  the  door  at  the 
usual  locking-up  time,  and  asked  if 
they  were  all  there.  "  We  answered 
promptly  to  the  call  that  we  were." 
He  put  on  a  new  lock,  which  they 
had  never  seen.  "  Then,"  says  Mr 
Rand,  "immediately,  sooner  than 
we  expected,  a  voice  spake  in  the 
room,  and  said  that  I  was  to  go  out 
that  night.  I  was  told  to  put  on 
my  coat  and  hat,  and  be  ready.  It 
was  oppressively  warm  in  our  small 
room,  with  the  window  and  door 
both  closed,  and  I  asked  if  I  could 
be  allowed  to  sit  with  my  coat  off, 
as  I  did  not  expect  that  we  should 
be  released  for  more  than  an  hour  ; 
but  the  answer  was  :  '  Put  on  thy 
coat  and  hat — be  ready.'  Imme- 
diately, not  more  than  twenty  min- 
utes from  the  time  we  were  locked 


up,  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
a  voice  said,  '  Now,  go  quickly ; 
take  with  you  the  rope  (one  which 
had  been  in  the  room),  go  to  yonder 
garret  window,  and  let  thyself  down 
and  flee  from  this  place ;  we  will 
take  care  of  the  boys.  There  are 
many  angels  present,  though  but 
one  speaks.'  The  boys  came  out 
with  me  into  the  hall,  took  up  the 
lock  which  lay  on  the  floor,  and  for 
the  first  time  examined  it,  and  spoke 
of  its  being  warm.  They  were  told 
(by  the  voice)  to  return  to  the  room, 
and  the  door  was  closed  and  locked 
again."  Mr  Rand,  having  made  his 
way  out  of  the  jail,  expected  the 
boys  to  follow  him.  He  told  a 
friend  whom  he  met  that  they  were 
coming,  and  wrote  the  same  to  his 
wife,. who  was  then  in  Massachu- 
setts. It  never  occurred  to  him  that 
the  door  was  relocked.  He  says, 
solemnly:  "It  matters  not  to  me 
what  force  these  statements  may 
have  on  the  minds  of  others ;  I 
make  them  because  they  are  true. 
Before  God  and  man  I  make  them, 
and  shall  make  them  while  I  exist; 
and "  but  we  omit  the  remain- 
der of  his  blasphemous  assertion. 

We  are  not  inclined  to  be  over- 
strict  in  our  estimate  of  the  morals 
of  showmen.  Their  calling  is  of  a 
kind  which  justifies — if  anything  can 
do  so — a  deviation  into  the  realms 
of  Munchausen;  and,  in  point  of 
fact,  they  are  in  the  aggregate  a 
pack  of  undaunted  liars.  Barnum, 
the  chief  of  the  tribe,  piques  him- 
self upon  his  utter  contempt  of 
truth ;  and  with  a  fine  but  incon- 
sistent honesty  admits  that  he  has 
been  at  once  the  most  daring  and 
the  most  successful  impostor  of  the 
age.  Without  presuming  to  impugn 
the  high  estimate  which  that  dis- 
tinguished practitioner  has  set  up- 
on his  own  abilities,  we  venture  to 
think  that  his  countryman,  Lyman, 
who  introduced  the  Aztec  children 
to  the  notice  of  Europe,  was  no  un- 
worthy competitor ;  for  his  splen- 
did story  of  the  abduction  of  the 
princely  dwarfs  from  the  long-hid- 
den city  of  the  Incas,  was  as  fine  a 


1866.] 


Modern  Demonology. 


197 


specimen  of  romance  as  lias  been 
woven  since  the  days  of  Heliodorus. 
But  this  Iland  is  simply  an  irrever- 
ent and  sacrilegious  rascal,  who,  if 
he  received  his  deserts,  should  have 
been  tarred  and  feathered.  It  is 
stated  as  a  fact  that  this  man,  in 
conjunction  with  the  Davenports, 
emitted  a  solemn  deposition  on  oath 
to  the  verity  of  this  miraculous 
deliverance,  on  the  narrative  that 
they  were  imprisoned  in  the  com- 
mon jail,  in  the  city  of  Oswego, 
New  York,  "  on  account  of  propa- 
i/afinf/  ouu  RELIGIOUS  PKINCIPLES  ! " 
Religious  principles  !  Why,  if  their 
own  story  were  true — if  it  were  not 
as  pitiful  a  falsehood  as  was  ever 
coined  by  three  illiterate  and  brazen- 
faced impostors — it  proves  that  they 
had  far  less  sense  of  religion  than 
the  most  benighted  African  who 
worships  his  clumsy  fetish :  for  lie 
has  at  least  some  dim  faith  in  the 
divinity  of  Mumbo- Jumbo,  whilst 
the  others  implicitly  obeyed  the 
dictation  of  the  ghost  of  a  murder- 
ous pirate !  Oath  indeed !  Oaths 
are  the  last  resource  of  crawling 
imitators,  whose  credit  is  so  ut- 
terly bankrupt  that  no  one  will 
put  faith  in  their  assertion.  There 
is  something  in  the  sublime  au- 
dacity of  the  perjuries  of  Titus 
Oates  and  Bedloe,  the  original  hat- 
chers of  a  plot,  which  redeems  them 
from  entire  oblivion ;  but  for  se- 
condary scoundrels,  such  as  Dan- 
gerfield  and  Everett,  no  man  can 
entertain  any  other  feeling  than 
perfect  loathing  and  contempt.  We 
shall  not  so  far  dishonour  the  names 
of  Barnum  and  Lyman  as  to  place 
them  in  the  same  category  with 
those  of  the  Davenports  and  Rand. 
But  Saint  Peter  is  not  the  only 
apostle  whom  the  Davenports  affect 
to  rival.  They  claim  to  have  been, 
on  one  occasion  at  least,  miracul- 
ously transported  through  the  air, 
in  imitation,  we  presume,  of  .Saint 
Philip.  We  feel  a  positive  reluc- 
tance in  obtruding  such  impious 
nonsense  on  our  readers,  but  the 
craze  for  spiritualistic  excitement 
has  become  so  prevalent  that  expo- 


sure is  an  absolute  duty;  and  we 
feel  assured  that  a  statement  of  the 
actual  pretensions  of  these  mounte- 
banks will  open  the  eyes  of  many 
who  have  been  bewildered  by  the 
exhibitions  of  their  jugglery.  Come 
we  then  to  the  miraculous  transla- 
tion, merely  premising  that  at  this 
time  the  familiar  spirit  of  the 
Davenports  answered  to  the  name 
of  "John  King,"  and  had  desired 
Davenport  senior  to  send  his  sons 
away  from  Buffalo,  because  it  was 
dangerous  for  them  to  stay  there, 
and  they  were  needed  elsewhere. 
But  old  Davenport,  though  a  be- 
liever in  the  spirits,  had  no  idea  of 
incurring  any  extra  expense.  lie 
thought,  reasonably  enough,  that 
the  spirits  who  insisted  on  the  jour- 
ney might  contrive  the  means  to 
defray  the  charges.  Not  one  stiver 
would  he  advance  ;  so  there  was  dis- 
sension between  the  seer  and  the  in- 
visible world.  Let  us  again  recur  to 
the  pages  of  the  gentleman  who  has 
assumed  the  office  of  Plutarch  : — 

"  The  strange  event  which  took  place 
as  the  result,  apparently,  of  this  con- 
versation, is  variously  vouched  for ;  but 
I  have  prefernd  to  take  the  facts  fn>m 
the  lips  of  Mr  Ira  Davenport,  the  elder 
of  the  two  brothers.  He  says  that  he 
was  walking  one  evening,  at  about  nine 
o'clock,  in  the  streets  of  Buffalo  with 
his  brother  William,  this  being  the  win- 
ter of  18.3.3-4,  and  the  boys  in  their 
twelfth  and  fourteenth  years. 

"Here  Ira's  recollection  ceases.  The 
next  thing  ho  knew  was  that  he  found 
himself  and  his  brother  in  a  snow-bank, 
in  a  field,  with  no  tracks  near  him,  near 
his  grandfather's  house,  at  Mayville, 
Chantaiujue  County,  New  York,  sijctif 
inlli'ji  from  Buffalo.  On  waking  up 
William,  who  had  returned  to  con- 
sciousness, they  made  their  way  to 
their  grandfather's  house,  where  they 
were  received  with  surprise,  and  their 
story  heard  with  astonishment.  Their 
fattier  was  immediately  informed  by 
telegraph  of  their  safety  and  where- 
abouts ;  and  he,  good  obstinate  man,  set 
himself  to  find  out  how  they  got  to 
Mayville.  On  inquiry,  he  found  that 
no  railway  train  could  have  taken  them 
after  the  hour  they  left  home  more 
than  a  portion  of  the  distance,  and  the 
conductors  on  the  road  knew  the  lx>ys, 
and  had  not  seen  them.  'John'  de- 


193 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


clarecl,  through  the  trumpet,  after  their 
return  home,  that  he  had  transported 
them,  or  caused  them  to  be  transported, 
simply  to  show  Mr  Davenport  that  they 
could  be  taken  to  any  distance  as  easily 
as  they  could  be  carried  about  the  room, 
and  to  show  him  that  it  was  useless  for 
him  to  try  to  keep  them  in  Buffalo." 

Having  discovered  this  cheap 
mode  of  locomotion,  we  are  rather 
surprised  to  find  that  the  Bound- 
ing Brothers  did  not  succeed  in 
persuading  "  John  King  "  or  "  Hen- 
ry Morgan  "  to  effect  a  considerable 
saving  in  the  expenditure  both  of 
time  and  money,  by  wafting  them 
through  the  air  from  New  York  to 
Liverpool,  instead  of  allowing  them 
to  perform  the  usual  transit  by  the 
steamer.  Often  have  we  regretted 
the  disappearance — past  all  hope  of 
recovery — of  the  wonderful  seven- 
leagued  boots,  last  worn  by  the  late 
lamented  Peter  Schlemil.  Often 
have  we  sighed  for  a  loan  of  that 
flexible  carpet,  gifted  whilome  by 
the  Fairy  Paribanou  to  her  princely 
lover,  seated  on  which  you  could  be 
wafted,  by  the  mere  formation  of  a 
wish,  as  luxuriously  as  though  you 
were  reclining  on  an  imperial  div- 
an, from  Astracan  to  Serendib,  or 
from  royal  Bagdad  to  the  distant 
island  of  Taprobane.  These  were 
the  aspirations  of  our  boyhood — 
fondly  cherished,  and  reluctantly 
abandoned,  when  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  practical  world 
forced  upon  us  the  painful  convic- 
tion that  we  were  doomed  to  wan- 
der outside  of  the  gorgeous  realms 
of  enchantment.  Now,  however, 
thanks  to  the  spiritualists,  the  old 
faith  is  reviving  in  our  bosom — 
there  is  at  all  events  a  possibility 
that  our  early  aspirations  may  be 
realised.  Could  we  but  persuade 
some  spirit  whose  terrestrial  career 
resembled  those  of  John  King  or 
Henry  Morgan — let  us  say,  for  ex- 
ample, Dick  Turpin,  David  Hag- 
gart,  Courvoisier,  or  Franz  Muller 
— to  take  a  posthumous  interest  in 
our  welfare,  we  might  be  whisked, 
like  those  Davenports,  from  one  re- 
gion to  another,  put  a  girdle  round 
the  earth  in  less  than  forty  min- 


utes, and  be  for  evermore  inde- 
pendent and  free  from  the  exaction 
of  railway  fares,  and  the  imposi- 
tions of  the  thousand  vagabonds 
who  beset  travellers  by  land  and 
sea. 

As,  however,  the  Bounding  Bro- 
thers crossed  the  Atlantic  in  the 
ordinary  prosaic  manner,  we  con- 
jecture that  they  were  induced  on 
that  occasion  to  waive  their  miracul- 
ous privilege,  in  consideration  of 
the  lesser  spiritual  attainments  of 
the  gentlemen  who  were  their  tra- 
velling companions.  It  would  ap- 
pear that  by  this  time  they  had 
parted  company  with  Rand.  That 
was  a  prudent  step,  for  no  British 
audience,  however  gullible,  would 
have  tolerated  for  half  an  hour  the 
impieties  of  that  scandalous  Yan- 
kee. We  quote  from  Plutarch  Ni- 
chols the  account  of  the  new  staff 
associated  with  the  interesting  ma- 
gicians : — 

"  The  Brothers  Davenport  embarked 
from  the  city  of  New  York  on  the  27th 
of  August  1864,  bringing  with  them,  in 
consequence  of  a  nervous  debility  in 
Mr  William  Davenport,  a  reinforcement 
in  Mr  William  M.  Fay.  who  is  not  to 
]>e  confounded  with  one  H.  Melville 
Fay — said,  iipon  I  know  not  what  kind 
of  authority,  to  have  been  detected  in 
attempting  to  produce  similar  manifes- 
tations, or  which  might  pass  for  them, 
in  Canada.  They  were  accompanied 
by  Mr  Palmer,  widely  known  as  an 
imprcssario  or  business  manager  in  the 
operatic  and  dramatic  world,  to  whom, 
as  an  experienced  agent,  was  confided 
the  business  and  pecuniary  portion  of 
their  undertaking — a  matter  of  such 
obvious  necessity  that  it  needs  neither 
apology  nor  explanation.  To  these 
were  added  Mr  J.  B.  Ferguson,  a  gen- 
tleman of  education  and  position,  for- 
merly a  clergyman  of  Nashville,  the 
capital  of  Tennessee,  "where  he  was 
highly  respected  and  esteemed.  Mr 
Ferguson  was  born  in  the  valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, but  emigrated  early  in  life  west 
of  the  Alleghanies.  He  is  now  forty 
years  old,  and  is  greatly  esteemed  by 
those  who  kno\\r  him  best  as  a  man  of 
integrity  and  honour,  of  high  religious 
principle,  purity  of  character,  deep 
thought,  and  eloquent  expression." 

In  other  words,  Fay  was  the  ac- 


1SC5.] 


Mmhrn  Demonology. 


complice,  Palmer  the  money-taker, 
and  Ferguson  the  showman  and 
lecturer  of  the  spiritualistic  mis- 
sionary menagerie. 

Judging  from  his  own  statement, 
which  is  printed  in  the  volume  be- 
fore us,  this  Ferguson  is  by  no 
means  so  odious  a  personage  as 
Rand.  He  has  sense  or  decency 
enough  to  avoid  direct  allusion  to 
the  Christian  miracles,  and  obtrudes 
none  of  those  impieties  which,  in 
the  mouth  of  Rand,  were  so  inex- 
pressibly revolting.  He  rather  af- 
fects the  obscure  metaphysical 
style,  which  gives  an  appearance  of 
great  profundity  to  his  discourse, 
though  in  reality  it  is  mere  verbi- 
age, without  a  single  definite  idea. 
Nevertheless  he  is,  after  a  certain 
fashion,  an  adept  in  this  kind  of 
jargon,  which  is  received  with  im- 
mense approbation  by  the  frequent- 
ers of  popular  institutes.  The 
following  lucid  exposition  of  the 
nature  of  spiritual  manifestations 
might  excite  the  envy  of  many  an 
itinerant  lecturer  : — 

"The  evidences  of  intelligence,  of 
•wisdom,  of  prophetic  information  and 
warning,  of  insight  as  to  events  which 
are  yet  to  occur,  and  which  always  do 
occur  when  thus  foretold — the  protec- 
tion and  guidance  and  care  unfailing 
attending  the  mission  of  these  men  and 
all  who  are  connected  intimately  with 
it,  are  to  me  equally  jxjwerful  and  con- 
vincing evidences  as  the  manifestations 
of  force  or  power.  I  do  not  undervalue 
those  evidences  of  ]M>wer  that  shock 
the  materialist  into  Ix'lief.  1  know 
what  immortality  is  worth  as  a  motive 
to  man  in  producing  a  living  hojx?,  and 
I  know  that  these  evidences  are  evi- 
dences of  hoi»e  to  all — yes,  one  mighty 
all — despite  all  the  denials,  vain  at- 
tempts at  explanation,  and  seeming 
misapplication  that  a  diversified  ap- 
preciation and  culture  may  make  of 
them.  I  know  they  arc  tnie,  and  will 
outlive  all  our  standards  of  adaptation 
and  application.  I  know  they  reveal 
the  Godlike  in  man.  I  know  they  are 
the  culmination  of  all  the  movements 
of  all  the  nations,  tribes,  and  jwoples  of 
a  common  humanity.  I  know  they  re- 
veal a  unity  in  all  human  diversity. 
They  will  go  on  in  increasing  power,  as 
our  age  and  time  shall  unfold  to  receive 


them.  They  will  stay  the  desolating 
hand  of  selfish  and  sectarian  animosity. 
They  will  lay  low  the  vain  conceptions 
of  those  who  seek  m»t  beyond  the  grati- 
fication of  personal  desire  and  self- 
aggrandisement.  They  will  assure  us 
that  (lod  loves  us  all  ;  and  as  spirit  is 
above  form,  right  alxive  wrung,  so  will 
they  rise  above  the  murky  mire  and 
clodded  earth  which  too  often  weigh  us 
down  lieneath  all  that  would  adorn  and 
beautify  man  as  one  and  undivided  in 
the  Spirit  that  gives  him  life  and  des- 
tiny. However  faint  the  scintillations, 
they  come  as  the  sparkling  gems  of 
thought  divine  to  illumine  the  midnight 
of  human  erring,  and  they  make  us 
know  that  there  is  no  hour  so  auspi- 
cious with  hope,  no  day  so  bright,  no 
achievement  so  good,  but  that  its  equal 
will  come  to  each,  and  bring  the  con- 
scious reflection,  that  through  the  deep- 
est |K-iiury  and  want,  and  the  most  try- 
ing scenes  of  human  care  and  responsi- 
bility, we  are  ever  ascending,  under  the 
mighty  hand  of  progress  that  spans  all 
time,  to  a  good  no  language  can  either 
express  or  measure,  under  the  benign 
reflection  of  the  evidences  of  a  hope  to 
man  universal,  which  are  so  signally 
marking  our  age  or  time." 

"What  think  ye  of  that,  my  mas- 
ters I  Are  not  these  the  utterances 
of  divine  philosophy,  clear,  consol- 
ing, and  elevating  ?  So  purely  fas- 
cinated are  we  by  the  fervid  elo- 
quence and  marvellous  rhetoric  of 
Ferguson,  that  we  are  tempted  to 
throw  aside  all  previous  convictions 
and  beliefs,  and  become  his  willing 
pupil. 

"  Know  that  your  words  have  won  me  at 

the  last 

To  practise  majric  and  concealed  arts. 
Philosophy  is  odious  and  obscure  ; 
Moth  law  and  physic  arc  for  petty  wits  ; 
Tis  nia^'ic,  ma^ie,  that  hath  ravished  mo  ! 
How  am  I  glutted  with  conceit  of  this  ! 
Shall     I    make   spirits   fetch    me  what   I 

please  < 

Resolve  me  of  all  ambiguities? 
Perform  what  desperate  enterprise  I  will ! 
I'll  have  them  fly  to  India  for  pold, 
Ransack  the  ocean  for  orient  pearl, 
And  search  all  corners  of  the  new-found 

world 

For  pleasant  fruits  and  princely  ilelicates. 
I'll  have  them  read  me  strange  philosophy, 
And  tell  tho  secrets  of  all  foreign  kin^s." 

Yet,  upon  second  thought,  and  a 
calm  examination  of  the  evidence 
before  us,  we  doubt  whether,  if  in- 


200 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


deed  we  should  become  as  intimate 
with  the  Spirits,  and  enjoy  their 
protection  in  the  same  measure  as 
the  Yankee  Bounding  Brothers,  the 
results  would  altogether  correspond 
with  the  inflamed  anticipations  _of 
Faustus.  For  we  are  nowhere  in- 
formed that  enchanted  banquets  are 
spread  for  the  Messrs  Davenport  by 
the  agency  of  their  disembodied  re- 
tainers, "John  King"  and  "Henry 
Morgan."  If  these  fine  Ariels  do 
indeed  present  themselves  at  the 
social  suppers  which  follow  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  seances,  it  must  be 
rather  to  participate  in  the  kidneys, 
stout,  and  gin-and-water,  than  to 
fetch  pomegranates  from  the  south. 
Whatever  knowledge  they  may  have 
of  buried  treasures  has  not  been 
communicated  to  the  Davenports; 
nor,  for  the  benefit  of  their  pro- 
teges, have  they  rifled  Golconda  of 
its  gems,  or  plucked  the  pearl  from 
the  oyster  of  the  Indian  seas.  What 
then  is  the  amount  of  their  agency 
and  performance  1  Simply  this  : 
They'  untie  in  a  close  cabinet  the 
cords  wherewith  the  limbs  of  the 
Davenports  are  bound — they  put  a 
coat  upon  the  back  of  Mr  Fay  when 
his  hands  are  tied — they  jingle  the 
tambourine,  strike  the  guitar,  and 
make  those  instruments  whisk  about 
a  darkened  room — they  pinch  the 
knees  of  the  spectators,  and  shove 
spectral  hands  out  of  holes  in  the 
cabinet.  That  is  the  sum  and  total 
of  their  whole  performance  ! 

If  modern  magic  can  do  nothing 
more  than  this,  we  are  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  Spirits  now  ac- 
tively at  work  are  vastly  inferior 
to  those  who  condescended  in  the 
reign  of  King  James  to  give  in- 
structions to  the  witches.  "  Henry 
Morgan"  is  a  weak,  drivelling,  and 
contemptible  Spirit — a  most  puling 
and  lubberly  Kobold — in  compari- 
son with  "Tom  Reid,"  who, twenty- 
nine  years  after  his  decease  on  the 
field  of  Pinkie,  appeared  to  Bessie 
Dunlop  of  Lyme,  in  the  form  of 
"ane  honest,  weel,  elderly  man, 
gray-beardit,  and  had  ane  grey  coat 
with  Lombard  sleeves  of  the  aulcl 


fashion ;  ane  pair  of  grey  breeks, 
and  white  shanks  gartered  aboon 
the  knee ;  ane  black  bonnet  on 
his  head,  close  behind  and  plain 
before,  with  silken  laces  drawn 
through  the  lips  thereof ;  and  ane 
white  wand  in  his  hand."  "  Tom" 
was  something  like  a  familiar 
Spirit,  for  with  great  gallantry  he 
proposed  to  Bessie  Dunlop  to  elope 
with  him  to  Fairyland,  and  actu- 
ally introduced  her  to  a  select  circle 
of  fairies.  Pitiful  beyond  compari- 
son is  "  John  King" — a  shamefaced 
disembodied  dunce,  whose  highest 
effort  of  genius  is  to  pinch  the  leg 
of  some  gasping  Cockney  in  the 
dark — when  placed  beside  the  "very 
mickle,  black,  rough  man "  who 
consorted  with  Isobel  Gowdie,  and 
took  her  on  one  occasion  to  the 
Downie  Hills,  where,  said  Isobel, 
"  I  got  meat  from  the  Queen  of 
Faerie,  more  than  I  could  eat.  The 
King  of  Faerie  is  a  braw  man,  weel- 
favoured,  and  broad-faced.  There 
were  elf-bulls  routing  and  skoiling 
up  and  down  there,  and  affrighted 
me."  These  old  Spirits  were  worth 
knowing,  for  by  following  their 
directions  the  witches  could  be 
transformed  into  hares.  For  their 
own  credit,  King  and  Morgan  ought 
to  take  the  hint,  and  metamorphose 
the  Davenports  into  tom-cats. 

As  the  Bounding  Brothers  are 
the  most  recent  spiritualist  exhibi- 
tors, we  have  given  them  the  priori- 
ty of  notice ;  but,  after  all,  they 
are  small  deer  and  sorry  magicians 
in  comparison  with  Daniel  Dunglas 
Home,  the  Cornelius  Agrippa  of 
the  age,  who  has  favoured  us  with 
his  own  biography. 

Mr  Home  is  a  Scoto- Yankee,  of 
mysterious  extraction,  Avho,  born 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Edinburgh,  was  taken  to  America 
when  about  nine  years  of  age.  His 
mother  "  was  a  seer  throughout  her 
life.  She  had  what  is  known  in 
Scotland  as  the  second-sight,  and  in 
many  instances  she  saw  things 
which  were  afterwards  found  to 
have  occurred  at  a  distance,  just  as 
she  had  described  them."  It  is 


1865.] 


Modern  Dcmonofagy. 


201 


pleasant  to  be  assured  that  the 
deuteroscopia,  hitherto  supposed  to 
be  peculiar  to  the  natives  of  tho 
Hebrides,  is  also  indigenous  to 
the  suburban  villages  of  Auld 
Reekie. 

The  initiatory  experiences  of  Mr 
Home  were  derived  from  spirit- 
rapping,  and  he  was  also  favoured 
with  visions  of  an  exceedingly  tran- 
scendental sort,  having  been  on  one 
occasion  at  least  translated,  that  is, 
separated  from  the  body,  after  the 
manner  of  Hermotimus  and  Maho- 
met. He  then  began  to  exhibit  as 
a  medium  with  great  success,  his 
audiences  being  favoured  with  mes- 
sages from  deceased  friends,  the 
exhibition  of  spectral  hands,  spon- 
taneous performances  on  guitars 
and  accordions,  whisking  of  hand- 
kerchiefs from  the  pockets,  and  the 
like  playful  demonstrations,  such 
as  might  have  been  executed  by 
the  disembodied  spirits  of  Charley 
Bates  or  the  Artful  Dodger.  How 
he  was  received  on  his  fir^f,  visit  to 
London — how  he  went  on  the  Con- 
tinent, became  a  Roman  Catholic, 
had  an  interview  with  the  Pope, 
wooed  and  married  a  Russian  lady 
— and  how  M.  Alexandre  Dumas, 
the  immortal  author  of  '  Monte 
Christo,'  officiated  as  godfather  at 
his  marriage — may  be  learned  by 
those  who  choose  to  consult  his 
biography.  One  passage,  however, 
is  too  remarkable  to  be  omitted, 
and  we  give  it  without  a  single 
word  of  comment : — 

"On  the  26th  April,  old  style,  or  8th 
May  according  to  our  style,  at  seven  in 
tin;  evening,  and  as  the  snow  was  fast 
falling,  our  little  boy  was  born  at  the 
town-house,  situate  on  the  Cagarines 
Quay,  in  St  Petersburg,  where  we 
were  still  staying.  A  few  hours  after 
his  birth,  his  mother,  the  nurse,  and  I 
heard  for  several  hours  the  warbling  of 
a  bird  as  if  singing  over  him.  Also 
that  night,  and  for  two  or  three  nights 
afterwards,  a  bright  star-like  light, 
•which  was  clearly  visible  from  the  par- 
tial  darkness  of  the  room,  in  which 
there  was  only  a  night-lamp  burning, 
appeared  several  times  directly  over  its 
head,  where  it  remained  for  some  mo- 
ments, and  then  slowly  moved  in  the 


direction  of  the  door,  where  it  disap- 
peared. This  was  also  seen  by  each  of 
us  at  the  same  time.  The  light  wan 
more  condensed  than  those  which  have 
Ix-fii  so  often  seen  in  my  presence 
upon  previous  and  subsequent  occa- 
sions. It  was  brighter,  and  more  dis- 
tinctly globular.  I  do  not  believe  that 
it  came  through  my  inediuiiiship,  but 
rather  through  that  of  the  child,  who 
has  manifested  on  several  occasions  the 
presence  of  the  gift." 

The  remainder  of  the  passage,  re- 
ferring to  certain  obstetric  demon- 
strations, we  omit  as  ineffably  in- 
decent. 

Hitherto  Mr  Home,  though  beset 
by  supernatural  agencies,  had  found 
no  one  historical  spirit  to  act  as  his 
especial  monitor.  Faust  still  lacked 
his  Mephistopheles.  But  in  the 
course  of  the  year  1859,  Rand's 
pamphlet  relating  the  marvellous 
achievements  of  the  Davenports 
was  published  ;  and  the  portion  of 
it  which  most  excited  the  public 
curiosity  was  the  account  of  the 
reappearance  of  "  Henry  Morgan 
the  buccaneer."  By  a  curious  co- 
incidence, no  sooner  did  this  work 
appear  in  England,  than  Mr  Home 
also  became  provided  with  a  Fami- 
liar. We  shall  allow  him  to  tell 
his  own  story  : — 

"On  the  3d  of  April  I860  I  had 
been  with  some  friends  to  a  lecture 
given  in  St  John's  Wood,  by  M.  Louis 
lilanc,  '  On  the  mysterious  persons  and 
agencies  in  France  towards  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century.'  His  lecture 
was  a  good  deal  occupied  with  Caglios- 
tro,  and  during  the  time  he  was  speak- 
ing I  hail  the  strongest  impression  of 
the  presence  of  Cagliostro ;  and  the  lady 
who  was  sitting  next  me  was  also 
aware  of  some  strong  spirit-presence, 
by  having  her  dress  pulled,  and  by 
other  manifestations." 

Here  we  pause  to  remark  that 
those  little  eccentricities  on  the 
part  of  the  Spirits,  who  seem  to  have 
an  irresistible  passion  for  manipu- 
lating ladies'  dresses,  may  account 
for  some  of  those  mysterious  occur- 
rences in  tunnels  which  are  not  un- 
frequently  made  the  subject  of  in- 
vestigation in  police-courts.  It  is 
difficult  to  see  how  this  inconveni- 


Modern  Demonology. 


202 

ence  can  be  remedied,  unless  the 
ghost  of  a  departed  stoker  could  be 
induced  to  act  as  guardian  for  each 
railway  train.  But  to  resume  :— 

"On  returning  home,   I  found  that 
my  wife  had  retired  earlier  than  usual 
in   consequence  of  a  severe  headache. 
In  the  course  of  conversation  together, 
she  having  asked  how  I  had  liked  the 
lecture,    1  said,  '  I  have  been  haunted 
all    the    evening    by    Cagliostro;;'    on 
which  she  exclaimed,  'Pray  do  not  use 
that  word  haunted  ;   it  sounds  so  weird- 
like,  and  quite  frightens  me. '    I  had  by 
this  time  extinguished  the  light,   and 
was  now  in  bed  ;  when,  to  my  amaze- 
ment, the  room  became  as  light  as  if 
the  sun  had  for  an  instant  shone  bright- 
ly in  at  the  window.     Thinking  that 
this  effect  might  have  been  only  on  my 
spiritual    perception,    I  said,    '  Sacha, 
did    you   see   anything?'      Her  reply 
was,  '  No ;  nor  could  I,  for  my  face  was 
quite  buried  in  my  pillow,  the  pain  in 
my  head  is  so  intense.'     I  asked  her  to 
observe,    and  I    then    mentally   asked 
that  if  the  light  had  been  external  it 
might  be  reproduced.     Almost  simul- 
taneously  with  the  thought  came  the 
light  again,  so  distinct,  and  with  such 
brilliancy,  that  no  noonday  was  ever 
brighter.    My  wife  asked  if  this  was  the 
spirit  of  Cagliostro,  and  the  affirmative 
reply   was    instantly    given    by   three 
flashes  of  light,  so  vivid  as  almost  to  be 
blinding  and  painful  to  the  sight.    An- 
swers were  given  to  various  questions 
in    the   same   wonderful  manner,    and 
then,   in   answer  to  a  question  asked, 
came  a  musical  tinkle,   as  if  a   silver 
bell  had  been  touched  directly  over  our 
heads.     In   this   way  our  further   an- 
swers were  now  given,    and  we  then 
heard  a  footstep  on  the  floor,  falling  so 
gently  as  if  it  feared  to  disturb  us  by 
its  approach.     My  wife  asked  that  it 
should  come  nearer,  and  it  approached 
us  till  we  felt  a  form  leaning  over  the 
bed.     In  doing  this  it  pressed  upon  the 
bed-clothes  just  as  an  actual  material 
presence  would  have  done.     We  asked 
him  if  he  had  been  a  medium  when  on 
earth,  and  a  distinct  voice,  audible  to 
both  of  us,  said  in  answer,  '  My  power 
was  that  of  a  mesmerist,  but  all-misun- 
derstood  by  those  about  me  ;  my  bio- 
graphers have  even  done  me  injustice  ; 
but   I   care    not  for  the    untruths   of 
earth.'      Both    my    wife    and    myself 
were    by  this  time  so    impressed    by 
such  startling  and  almost  terribly  real 
evidence  of  the  presence  of  one  who  was 
no  way  related  to  us,  that  for  a  few  mo- 


[Feb. 


ments  all  power  of  utterance  seemed  to 
have  left  us.  We  were,  however,  soon 
recalled  to  ourselves  by  a  hand  being 
placed  on  our  heads,  and  she,  seizing 
my  hands  in  hers,  held  them  up,  saying, 
'  Dear  Spirit  !  will  you  be  one  of  my 
guardian  angels— watch  over  me  with 
my  father— teach  me  what  you  would 
have  me  do,  and  make  me  thankful  to 
God  for  all  His  mercies  ?  '  Our  hands 
were  clasped  by  a  hand,  and  her  left 
hand  was  gently  separated  from  mine, 
and  a  ring,  which  was  the  signet- 
rhif  of  my  father-in-law,  was  placed 
on  her  third  ringer.  This  ring  was 
previously  in  the  room,  but  at  a 
distance  of  at  least  twelve  feet  from 
where  the  bed  stood.  '  Good-night, 
dear  ones,  and  God  bless  you,'  was  then 
audibly  spoken,  and  simultaneously  with 
the  sound  came  three  wafts  of  perfume, 
so  delicious  that  we  both  exclaimed, 
'  How  truly  wonderful !'" 

Most  wonderful  indeed  !  and  en- 
tirely corroborative  of  the  statement 
of    the    venerable    Aubrey :     "At 
Cirencester,  5th  March  1670,  was 
an   apparition.      Being  demanded 
whether  good  spirit  or  bad,  made 
no  answefc  but  instantly  disappear- 
ed with  a  curious  perfume  and  a 
melodious   twang."     Great   is   the 
force  of  affinity !     Like  will  to  like ; 
and  on  that  principle  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  the  ghost  of  Cagliostro 
should   have   paid    a   visit   to   Mr 
Home.      Cagliostro    was,    without 
any  exception,  the  most  impudent 
quack  of  his  day.     The  story  of  his 
life  is  one  unbroken  record  of  au- 
dacious swindling.     He  was  thief, 
vagabond,  and  coiner.     He  profess- 
ed to  have  the  secret  of  the  Elixir 
Vitse,  and  the  art  of  transmuting 
the  baser  metals  into  gold.     As  a 
thaumaturgist  and  theosopher   he 
gave   out   that   he  could   summon 
spirits.     He  was  an  accomplice  in 
the  famous   plot  of   the  Diamond 
Necklace,  in  connection  with  which 
Cardinal  Rohan  cut  so  ridiculous 
a  figure.     He  was  driven  in   dis- 
grace from  every  country  in  Europe 
which   he   polluted  with   his  pre- 
sence; and  at  length,  in  1795,  closed 
a  life  of  debauchery  and  fraud  in  a 
Roman  prison.     It  is  charitable  to 
suppose    that   Mr  Home  was   not 
aware  of  those  particulars  touching 


1805.] 


Modern  Demonology. 


£03 


the  mundane  life  of  his  spiritual 
visitor,  else  he  would  have  hesitated 
to  proclaim  his  intimacy  with  the 
ghost  of  such  a  scoundrel,  and  would 
have  peremptorily  desired  it  for  the 
future  to  abstain  from  violating  the 
sanctity  of  his  nuptial  chamber.  Jf 
he  had  any  option  in  the  choice  of 
a  familiar  spirit,  he  might  have 
found  a  much  more  suitable  one  by 
consulting  the  pages  of  Shakespeare. 
One  of  the  characters  in  the  play  of 
Henry  VI.  is  a  certain  1 1  tune,  who 
does  a  stroke  of  trade  by  assisting 
Margery  Jourdain  the  witch,  and 
Roger  Bolinbroke  the  conjuror,  in 
evoking  a  spirit  to  satisfy  the  curi- 
osity of  the  Duchess  of  Gloster. 
Possibly  lie  may  have  been  a  pro- 
genitor of  our  immaculate  Daniel, 
at  all  events  there  is  a  strange,  clan- 
nish resemblance  in  their  speech, 
thought,  and  method  of  replenish- 
ing the  exchequer. 

"  Hutnt. — This  have  they  promised, — to 

show  your  highness 

A  spirit  raised  from  depth  of  underground, 

That  shall  make  answer  to  such  questions 

As  by  your  Grace  shall  be  propounded  him. 

l)>u~lt.  —It  is  enough  :   I'll  think  upon  the 

questions : 

When  from  St  Alban's  we  do  make  return, 
We'll  sec  thc.se  things  effected  to  the  full. 
Here,  Hume,  take  this  reward  ;  make 

merry,  man, 

With   thy   confederates    iu   this   weighty 
cause." 

Under  the  guidance  and  tuition 
of  Cagliostro  a  decided  improve- 
ment in  the  nature  of  the  manifes- 
tations took  place.  Tables  not  only 
danced  and  expanded  their  maho- 
gany claws  after  the  fashion  of  the 
feline  tribe,  but  soared  into  the  air. 
Mr  Home  also  became  preternatu- 
rally  gassy.  He  began  to  float  about 
the  room,  after  the  lights  had  been 
put  out,  with  the  ease  and  precision 
of  a  L6otard,  and  the  astonished 
spectators  dimly  descried  his  figure 
horizontally  extended  beneath  the 
ceiling,  like  a  stuffed  alligator  sus- 
pended in  an  apothecary's  shop. 
The  mode  of  operation,  as  described 
by  an  eyewitness,  was  rather  pecu- 
liar : — 

"Mr  Hume  was  seated  next  the  win- 


dow.    Through  the  somi  darkness  his 
head  was  dimly  visible  against  the  cur- 
tains, and  his  hands  might  be  seen  in  a 
faint  white  heap  before  him.      1 'recently 
he  said,  in  a  quiet  voice,    'My  chair  is 
moving    -I'm  oil'  the  ground— don't  no- 
tice  me-    talk    of    something    else,'    or 
words  to  that  cilect.      It  was  very  dif- 
ficult to  restrain  the  curiosity,  not  un- 
mixed   with    a    more   serious    feeling, 
which  these  few  words  awakened  ;  but 
we  talked,   incoherently  enough,  u]ion 
some  indifferent  topic.       1  wa.s  sitting 
nearly  opposite  to  Mr  Home,  and  I  saw 
his  hands  disappear  from  the  table,  and 
his  head  vanish  into  the  deep  shadow 
beyond.      In  a  moment  or  two  more  he 
spoke  again.      This  time  his  voice  was 
in   the   air  above  our  heads.      He  had 
risen  from  his  chair  to  a  height  of  four 
or  five   feet  from  the  ground.      As   he 
ascended  higher  he  described  his  ]x>si- 
tion  as  at  first  perpendicular,  and  after- 
wards horizontal.     He  said  he  felt  as  if 
he   had   been   turned    in    the    gentlest 
manner,   as  a   child  is   turned    in   the 
arms  of  a  nurse.     In  a  moment  or  two 
he  told  us  that  he  was  going  to  pass 
across  the  window,  against    the    grey 
silvery  light  of  which  he  would  be  visi- 
ble.     We  watched  in  profound  silence, 
and  saw  his  figure  pass  from  one  side  of 
the  window  to  the  other,  feet  foremost, 
lying  horizontally  in  the  air.     He  spoke 
to  us  as  he  passed,  and  told  us  that  he 
would  turn  the  reverse  way,  and  recross 
the  window  ;  which  lie  did.     His  own 
tranquil   confidence    in   the    safety   of 
what  seemed  from  below  a  situation  of 
the   most  novel  peril,  gave  confidence 
to  everybody  else  ;  but  with  the  strong- 
est nerves  it  was  impossible  not  to  be 
conscious  of  a  certain  sensation  of  fear 
or  awe.     He  hovered  round  the  circle 
for  several   minutes,   and  passed,   this 
time  perpendicularly,   over  our  heads. 
I  heard  his  voice  l>ehind  me  in  the  air, 
and  felt  something   lightly   brush   my 
chair.     It  was  his  foot,  which  he  gave 
me  leave  to  touch.      Turning   to   the 
spot  where  it  was  on   the  top   of   the 
«hair,  I  placed  my  hand  gently  upon  it, 
when  he  uttered  a  cry  of  pain,  and  the 
foot  was  withdrawn  quickly  with  a  j>al- 
pablc  shudder.      It  was  evidently  not 
resting  on  the  chair,  but  floating,   and 
it   sprang   from   the   touch   as   a   bird 
would.       He    now  passed  over  to   the 
furthest  extremity  of  the  room,  and  we 
could  judge  by  his  voice  of  the  altitude 
and  distance  he  had  attained.     He  had, 
reached   the    ceiling,    upon    which    he 
made    a    slight    mark,    and   soon  after- 
wards descended  and  resumed  his  place 


204 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


at  the  tal>le.  An  incident  which  oc- 
curred during  this  aerial  passage, and  im- 
parted a  strange  solemnity  to  it,  was  that 
the  accordion,  which  we  supposed  to 
he  on  the  ground  under  the  window 
close  to  us,  played  a  strain  of  wild  pa- 
thos in  the  air  from  the  most  distant 
corner  in  the  room." 

At  other  seances,  sprigs  of  gera- 
nium and  verbena  were  liberally 
distributed  by  spiritual  hands  to 
the  company.  Mr  Home  became 
a  sort  of  Roman  candle,  emitting 
fiery  balls  ;  and  on  one  occasion  a 
jocular  spirit  took  the  unjustifiable 
liberty  of  purloining  a  tumbler  of 
brandy-and-water  which  a  thirsty 
believer  was  in  the  very  act  of  im- 
bibing. 

In  justice  to  the  Davenports  we 
ought  to  state  that  their  supporters 
claim  for  them  the  possession  of 
powers  equally  extraordinary.  Dr 
Nichols  gives  the  following  narra- 
tive of  phenomena  which  were  ob- 
served at  Buffalo  : — 

"The  room  was  not  darkened,  only 
obscured  to  a  pleasant  twilight.  After 
several  of  the  usual  phenomena  were 
exhibited,  the  two  boys  were  raised 
from  their  chairs,  carried  across  the 
room,  and  held  up  w'dli  their  heads 
downwards  before  a  window.  '  We 
distinctly  saw,'  says  an  eyewitness, 
(Query— Eand  ?)  '  two  gigantic  hands, 
attached  to  about  three-fifths  of  a  mon- 
strous arm  ;  and  those  hands  grasped 
the  ankles  of  the  two  boys,  and  thus 
held  the  lads,  heels  up  and  heads  down- 
ward, before  the  window  ;  now  raising, 
now  lowering  them,  till  their  heads 
bade  fair  to  make  acquaintance  with 
the  carpet  on  the  floor !  This  curious 
but  assuredly  not  dignified  exhibition 
was  several  times  repeated,  and  was 
plainly  seen  by  every  person  present. 
Among  these  persons  was  an  eminent 
physician,  Dr  Blanchard,  then  of  Buf- 
falo, now  of  Chicago,  Illinois,  who  was 
sitting  on  a  chair  by  the  side  of  Eliza- 
beth Davenport;  and  all  present  saw  an 
immense  arm,  attached  to  no  apparent 
body — growing,  as  it  were,  out  of  space 
—glide  along  near  the  floor,  till  it 
reached  around  Dr  Blanchard' s  chair, 
when  the  hand  grasped  the  lower  back 
round  of  Elizabeth's  chair,  raised  it 
from  the  floor  with  the  child  iipon  it, 
balanced  it,  and  then  raised  it  to  the 
ceiling.  The  chair  and  child  remained 
in  the  air,  without  contact  with  any 


person  or  thing,  for  a  space  of  time 
estimated  to  be  a  minute,  and  then  de- 
scended gradually  to  the  place  it  first 
occupied." 

We  fear  that  Mr  Home,  who,  by 
his  own  account,  has  moved  in  the 
very  highest  circles  of  European 
society,  and  been  received  with 
marked  distinction  at  more  than 
one  Imperial  Court,  may  be  shocked 
at  finding  his  spiritual  exhibitions 
classed  in  the  same  category  with 
the  more  robustious  demonstrations 
of  the  Davenports.  There  are  ranks 
and  grades  even  among  magicians. 
Arbaces,  the  Egyptian,  viewed  with 
scorn  the  infernal  concoctions  of  the 
witch  of  Vesuvius.  Bacon  regarded 
Bungay  as  a  mountebank,  and  hated 
him  with  an  intensity  which  only 
a  conjuror  could  feel.  Richard 
Graham,  who,  in  the  reign  of  King 
James,  was  "  worried  and  burnt  at 
the  Cross  of  Edinburgh/'  as  a  "  no- 
tour  and  known  necromancer,  ane 
common  abuser  of  the  people/'  had 
for  some  years  been  noted  as  a  pro- 
minent licentiate  of  the  devil's  me- 
dical college.  He  confessed  to  be 
familiar  with  spirits,  but  regarded 
common  witchcraft  as  a  mean  and 
despicable  thing,  and  would  hold 
no  communication  with  the  Bessie 
Dunlops  and  Eupham  M'Calyeans 
of  the  day.  But  we  cannot  afford 
to  recognise  any  such  nice  distinc- 
tions. The  miracles  of  the  Daven- 
ports and  of  Mr  Home  are  substan- 
tially the  same;  and  if  it  can  be 
shown  that  the  one  are  mere  feats 
of  jugglery  and  legerdemain,  the 
credit  of  the  other  is  overthrown. 
The  accounts  which  we  have  in- 
serted of  their  several  performances 
— exclusive  of  their  own  statements, 
which  are  of  course  worthless  as  tes- 
timony— are  taken  from  their  own 
publications  and  those  of  their  con- 
federates; are  iisually  transcripts 
of  letter*  which  appeared  from  time 
to  time  in  the  newspapers ;  and, 
when  authenticated  by  known  sig- 
natures, may  be  regarded  as  the 
evidence  of  believers.  But  there  is 
a  vast  deal  of  opinionative  testi- 
mony on  the  other  side,  though  no 


1865.] 


Modern  Demonology. 


205 


one  lias  felt  sufficient  interest  in  the 
subject  to  take  the  pains  to  collect  it. 
Innumerable  letters  have  appeared 
in  the  newspapers  and  periodicals, 
from  individuals  who  have  attended 
the  seances  of  the  conjurors,  and 
have  satisfied  themselves  that  the 
so-called  manifestations  are  based 
upon  impudent  imposture.  The 
so-called  spiritual  communications, 
whether  made  by  rappings  or 
through  mediums,  have  been  child- 
ish and  unsatisfactory  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  and  the  ghosts  appear,  in 
the  great  majority  of  instances,  to 
have  lost  not  only  their  memories, 
but  such  amount  of  education  as 
they  had  received  in  their  former 
state  of  existence. 

Conjuring  tricks  are  no  novelty. 
They  are  common  to  every  country ; 
and,  through  the  exercise  of  ingen- 
uity, they  may  doubtless  be  inde- 
finitely multiplied.  We  have  all 
heard  of  such  jugglers  as  Hermann 
Boaz,  who,  some  forty  years  ago, 
electrified  the  last  generation  by  his 
performances ;  and  we  should  be 
extremely  puzzled  if  called  upon  to 
explain  the  method  of  some  of  the 
ingenious  deceptions  practised  by 
Houdin  or  Anderson.  When,  there- 
fore, fellows  like  the  Davenports 
perambulate  the  country  with  an 
apparatus,  and  a  conjuring-box  of 
peculiar  and  suspicious  construc- 
tion, we  expect  to  be  favoured  with 
some  extraordinary  feats  of  legerde- 
main, which  shall  entirely  baffle 
our  comprehension;  for  the  essence 
of  conjuring  is,  that  the  performer 
shall  be  able  to  throw  dust  in  the 
eyes  of  the  spectators.  His  whole 
art  consists  in  producing  illusions  ; 
and  if  he  fails  in  doing  that,  he  is 
not  worthy  of  the  name  of  conjuror. 
If  M.  Houdin,  instead  of  honestly 
confessing  that  he  produced  his  ef- 
fects through  sleight-of-hand,  had 
claimed  to  be  favoured  with  super- 
natural assistance,  and  to  be  able, 
through  magic,  to  perform  miracles, 
he  would  at  this  moment  have 
ranked  higher  in  the  estimation  of 
the  credulous  than  Mr  Daniel  Dung- 
las  Home,  and  have  utterly  eclipsed 


the  light  of  such  minor  luminaries 
as  the  Davenports.  To  maintain 
that  we  are  bound  to  adopt  the 
theory  of  preternatural  agency  in 
every  case  which  baffles  our  indivi- 
dual or  collective  powers  of  explana- 
tion, is  simply  the  argument  of  an 
idiot.  Nor  is  it  much  more  rational 
to  assume  that  there  must  be  mys- 
terious or  occult  forces  at  work  to 
produce  certain  phenomena,  seeing 
that  common  observation  and  ex- 
perience demonstrate  that  decep- 
tions, which  are  the  mere  results  of 
manual  dexterity,  may  be  practised 
with  success  upon  the  shrewdest 
and  most  observant  of  mankind. 
The  juggleries  connected  with  the 
speaking  heads  and  magic  mirrors 
— the  favourite  utensils  of  the  im- 
postors of  the  middle  ages — have 
long  ago  been  exposed ;  and  yet 
they  were  as  firmly  believed  by  the 
credulous  of  those  times  to  be  ne- 
cromantic creations,  as  are  the  ap- 
paritions of  spiritual  hands  by  the 
gaping  multitude  who  contribute 
to  the  coffers  of  Mr  Home. 

It  rather  surprises  us  that  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  who  testify  to 
having  seen  and  handled  these  ap- 
paritions, have  never  subjected  them 
to  an  experiment  which  would  have 
given  us  some  insight  into  their  real 
nature.  They  are  palpable,  for  we 
are  told  by  many  that  they  have 
felt  them  manipulating  their  knees 
and  taking  liberties  with  their  per- 
sons. They  are  said  to  be  soft, 
fleshy,  and  life-like — very  different 
from  the  old  apparitions,  which 
were  visible,  but  seldom  tangible. 
They  can,  we  are  told,  twitch  tam- 
bourines, and  such  articles  as  form 
the  stock-in-trade  of  the  modern 
necromancer,  from  the  grasp  of 
spectators,  tinless  they  are  very  tiyht- 
l;/  MJ,  in  which  case  they  fail ; 
so  that  these  mysterious  agents  are 
subject  to  precisely  the  same  laws 
which  regulate  human  bodies.  If 
so,  they  must  be  impressible ;  and 
we  marvel  greatly  that  it  has  occur- 
red to  no  one  to  try  what  effect 
might  be  produced  by  a  stab  of  a 
needle  or  a  bodkin.  Most  signifi- 


206 


Modern  Demonoloyy. 


[Feb. 


cant  is  the  phrase,  P.em  acu  tetigisti. 
The  ancient  deities,  according  to 
Homer,  were  vulnerable ;  for  he 
tells  us  that  Mars  bellowed  and 
Venus  whimpered  when  wounded 
by  a  mortal  weapon.  But  the 
shades  of  the  departed  were  im- 
passive, or  yielded  like  smoke  be- 
fore a  well-directed  blow ;  and  that 
quick-witted  fellow,  Marcellus,  hit 
upon  the  true  test  when  he  pro- 
posed to  strike  at  the  ghost  of  Ham- 
let's father  with  his  partisan.  We 
now  beg  to  offer  a  suggestion  which, 
if  acted  on,  will  go  far  to  solve  all 
doubts  as  to  the  real  nature  of  those 
apparitions.  The  poniard  may 
possibly  be  regarded  as  a  weapon 
too  dangerous  to  be  used  in  such 
experiments  •  but  that  objection  can 
hardly  apply  to  fish-hooks,  which 
are  light,  handy,  and  withal  com- 
paratively innocuous.  Let  each  man 
who  is  invited  to  attend  a  seance 
procure  some  half-dozen  bait-hooks, 
of  a  size  large  enough  to  hold  a 
grilse,  tied  on  half  a  yard  of  gimp, 
which  we  recommend  in  preference 
to  gut  as  less  likely  to  yield  to 
scissors.  Let  him  be  on  the  alert; 
and,  whenever  he  feels  a  hand  be- 
neath the  table  pottering  with  his 
knees,  or  taking  any  other  kind  of 
liberty,  let  him  strike  smartly  and 
at  once,  taking  care  to  keep  a  tight 
hold  of  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
If  he  attends  to  these  directions,  we 
venture  to  promise  him  as  delect- 
able sport  as  was  ever  enjoyed  by 
an  angler — always  supposing  that 
the  fish  are  in  a  biting  humour, 
which  cannot,  however,  be  relied 
on,  unless  the  tackle  is  carefully 
concealed. 

After  what  we  have  said,  we 
need  hardly  reiterate  our  convic- 
tion that  the  so-called  manifesta- 
tions are  the  mere  tricks  of  impos- 
tors —  unquestionably  ingeniously 
devised,  but  not  produced  by  any 
kind  of  supernatural  agency.  But 
many  estimable  people  think  other- 
wise. They  have  witnessed  certain 
exhibitions  which  they  cannot  ex- 
plain upon  ordinary  principles,  and 
they  escape  from  their  bewilder- 


ment by  adopting  the  conclusion  of 
the  savage,  who,  when  any  wonder- 
ful object  is  presented  for  the  first 
time  to  his  view,  pronounces  it  to 
be  the  work  of  magic.  Having 
declared  themselves  of  this  faith, 
they  become  rampant  champions  of 
spiritualism,  and  denounce  as  Sad- 
ducees,  materialists,  and  unbe- 
lievers, all  the  rest  of  mankind  who 
refuse  to  believe  in  the  divine 
mission  of  Home  or  the  Davenports. 
That  is  scarcely  fair.  The  question 
of  spiritual  agency  is  quite  apart 
from  the  pretensions  of  any  indi- 
vidual mountebank  or  charlatan. 
No  part  of  the  Christian  revelation 
warrants  us  in  maintaining  that 
the  powers  of  darkness  may  not 
still  be  permitted  to  exercise  a  bane- 
ful and  unholy  influence  ;  and  the 
Saviour  himself  vouchsafed  to  warn 
His  followers  of  such  a  danger  in 
these  memorable  words — "  If  any 
man  shall  say  to  you,  Lo,  here  is 
Christ ;  or,  Lo,  he  is  there  ;  believe 
him  not.  For  false  Christs  and 
false  prophets  shall  rise,  and  shall 
show  signs  and  wonders,  to  seduce, 
if  it  were  possible,  even  the  elect. 
But  take  ye  heed  :  behold,  I  have 
foretold  you  all  things."  Nor  is 
there  any  mystical  meaning,  but  a 
clear  intimation  of  spiritual  danger, 
in  the  language  of  St  Paul  to  the 
Ephesians  :  "  Put  on  the  whole  arm- 
our of  God,  that  ye  may  be  able  to 
stand  against  the  wiles  of  the  devil. 
For  we  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and 
blood,  but  against  principalities, 
against  powers,  against  the  rulers 
of  the  darkness  of  this  world, 
against  spiritual  wickedness  in  high 
places."  And  again,  in  the  Epistle 
to  the  Corinthians,  we  are  warned 
against  "  false  apostles,  deceitful 
workers,  transforming  themselves 
into  the  apostles  of  Christ.  And 
no  marvel ;  for  Satan  himself  is 
transformed  into  an  angel  of  light." 
Sorcery,  and  demoniac  posses- 
sion, implying  the  direct  agency  of 
evil  spirits,  are  repeatedly  noticed 
in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  ;  and 
we  are  told  that,  at  Ephesus,  many 
"  which  used  curious  arts,  brought 


18G5.] 


Dcmonology. 


207 


their  books  together,  and  burned 
them  before  all  men;"  thereby 
testifying  that  such  practices  were 
utterly  repugnant  to  the  spirit  of 
the  Christian  religion.  Indeed, 
throughout  the  whole  Bible,  no  sin 
is  more  severely  and  emphatically 
denounced  than  that  of  holding 
traffic  or  communion  with  familiar 
spirits  ;  and  whatever  may  be  said 
of  the  credulity  of  our  ancestors, 
as  evinced  by  their  notable  prose- 
cutions of  witches,  they  had  suffi- 
cient warrant  for  punishing  the 
crime,  if  the  guilt  could  be  clearly 
established.  We  peruse  with  horror 
and  repugnance  the  old  Justiciary 
and  Presbytery  records  of  Scotland, 
filled  as  they  are  with  accounts  of 
witch  -  trials,  usually  terminating 
with  an  intimation  that  the  unfor- 
tunate accused  were  convicted, 
strangled,  or  burned  at  the  stake — 
because  we  cannot  bring  ourselves 
to  believe  that  they  were  really 
guilty  of  the  practices  set  forth  in 
such  solemn  yet  grotesque  detail. 
We  do  not  believe,  for  example, 
that  Marjory  Mutch,  having  an  ill- 
will  against  William  Smith  in  Tar- 
serhill,  came  to  his  plough  and  be- 
witched the  oxen,  so  that  "  they 
instantly  ran  all  wood  (mad),  brak 
the  pleuch,  twa  whereof  ran  over 
the  hills  to  Deer,  and  other  twa 
thereof  up  Ithan  side,  wliilk  could 
never  be  tane  nor  apprehendit 
again" — or  that  she  destroyed  much 
cattle,  laid  sickness  on  many  per- 
sons, and  attended  all  the  witch 
conventions  of  the  district.  We  do 
not  believe  in  the  delinquency  of 
Janet  Wishart,  accused  of  having 
laid,  in  revenge  for  the  refusal  of  a 
loan,  a  (hriniiig  illness  upon  James 
Low,  stabler,  whereby  he  "  melted 
away  like  ane  burning  candle,"  till 
he  died.  We  do  not  believe  — 
though  we  have  her  own  distinct 
confession  to  that  effect  —  that 
Agnes  Sampson,  in  company  with 
upwards  of  a  hundred  witches,  met 
the  devil  in  the  kirk  of  North  Ber- 
wick, who  appeared  in  the  pulpit 
like  "  ane  meikle  black  man,"  called 
over  the  infernal  roll,  and  received 


a  monstrous  homage.  We  do  not 
believe  that  the  devil  gave  instruc- 
tions to  the  witches  for  preparing  a 
waxen  image  of  King  James  to  un- 
dergo a  sympathetic  roasting,  or 
for  raising  storms  to  drown  the 
Queen  on  her  way  from  Denmark — 
or  that  Thomas  Lees  and  his  com- 
pany went  at  midnight  of  Hallow- 
e'en to  the  market  and  fish  crosses 
of  Aberdeen,  with  the  devil  playing 
before  them,  and  were  there  trans- 
formed, some  as  hares,  some  as  cats, 
some  in  other  likenesses,  and  all 
danced  about  the  two  crosses  and 
the  meal-market  a  long  space  of 
time.  These  trials  were  all  re- 
gularly conducted ;  but  even  the 
most  complete  train  of  evidence 
fails  to  make  us  believe  in  such 
monstrosities  ;  and  we  regard  the 
execution  of  the  accused  persons  as 
so  many  acts  of  judicial  murder. 
We  believe  those  persons  to  have 
been  innocent,  not  on  the  strength  of 
exculpatory  evidence,  but  because 
we  hold  it  utterly  impossible  that 
such  crimes  could  have  been  com- 
mitted. That  is  the  general  de- 
cision. But  these  new  manifesta- 
tions, if  produced,  as  their  authors 
and  abettors  maintain,  by  spiritual 
agency,  must  open  up  the  question 
anew.  Those  who  profess  to  work 
miracles  under  the  influence  and 
direction  of  the  spirits  of  Cagliostro 
the  swindler,  and  Henry  Morgan 
the  pirate,  are,  by  their  own  con- 
fession, on  a  level  with  the  worst  of 
the  wretches  who,  towards  the  close 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  were  con- 
demned to  death  for  their  unholy 
practices  ;  and  those  who  counten- 
ance their  proceedings  and  frequent 
their  seances  for  revelations,  are 
partakers  in  the  common  crime. 

The  delusion  which  affects  many 
people,  who,  while  professing  to  be 
Christians,  are  yet  countenancing 
arts  which  Christianity  emphati- 
cally condemns,  is  indeed  fearful. 
They  believe  that  they  are  permit- 
ted to  receive  messages  from  their 
departed  friends  —  to  hear  their 
voices  —  nay,  to  feel  their  very 
hands,  unchilled  by  the  damp  of 


208 


Modern  Demonology. 


[Feb. 


the  grave  ;  and  they  talk  and  write 
of  these  things  as  affording  them 
unspeakable  comfort  and  consola- 
tion. For  such  a  doctrine  as  that 
there  is  no  warrant  in  the  word  of 
God.  "  I  shall  go  to  him,"  said 
David  when  he  lost  his  child,  "  but 
he  shall  not  return  to  me  !  "  We 
may  trust  with  humble  faith  that 
the  spirits  of  the  righteous  who 
have  departed  this  life  are  in  para- 
dise, waiting  for  the  day  of  judg- 
ment ;  but  we  shall  never  hear  nor 
see  them  again  until  we  also  have 
left  this  tenement  of  flesh,  and 
passed  into  the  life  beyond.  There 
is  a  great  gulf  fixed  between  the 
living  and  the  dead,  and  over  the 
bridge  that  spans  that  gulf  there  is 
no  possibility  of  returning.  With 
the  last  breath  drawn  by  a  man,  all 
his  connection  with  the  world  and 
with  his  kindred  must  cease.  "  Then 
shall  the  dust  return  to  the  earth  as 
it  was,  and  the  spirit  shall  return 
unto  God  who  gave  it." 

If,  therefore,  there  be  anything 
in  those  manifestations,  beyond 
fraud,  juggling,  and  deceit  —  if 
those  who  frequent  and  counten- 
ance them  are  not  merely  the  dupes 
of  clever  impostors,  acting  with 
great  subtlety  upon  that  love  of 
the  marvellous  which  is  so  easily 
converted  into  a  morbid  affection 
of  the  fancy — what  other  conclu- 
sion can  we  form  than  this,  that 
evil  spirits  are  permitted  to  delude 
the  unwary,  and,  by  the  exhibition 
of  false  miracles,  to  draw  them 
away  from  that  pure  and  holy  faith, 
without  which  there  can  be  no  sal- 
vation 1  Is  it  not,  to  say  the  least 
of  it,  significant,  that  the  persons 
who  claim  to  have  possession  of 
this  miraculous  power,  and  to  be 
able  to  work  such  wonders,  should 
profess  to  derive  that  power  from 
intercourse  with  the  spirits  of  swin- 
dlers, ruffians,  and  malefactors  ?  A 
more  tainted  source  of  inspiration 


can  hardly  be  imagined.  Truly  the 
fiend,  if  he  has  any  direct  hand  in 
this  business,  is  operating  through 
most  worthy  agents ! 

There  is  but  one  revelation  given 
by  God  to  man;  and  they  who 
seek  for  another,  voluntarily  sur- 
render themselves  to  delusion,  and 
court  the  approaches  of  the  temp- 
ter. It  matters  not  whether  the 
manifestations  be  real  or  pretend- 
ed. If  the  former,  those  who  seek 
for  and  solicit  them  are  dabbling  in 
a  forbidden  art ;  if  the  latter,  they 
are  miserably  duped.  We  state  the 
alternative,  because,  by  their  own 
confession,  many  persons  have  a 
sincere  belief  in  the  miraculous 
pretensions  of  Mr  Home,  and  some 
profess  to  have  derived  spiritual 
edification  from  the  gymnastic  ex- 
ercises of  the  Davenports.  They 
believe  that  spirits  are  made  to 
come  and  go.  that  the  portals  of  the 
grave  are  opened,  and  that  the 
shades  of  the  departed  reappear, 
for  the  one  evident  object  of  draw- 
ing crowds  to  the  seances  of  the 
conjurors,  and  so  contributing  to 
their  revenues !  The  invisible 
world  is  made  the  subject  of  specu- 
lation, and  ghosts  condescend  to 
exhibit  for  the  benefit  of  Yankee 
showmen  ! 

If  the  amiable  but  deluded  per- 
sons who  have  entered  upon  this 
course  of  sin  and  folly  are  obstin- 
ate in  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
remonstrances  of  reason  and  reli- 
gion— if  they  should  still  persist  in 
consulting  oracles  more  impure  and 
fallacious  than  those  of  the  Pagan 
times — if  they  are  determined  to 
set  the  dictates  of  Christianity  at 
defiance,  and  consort  with  question- 
able characters,  who  vaunt  of  their 
intimacy  with  familiar  spirits, — 
then  their  case  indeed  is  hopeless ; 
and  their  sentence  is  written  in  the 

Words — "EPHRAIM  IS  JOINED  TO  HIS 
IDOLS  :  LET  HIM  ALONE." 


18C5.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  7. 


2d9 


ETONIANA,   ANCIENT   AND   MODERN. 
1'AKT   I. 


TUB  foundation  of  a  college  for 
the  perpetual  celebration  of  divine 
service,  and  for  the  education  of 
youth,  had  been,  almost  from  boy- 
hood, a  favourite  project  of  Henry 
VI.  A  king  at  nine  months  old, 
he  was  nevertheless  kept  under 
tutors  and  governors  with  more 
than  ordinary  strictness.  This  had, 
no  duubt,  much  influence  on  his 
future  character :  Henry  of  Wind- 
sor grew  up  a  scholar  and  a  devo- 
tee, very  unlike  the  warlike  Plan- 
tagenets  from  whom  he  sprang. 
Trained  under  his  uncle,  Cardinal 
Beaufort,  bishop  of  Winchester,  he 
had  been  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Wykeham's  College  in  that  city; 
and  this  he  made  the  model  for  his 
own  future  foundation.  As  soon 
as  he  found  himself  a  king  in  some- 
thing more  than  in  name,  he  lost 
no  time  in  carrying  out  his  long- 
cherished  idea.  In  1441,  the  nine- 
teenth year  of  his  age  and  reign, 
he  granted  his  first  charter  of  foun- 
dation to  "The  King's  College  of 
our  Lady  of  Eton  beside  Wyndsor : " 
having  previously  purchased  the  ad- 
vowson  of  the  old  parish  church  of 
Eton  for  the  purpose  of  making  it 
the  chapel  of  his  new  society.  In 
the  same  year  was  laid  the  first 
stone  of  the  new  buildings,  which 
were  ordered  to  be  of  "  the  hard 
stone  of  Kent,"  and  of  other  mate- 
rial "  the  most  substantial  and  the 
best  abiding."  Architects,  in  those 
days,  were  most  commonly  found 
among  churchmen  :  the  master  of 
the  works  at  Eton  was  Koger  Keyes, 
who  had  been  warden  of  All  Souls 
College,  and  had  successfully  super- 
intended the  buildings  there.  But 
the  wardenship  of  All  Souls  was 
not  then  the  dignified  and  lucrative 
post  which  it  is  at  present ;  for  he 
resigned  it,  at  King  Henry's  re- 
quest, to  undertake  the  new  charge 
at  Eton.  He  received,  in  acknow- 


ledgment of  his  services  (no  doubt 
besides  other  more  substantial  pay- 
ment), a  patent  of  nobility  and  a 
grant  of  arms — per  chevron  gules 
and  sable,  three  keys,  or.  Arms 
were  also  assigned  to  the  college  ; 
a  field  of  sable,  the  permanency  of 
which  colour  might  be  an  augury 
of  its  duration  ;  the  white  lilies 
blazoned  upon  it  (typical  also  of 
the  Virgin)  should  represent  the 
"  bright  flowers  redolent  of  all  the 
sciences  "  which  were  to  spring 
there  ;  while,  in  order  "  to  impart 
somewhat  of  royal  dignity" — so 
the  grant  ran  —  the  fleur-de-lys — 
"  Jlvs  Francontm" — and  the  leo- 
pard passant  of  England  were  to  be 
borne  in  chief. 

Workmen,  horses,  and  carriages 
were  impressed  under  royal  war- 
rant, and  within  two  years  the  new 
buildings  were  in  a  sufficiently  for- 
ward state  to  receive  their  first  oc- 
cupants. In  1443,  William  of  Wayn- 
fiete,  who  had  already  been  ma-ster 
at  Winchester  for  eleven  years,  mi- 
grated, no  doubt  at  the  King's  re- 
quest, to  Eton  as  the  first  provost. 
The  provost  originally  named,  in- 
deed, was  Henry  Sever  (afterwards 
warden  of  Merton  College)  ;  but 
beyond  a  grant  of  two  hogsheads 
of  "  red  Gascon  wine  "  from  the 
King,  he  seems  never  to  have  en- 
tered upon  the  duties  or  the  privi- 
leges of  the  office.  With  Wayn- 
llete  came  five  fellows  and  (appar- 
ently) four  clerks,  and  thirty -five 
scholars,  from  Winchester.  They 
were  installed  in  their  new  home  by 
Thomas  Beckington,  who  had  just 
been  consecrated  bishop  of  Bath 
and  Wells  :  he  celebrated  his  first 
mass  in  the  unfinished  new  church 
of  St  Mary,  and  afterwards  presid- 
ed at  an  entertainment  within  the 
college  buildings,  temporarily  fitted 
up  for  the  purpose.  The  Pope's 
especial  interest  was  secured  for 


210 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


the  new  foundation.  In  1447  he 
granted  indulgences  to  all  who 
should  visit  "  the  College  of  our 
Lady  of  Eton  "  at  the  coming  feast 
of  the  Assumption;  and  certain  per- 
sons who  had  been  convicted  of 
high  treason  were  pardoned  by 
King  Henry  on  that  ground. 

The  original  charter  had  contem- 
plated a  provost,  ten  fellows,  four 
clerks,  a  schoolmaster,  with  thirty- 
five  scholars  only,  and  six  choris- 
ters. A  subsequent  charter  enlarged 
the  foundation  to  seventy  scholars 
(the  number  still  preserved)  and 
sixteen  choristers.  The  statutable 
number  of  fellows  was  not  long 
maintained,  probably  owing  to  a 
deficiency  of  funds  ;  they  very  soon 
decreased  to  four,  and  have  never 
since  exceeded  seven  in  number. 

The  qualifications  of  the  scholars 
are  set  down  in  the  statutes  nearly 
word  for  word  the  same  as  at  Win- 
chester. They  were  to  be  admitted 
for  the  purpose  of  studying  gram- 
mar. They  were  to  be  poor  and  in 
need  of  help,  not  less  than  eight  or 
more  than  ten  years  old,  not  of  ser- 
vile birth  (nativi)  or  illegitimate. 
They  were  to  be  chosen,  1st,  from 
families  who  resided  on  the  college 
estates  ;  2d,  from  Buckinghamshire 
or  Cambridgeshire  ;  3d,  from  else- 
where within  the  realm.  The  choris- 
ters were  to  be  preferred  in  the  elec- 
tion of  scholars,  if  found  competent. 
All  were  to  receive  the  first  tonsure 
at  the  proper  age  ;  and  none  were 
to  remain  in  the  college  after  the 
age  of  eighteen,  unless  their  names 
had  been  placed  on  the  roll  of  suc- 
cession to  the  "  King's  College," 
founded  by  Henry  at  Cambridge  in 
the  same  year.  To  that  founda- 
tion, the  elder  sister  of  Eton  as 
New  College  in  Oxford  is  of  Win- 
chester, they  were  to  move  off  by 
seniority,  if  found  qualified,  as  va- 
cancies occurred. 

The  arrangement  of  the  college 
buildings  was  also  very  much  on 
the  Winchester  model.  The  pro- 
vost, the  fellows,  and  the  head- 
master were  each  to  have  single 
chambers  ;  the  lower  -  master  or 


usher  (ostiarius),  the  chaplains  and 
clerks,  were  to  be  lodged  two  to- 
gether. All  these  occupied  the 
upper  storey.  The  scholars  were 
located  in  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor  ;  and  it  was  specially  enjoined 
that  no  occupant  of  the  chambers 
above  should  throw  out  wine  or 
beer — or  anything  worse — on  the 
heads  of  the  scholars  below.  In 
each  of  the  boys'  chambers  three 
selected  scholars,  of  ripe  years,  dis- 
cretion, and  learning,  were  to  keep 
rule  over  their  companions  and  re- 
port cases  of  misconduct.  All  above 
fourteen  years  old  were  to  sleep 
in  single  beds.  Neither  masters 
nor  scholars  were  to  indulge  in  any 
such  fashionable  vanities  as  "  red, 
green,  or  white  boots  ;"  or  to  keep 
within  the  college  precincts  dogs 
or  nets  or  ferrets,  or — what  would 
have  seemed  less  likely — any  bears 
or  apes,  or  other  "  rare  beast,  of  no 
profit/'  The  master  (informator) 
was  to  be  well  skilled  in  grammar, 
a  Master  of  Arts,  if  such  might  be 
conveniently  had,  and  unmarried. 
He  was  to  have  an  annual  salary 
of  twenty -four  marks  (o£l6)  with 
£4,  6s.  8d.  for  his  commons  ;  and 
to  sit  at  the  fellows'  table,  taking 
precedence  of  them  (excepting  the 
vice-provost)  if  he  was  of  superior 
degree.  The  usher  was  to  have 
ten  marks  (£6,  13s.  4d.),  with  £3, 
Os.  3d.  for  commons,  and  to  mess 
with  the  chaplains  and  clerks. 
Both  were  to  have  gowns  furnished 
them,  which  they  were  on  no  ac- 
count to  sell  or  pledge. 

The  ties  which  connected  Eton 
with  its  mother  college  of  Win- 
chester were  sought  to  be  strength- 
ened, the  year  after  its  foundation 
— probably  with  some  forecasting 
of  troublous  days  to  come  —  by 
a  solemn  instrument  of  alliance 
known  as  the  "  Amicabilis  Con- 
cordia."  Reciting  the  common  ob- 
jects and  common  interests  of  the 
two  societies — "  one  in  spirit  and 
intent,  though  divided  in  locality" 
— it  pledges  them  to  a  mutual  de- 
fence of  each  other's  rights  and  pri- 
vileges, and  an  interchange  of  kindly 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modem. — Part  T. 


1865.1 


offices  for  ever — "  miitim  et 
tiia  caritas."  The  obligations  of 
the  bond  have,  perhaps,  never  been 
formally  claimed ;  but  we  may 
fairly  hope  that  it  has  never  been 
broken  in  the  spirit. 

The  troublous  days  soon  came 
for  Eton  :  it  suffered  heavily  by 
the  fall  of  its  royal  founder.  Ed- 
ward of  York  had  no  kind  feeling 
for  the  nursling  of  a  Lancastrian 
king.  He  would  have  merged  the 
new  foundation  altogether  in  the 
College  of  St  George  at  Windsor, 
and  had  obtained  a  bull  to  that 
effect  from  Pius  IF.  But  the  pro- 
vost, William  of  Westbury,  made 
an  energetic  and  successful  resist- 
ance, and  in  the  end  the  King  gave 
up  his  intention,  and  the  linlla 
Unionis,  which  would  have  been 
fatal  to  the  name  and  existence  of 
Eton  College,  was  annulled  by  the 
succeeding  Pope.  Provost  West- 
bury's  courageous  defence  has  won 
for  him  the  name  of  the  "  Camillas 
of  Eton."  But  the  college  lost  a 
considerable  portion  of  its  estates 
and  revenues,  and  never  regained 
its  original  wealth.  A  letter  of 
Archbishop  Laud's  speaks  of  this 
crisis  of  its  fortunes  as  an  actual 
"  dissolution."  For  seven  years 
after  the  triumph  of  the  Yorkists 
(1 459-1 46G)  there  was  no  regular 
election  of  scholars  from  Eton  to 
King's  College  ;  for  that  also  had 
been  all  but  dissolved  —  all  the 
scholars,  and  a  great  majority  of 
the  fellows,  having  been  expelled. 

When  times  became  more  settled, 
however,  Eton  grew  and  prospered. 
Provision  had  been  made  in  the 
statutes  for  the  reception  of  other 
boys  for  education  besides  the  se- 
venty foundation  scholars.  Sons  of 
the  nobility  and  of  "  powerful  per- 
sons, special  friends  or  benefactors 
to  the  college,"  were  directed  to  be 
admitted,  up  to  the  number  of 
twenty,  to  share  the  instruction  in 
grammar  which  could  not  be  ob- 
tained so  well  or  so  readily  else- 
where. They  were  to  be  boarded 
and  lodged  within  the  walls,  at  their 
own  expense,  so  as  not  to  be  bur- 

VOL.  XCV1I. — NO.  DXCII. 


211 


densome  to  the  college  ;  but  there 
is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  they 
paid  for  their  tuition  otherwise 
than  by  voluntary  presents  to  the 
master.  Sometimes  they  lodged  in 
college  and  sometimes  out — pro- 
bably according  to  the  number  re- 
sident. It  seems  that,  as  at  Win- 
chester, there  were  two  classes  of 
boys — "  tjenerosonnn  jilii  commen- 
sales,"  and  simple  "  commensales  " — 
corresponding  to  the  "  gentleman- 
commoner"  and  "commoner"  of 
Oxford  ;  the  former  of  higher  social 
rank,  and  probably  paying  more 
for  their  commons,  and  dining  at  a 
separate  table.  The  royal  founder 
plainly  contemplated,  from  the  very 
first,  that  a  large  number  of  inde- 
pendent students  would  flock  to  his 
new  college.  By  a  protective  enact- 
ment which  we  should  now  call 
barbarous  and  illiberal,  he  forbade 
any  school  to  be  opened  within  ten 
miles  of  Eton.  He  also  made  a 
grant  of  all  the  houses,  public  and 
private,  within  the  town  and  parish 
of  Eton,  to  the  provost  and  fellows 
of  the  college,  to  serve  as  lodgings 
for  such  scholars  as  should  resort 
there  for  the  teaching  of  the  school, 
or  for  other  persons  having  business 
of  any  kind  with  the  college  :  and 
the  inhabitants  were  to  entertain 
no  stranger  but  by  the  provost's 
permission. 

The  earliest  of  these  original 
"  oppidans"  of  whom  any  personal 
record  is  to  be  found,  is  William 
Paston,  younger  son  of  Sir  John, 
of  Paston  in  Norfolk.  He  was  at 
Eton  as  early  as  1407;  and  in  the 
well-known  series  of  the  Paston 
letters,  is  one  from  him — the  earliest 
letter  of  an  Eton  schoolboy  known 
to  be  extant.  In  some  points  it  is 
very  like  what  an  Eton  schoolboy's 
letter  might  be  now  ;  he  thanks  his 
elder  brother  for  money  which  has 
been  sent  him  from  home — 8d.  to 
buy  a  pair  of  slippers,  and  13s.  4d. 
to  pay  his  "  dame"  (''hostess,"  he 
calls  her)  for  his  board  ;  also  for 
12  Ib.  of  raisins  and  8  Ib.  of  figs, 
which,  however,  had  not  yet  arriv- 
ed, but  were  on  their  way  "  in  an- 


212 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


other  barge."  But  the  main  subject 
of  the  letter  shows  a  more  than 
Etonian  precocity.  He  had  fallen 
in  love.  That  of  itself  might  not 
be  remarkable  ;  but  the  boy  was 
actually  contemplating  matrimony 
in  the  most  prosaic  and  business- 
like way.  He  had  met  the  object 
of  his  affections  at  her  sister's  wed- 
ding in  Eton,  to  which  he  had  been 
taken  by  "  mine  hostess,"  on  which 
occasion  the  young  lady,  by  her 
mother's  command,  had  "  made 
him  good  cheer."  They  lived, 
when  at  home,  in  London,  in  Bow 
Churchyard.  The  whole  letter  has 
been  more  than  once  reprinted, 
but  the  conclusion  is  too  good  not 
to  be  given  here  : — 

"  The  name  of  the  daughter  is  Mar- 
garet Alborow.  The  age  of  her  is,  by 
all  likelihood,  18  or  19  years  at  the 
farthest ;  and  as  for  the  money  and 
plate,  it  is  ready  whensoever  she  were 
wedded  ;  but  as  for  the  livelihood,  I 
trow,  not  till  after  the  mother's  decease ; 
but  I  cannot  tell  you  for  very  certain, 
but  you  may  know  by  inquiring. 

"And  as  for  her  beauty,  judge  you 
that  when  you  see  her,  if  so  be  that 
ye  take  the  labour,  and  specially  behold 
her  hands  ;  for  an  if  it  be  as  it  is  told 
me,  she  is  disposed  to  be  thick." 

What  was  the  end  of  this  cau- 
tious romance — whether  the  "live- 
lihood" was  not  forthcoming,  or 
whether  the  lady's  hands  turned 
out  to  be  too  thick — does  not  appear 
in  the  Paston  chronicles.  It  may 
be  fair  to  say  that  Master  William 
Paston  had  learnt  French  and  poetry 
of  a  foreign  tutor — one  Karol  Giles, 
a  Lombard — before  he  Avent  to 
Eton.  But  if  he  did  not  succeed 
in  his  courtship  better  than  he  did 
in  his  Latin  verses,  he  had  very  little 
chance  of  a  wife. 

"  As  for  my  coming  from  Eton,  I 
lack  nothing  but  versifying,  which  I 
trust  to  have  with  a  little  continuance. 

Quare,  quomodo.     Non  valet  hora,   valet 

mora. 
Arbore  jam  videas  exemplum  ;  non  die 

possunt 
Omnia  suppleri,  sed  tamen  ilia  mora. 

And  these  two  verses  aforesaid  be  of 
mine  own  making." 


And  if  Mr  Clement  Smyth,  who 
was  then  head-master  of  Eton,  had 
anything  of  the  spirit  of  Keate  or 
Hawtrey,  we  know  what  inevitably 
followed. 

Of  the  early  masters  the  re- 
cords are  scanty  and  defective. 
Such  lists  as  have  been  preserved 
do  not  correspond,  and  are  more 
or  less  incomplete.  The  fullest 
which  we  have  been  able  to  find 
is  given  by  Cole  amongst  his 
MSS.  :  it  contains  some  names 
not  included  by  Ackerman  in  that 
which  he  obtained  from  the  college 
records.  Cole's  list  was  copied 
from  the  papers  of  Dr  Richardson, 
master  of  Emmanuel  College,  who, 
as  he  fairly  complains,  never  gives 
his  authorities;  and  Cole  himself 
is  by  no  means  accurate  in  some 
of  his  own  additions.  Waynflete, 
when  he  became  provost,  was  suc- 
ceeded in  the  mastership  of  the 
school  by  William  Westbury.  The 
names  which  follow  during  the 
next  two  centuries  have  left  little 
other  memorial  behind  them. 
Scarcely  any  held  the  office  longer 
than  for  a  few  years.  Several  ac- 
cepted the  then  more  distinguished 
and  more  lucrative  post  of  head- 
master of  Winchester.  Clement 
Smyth  must  have  been  more  than 
ordinarily  fond  of  change  ;  he  was 
master  of  Eton  from  1453  to  1457, 
when  he  resigned  on  being  elected 
fellow  of  the  college ;  afterwards 
he  went  as  head-master  to  Win- 
chester for  two  years,  when  he  came 
back  again  to  his  desk  at  Eton, 
where  he  taught  for  six  years  more. 
William  Hormanand  Thomas  Erlys- 
man  exchanged  to  Winchester  also. 

It  was  under  Richard  Cockys,  or 
Coxe  (1528-1535),  that  the  school 
seems  first  to  have  risen  to  any 
high  repute.  He  was  chosen  by 
Cranmer  as  tutor  to  the  young 
King  Edward  VI.,  and  some  of  the 
best  English  scholars  were  trained 
under  him  at  Eton.  Walter  Had- 
don,  successively  master  of  Trinity 
Hall,  Cambridge,  and  of  Magdalen 
College,  Oxford,  one  of  the  great 
revivers  of  classical  scholarship  in 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


213 


England,  was  then  a  scholar  on  the 
foundation,  and  one  of  Coxe's  fa- 
vourite pupils;  he  always  retained 
the  greatest  respect  for  his  early 
teacher,  addressing  him  as  "  mas- 
ter "  whenever  they  met  in  after  life. 
Coxe  was  advanced  to  the  dean- 
ery of  Christchurch,  Oxford  (of 
which  society  he  had  been  one  of 
Wolsey's  original  fellows),  and  is 
recorded,  with  some  feeling  of 
scandal,  to  have  been  the  first  who 
brought  a  wife  to  live  within  the 
walls  of  a  college.  He  subsequently 
became  Bishop  of  Ely.  He  was  suc- 
ceeded at  Eton  by  Nicholas  Udall 
(or  Woodall) — "the  best  schoolmas- 
ter and  the  greatest  beater  of  our 
day,"  said  Haddon,  who  probably 
suffered  under  him  after  Coxe's  re- 
signation. Another  of  his  pupils, 
Thomas  Tusser,  author  of  the  'Hus- 
bandry,' has  left  his  testimony  in  his 
quaint  fashion  to  the  same  effect — 

"  From  Paul's  I  went,  to  Eton  sent, 
To  learn  straightway*  the  Latin  phrase, 
Where  fifty-three  stripes  given  to  me 

At  once  I  had ; 

For  fault  thus  small,  or  none  at  all, 
It  came  to  pass  thus  beat  I  was  ; 
See,  Udall,  see,  the  mercy  of  thcc 

To  me,  poor  lad  !  " 

Udall  was  a  good  scholar,  how- 
ever, and  whether  by  means  of  his 
whippings  or  in  spite  of  them, 
raised  the  school  considerably.  He 
combined  with  his  more  serious 
duties,  occasionally,  those  of  stage- 
manager  to  Queen  Mary's  private 
theatricals.  A  letter  from  her  Ma- 
jesty to  her  master  of  the  revels 
recites  that  Nicholas  Udall  "  hath 
shown  his  diligence  in  setting  forth 
of  dialogues  and  enterludes  before 
us  for  our  regal  disport  and  recrea- 
tion," and  directs  that  such  dresses 
as  he  might  require  in  getting  up 
some  contemplated  entertainment  of 
the  kind  should  be  supplied  him  from 
the  royal  wardrobes.  The  last  ac- 
count to  be  found  of  him  leaves  him 
under  a  very  grave  imputation.  He 
was  suspected  of  being  concerned, 
with  two  of  his  scholars,  in  stealing 
the  college  plate.  They  were  examin- 
ed before  the  council,  but  the  result 
does  not  appear.  "  He  came  near 


losing  his  place,"  we  are  told,  even 
if  he  did  not  lose  it  ;  for  the  year 
of  the  appointment  of  his  successor, 
Smyth,  in  some  of  the  lists,  coin- 
cides very  suspiciously  with  the 
date  of  this  transaction. 

It  was  long  before  a  head-mas- 
ter of  Eton  found  his  position  one 
of  suflicient  dignity  or  profit  to 
look  upon  it  as  a  provision  for  life, 
still  less  as  a  step  to  ecclesiastical 
preferment.  It  was  by  no  means 
the  rule— perhaps  it  was  rather  the 
exception— for  those  who  held  the 
office  to  be  in  holy  orders.  Reuben 
Sherwood  (1571)  retired  to  prac- 
tise as  a  physician  at  Bath  ;  another 
soon  after,  Thomas  Ridley,  said  to 
have  excelled  in  nwfiorr  literatura, 
was  knighted,  and  became  a  Master 
in  Chancery.  The  custom  of  mar- 
rying, though  in  direct  contraven- 
tion of  the  statutes,  gradually  crept 
in  after  the  Reformation.  William 
Barker  (though  omitted  in  most 
lists)  was  certainly  master  in  1549, 
arid  had  a  wife,  which  led  to  some 
remonstrance  —  apparently  unsuc- 
cessful. It  was  perhaps  the  scandal 
raised  on  this  ground  which  drew 
forth  a  letter  of  explanation  from 
the  vice  -  provost  to  Sir  Thomas 
Smith,  the  provost,  assuring  him 
that  the  report  "  that  the  master  of 
the  school  is  a  dice-player,"  and 
otherwise  disreputable,  is  untrue. 

Royal  visits  to  Eton,  in  these 
earlier  years,  were  either  few,  or 
have  not  been  publicly  recorded. 
It  is  said  that  Henry  VII.  was 
educated  there,  but  the  tradition 
rests  on  the-  very  slenderest  foun- 
dation. Henry  VIII.  paid  a  visit 
there  in  July  1510;  when  he  offered 
13s.  4d.  on  the  altar  of  St  Mary,  and. 
gave  "to  the  schoolmaster  and  chil- 
dren GGs.  8d." 

The  Reformation  seems  to  have 
worked  no  material  change  at  Eton. 
It  escaped  Henry's  edict  against 
collegiate  establishments  (which,  if 
carried  into  execution,  would  have 
involved  the  dissolution  of  both 
Eton  and  Winchester)  by  the  death 
of  the  King  before  the  Act  had  been 
generally  applied,  and  the  passing 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


of  a  statute  of  exemption  immedi- 
ately on  the  accession  of  Edward 
VI.  It  gave  its  martyrs  to  the 
Great  Cause  under  Mary.  John  Hul- 
lier  on  Jesus  Green  at  Cambridge, 
Laurence  Saunders  and  Robert 
Glover  at  Coventry — all  three  fel- 
lows of  King's  —  were  burnt  to 
death  for  their  faith. 

A  visitation  of  the  college  was 
made  under  Elizabeth  by  Arch- 
bishop Parker  and  other  commis- 
sioners, Sept.  1561.  The  oath  of 
supremacy  was  tendered  to  certain 
of  the  fellows  who  were  suspected 
of  being  unfavourable  to  the  new 
order  of  things;  Thomas  Kirton, 
John  Ashbrook,  and  Richard  Pratt, 
did  not  appear,  and  were  declared 
contumacious ;  John  Durston  dis- 
tinctly refused  to  take  the  oath ; — 
and  all  were  removed  from  their 
fellowships.  Richard  Brewarne,  the 
provost,  after  vainly  challenging 
the  visitors'  jurisdiction,  resigned 
to  avoid  a  like  sentence.  The  mas- 
ter at  the  time  was  William  Malim 
(who  had  been  previously  master  of 
St  Paul's  School),  and  the  usher's 
name  was  Wilkinson. 

Two  years  afterwards,  when  the 
plague  was  very  fatal  in  London, 
Queen  Elizabeth  spent  some  days 
at  Windsor,  accompanied  amongst 
others  by  her  secretary,  Cecil,  and 
the  two  brothers  Dudley.  She  pro- 
bably paid  a  visit  to  the  college  at 
Eton ;  or  at  least  the  scholars  wait- 
ed upon  her  with  a  literary  ovation. 
They  presented  her  with  a  manu- 
script volume  of  congratulatory 
Latin  verses,  of  not  very  inferior 
quality,  and  very  superior  penman- 
ship, to  what  the  modern  Etonians 
might  be  likely  to  produce.  They 


are  chiefly  sapphics  and  elegiacs, 
commonly  in  the  way  of  acrostics 
of  the  Queen's  name,  or  forms  of 
welcome — the  word  "  Elizabetha  " 
coming  in  most  conveniently,  as 
every  schoolboy  will  understand, 
for  the  conclusion  of  a  sapphic 
stanza.  Here  and  there  some  ingen- 
uity has  been  misemployed  in  those 
"  reversible "  verses,  which  will 
scan  and  construe  equally  well  when 
read  backwards  or  forwards,  and 
make  equally  poor  sense  either  way. 
All  have  the  writers'  names  attach- 
ed.* They  are  a  curious  instance 
of  what  sort  of  flattery  was  thought 
most  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  the 
maiden  queen,  and  what  the  popu- 
lar belief  was  as  to  her  relations  with 
Robert  Dudley.  There  are  elabo- 
rate eulogies  on  both  the  brothers, 
and  fulsome  commendations  of  Ro- 
bert's personal  beauty,  which  her 
Majesty,  the  writers  hope  and  be- 
lieve, will  find  irresistible.  One 
young  versifier  ransacks  his  classi- 
cal memory  for  illustrious  and  lov- 
ing couples  to  whom  he  may  liken 
Elizabeth  and  Robert.  Priam  and 
Hecuba,  Medea  and  Jason,  Hector 
and  Andromache,  are  quoted  in 
succession ;  but  the  parallel  which 
seems  to  please  him  most,  is  Venus 
stooping  to  Anchises — the  goddess 
to  the  mortal.  The  hope  of  the 
nation  is,  as  the  poet's  plain-spoken 
gallantry  expresses  it  —  "  proles 
imago  tui."  Some  of  the  young 
writers  turn  their  loyal  wishes  in  a 
more  prosaic  direction — that  her 
Majesty  and  all  near  or  dear  to 
her  may  be  preserved  from  the 
plague ;  and,  of  course,  few  are 
without  some  compliment  to  Eliza- 
beth's own  scholarship.  French 


*  The  volume  (probably  the  original)  exists  among  the  Royal  MSS.  in  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  12.  A.  xxx.  Its  title  is  '  ^Etonensium  Scholarium  maxima  trium- 
phaus  Ovatio.'  Here  is  a  specimen  for  curious  readers : — 

Evandri  primam  LIvoris  prima  sequatur, 

Et  primam  SAtyrrc  syllaba  prima  BEdoc  ; 
THAletis  primam  GRAvitatis  prima  sequatur, 

Et  primam  TAbi  syllaba  prima  BEmi ; 
DlSsidii  primam  TItania  prima  sequatur  ; 

Quid  fit  et  ex  illis,  Regia  Virgo,  vide. 

This  production  is  signed  [Giles]  "Fletcher,"  afterwards  the  Queen's  ambassador 
in  Russia  and  elsewhere. 


18C5.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


215 


had  more  honour  at  Eton  in  those 
early  times,  it  would  appear,  than 
in  Mr  Tarver'a  days;  for  that  lan- 
guage is  reckoned  amongst  the 
royal  accomplishments  almost  upon 
the  same  level  as  Latin  and  Clreek  : 

"Tarn    bono    quam    Galli    Gallica    vcrba 
sonas." 

The  volume  has  on  the  fly-leaf  an 
introductory  Greek  quatrain,  sign- 
ed with  the  head- master's  name — 
William  Malim  ;  and  it  may  be 
fairly  supposed  that  his  scholars' 
effusions  received  more  or  less  polish- 
ing from  his  hand.  Assuredly  the 
introductory  address  or  preface — in 
very  fair  Latin  prose — though  it 
speaks  in  the  boys'  name,  must 
have  been  his  production  ;  for,  after 
much  eulogy  of  her  Majesty  and 
her  father  Henry  VIII.  —  whom 
they  style  a  "  demigod  "* — and 
much  apology  for  the  imperfec- 
tions of  their  juvenile  muse,  they 
are  made  to  request  that,  if  her 
Majesty  is  pleased  with  their  offer- 
ing, she  will  mark  her  royal  satis- 
faction (not  by  an  additional  week's 
holiday,  as  the  modern  Etonian 
would  suggest,  but  by  a  more  deli- 
cate compliment,  which  perhaps 
he  would  not  so  entirely  appreci- 
ate) by  bestowing  some  good  thing 
•upon  their  master — "  that  laborious 
man  who  had  taught  them  to  make 
such  verses  " — so  that  he  might  not 
linger  on  to  old  age  in  such  a  weari- 
some office,  but  get  at  last  "  into 
harbour,"  as  the  Latin  has  it :  a 
snug  deanery  or  canonry,  to  wit, 
where  head-masters  find  pleasant 
anchorage.  We  cannot  find  that 
Mr  Malim's  application  was  suc- 
cessful. Possibly  the  verses  were 
not  good  enough.  He  appears  to 
have  continued  master  of  Eton 
nearly  twenty  years  longer.  He 
was  a  very  energetic  disciplinarian, 
and  it  is  just  possible  that  this 
petition  of  his  scholars  may  have 


been  entirely  jiroprio  modi  on  their 
part,  and  that  they  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  him.  For  we  get  another 
glimpse  of  him  in  his  school,  exactly 
at  this  date.  "  While  the  Queen 
lay  at  Windsor,  news  comes  to  Mr 
Secretary  Cecil  that  divers  scholars 
of  Eaton  be  run  away  from  the 
school  for  fear  of  beating."  Had- 
don,  Roger  Ascham,  and  others, 
were  present  at  Cecil's  lodgings  at 
the  time,  and  it  was  then  that  Had- 
don  made  the  remark  that  the  most 
successful  master  he  knew  (Udall) 
was  the  greatest  beater.  Ascham 
replied  that,  if  it  were  so,  it  was 
due  to  the  boys'  parts,  and  not  to 
the  master's  beating.  This  liberal 
use  of  the  rod,  for  which  Udall  and 
Malim  seem  to  have  been  so  noto- 
rious, became  a  traditionary  char- 
acteristic of  Eton  discipline — by  no 
means  obsolete  within  modern  me- 
mory. The  report  of  it  at  a  some- 
what later  date  so  terrified  John 
Evelyn,  author  of  the  '  Sylva,'  that 
he  entreated  his  father  not  to  carry 
out  his  intention  of  sending  him 
there  — "  which  perverseness,"  he 
says,  in  after  life,  he  had  "  a  thousand 
times  deplored."  One  of  Malim's 
pupils  (not  one  of  those  who  ran 
away)  lived  to  earn  a  very  inglorious 
distinction.  John  Greenhall,  elect- 
ed to  King's  in  1576,  left  the  college 
and  took  to  "  the  road,"  and  was 
hanged  and  dissected. t  It  is  to  be 
hoped  he  was  the  only  Etonian  who 
came  to  such  an  end. 

Queen  Elizabeth  appears  to  have 
paid  the  college  another  visit  in 
1596,  and  to  have  been  again  re- 
ceived with  congratulatory  verses 
— "  4000  Latin  hexameters,"  said 
to  be  still  extant  amongst  Dr  llaw- 
linson's  MSS.  Her  Majesty  had 
grown  considerably  older,  and  more 
exacting  in  the  way  of  flattery;  but 
it  is  hardly  possible  that  the  com- 
pliments paid  her  by  the  scholars 
of  that  day  could  have  been  broader 


*  "Tanquam  semideus  ex  omnibus  Europje  principibus ad  Auglia1  salutem  natus 
ac  procreatus." 

f  "  Decessit  insignia  latro,  auspensus,  de  quo  anatomia  facta  cst." — MS.  note 
copied  by  Huggttt. 


216 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


tli an  those  of  their  predecessors. 
Huggett  says,  that  for  some  time 
there  was  to  be  seen,  as  a  memorial 
of  her  visit,  the  following  doggerel, 
cut  rudely  "  on  the  wainscot  on  the 
north  side  of  the  common  hall  " — 
"  Queen  Elisabetha  ad  nos  gave 
Oct.  10th  two  loaves  in  a  mess, 
1596."  She  also  presented  the  col- 
lege annually  with  a  pipe  of  the 
"  red  Gascon  wine,"  which  had  per- 
haps continued,  more  or  less  regu- 
larly, from  the  founders'  days,  to 
be  the  customary  royal  donation. 

Of  the  internal  economy  and 
daily  life  of  the  college  at  the  time 
of  Queen  Elizabeth's  first  visit,  it 
so  happens  that  we  have  very  mi- 
nute information.  In  the  library 
of  Corpus  Christi  College,  Cam- 
bridge, is  a  curious  MS.  which 
Huggett  has  copied  amongst  his 
papers,  and  which  has  since  been 
printed  by  Sir  Edward  Creasy.  It 
is  styled  "  Consuetudinarium  Vetus 
Scholce  Etonensis,"  and  was  drawn 
up  about  1560,  probably  by  Malim 
as  head-master.  It  gives  in  full 
detail  the  work  for  each  day  in  the 
week,  with  the  annual  holidays  and 
customs  of  the  school.  The  old 
Winchester  system  was  still  in  full 
operation,  and  many  of  the  regula- 
tions are  identical  with  those  of 
the  mother  college  at  the  same 
date.  Like  Wykeham's  scholars, 
the  Eton  boys  rose  at  five,  said 
their  Latin  prayers  antiphonally 
while  dressing,  then  made  their 
own  beds  and  swept  out  their 
chambers.  Two  by  two  they  then 
"went  down"  to  wash,  probably 
at  some  outdoor  conduit  or  fountain 
like  the  old  Winchester  "  Moab." 
At  six,  the  under-master  came  into 
school,  read  prayers  there,  and  the 
day's  work  began.  There  were 
seven  "  forms,"  the  seventh  being 
the  highest.  The  fifth,  sixth,  and 
seventh  composed  the  upper  school, 
under  the  head-master  ;  the  fourth 
held  an  intermediate  position ;  and 
the  three  lower  forms  were  the 
under-master's  department.  They 
seem  to  have  worked  continuously 
from  six  o'clock  until  past  nine, 


when  there  was  an  interval  of  an 
hour :  then  they  had  prayers  at 
ten,  and  went  to  dinner  at  eleven  ; 
but  there  is  no  mention  whatever 
made  of  anything  like  breakfast. 
From  twelve  to  three  came  school 
again  ;  then  an  hour's  interval : 
school  from  four  to  five,  at  which 
hour  seems  to  have  come  supper, 
though  no  direct  mention  is  made 
of  any  such  meal ;  but  supper  they 
certainly  had.  They  were  at  work 
again,  under  the  superintendence  of 
monitors,  from  six  to  eight,  with  a 
slight  interval  for  "  bevers,"  as  at 
Winchester,  which  refection  was 
probably  nothing  more  than  a 
draught  of  small  beer.  At  eight 
they  went  to  bed.  The  allowance 
of  play-hours  seems,  as  in  all  early 
school  regulations,  to  have  been 
lamentably  small.  Of  course,  there 
were  holidays  and  half-holidays  ; 
but  they  seem  only  to  have  recur- 
red upon  the  Church  festivals  and 
commemorations  of  certain  bene- 
factors, such  as  Provosts  Bost  and 
Lupton ;  but  it  is  probable  that 
there  was  also  some  relaxation  on 
Tuesdays  and  Thursdays,  as  at 
Winchester.  On  May  6  (St  John 
ante  Port.  Lat.),  they  had  the  sin- 
gular privilege  of  going  to  sleep  in 
school  after  dinner  for  two  or  three 
hours  ;  and  what  between  the  early 
rising  and  the  close  work,  it  was 
an  indulgence  likely  to  be  better  ap- 
preciated by  those  early  Etonians, 
than  by  their  more  luxurious  suc- 
cessors at  the  present  day.  There 
was  very  little  liberty  allowed  them 
out  of  the  college  precincts ;  only 
on  the  1st  of  May,  if  the  weather 
was  fine  (for  there  was  a  special 
warning  not  to  wet  their  feet),  to 
gather  the  green  boughs  to  deck 
the  windows  of  their  chambers,  and 
on  September  8  (Nativity  of  the 
Virgin),  when  they  went  out  into  the 
woods  to  gather  nuts,  with  which 
it  was  the  custom  to  present  the 
masters,  accompanied  by  copies  of 
verses  in  celebration  of  the  bounties 
of  autumn.  On  such  festivals  also 
as  the  elder  boys  received  the  Holy 
Sacrament,  they  had  permission  to 


1S65.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


217 


spend  part  of  the  day  in  a  country 
walk  ;  not  without  a  strong  caution 
(so  similar  are  the  temptations  of 
schoolboys  and  the  anxieties  of 
masters  in  all  ages)  against  turn- 
ing into  taverns  and  beer-shops  by 
the  way.  The  "Tap"  and  the 
''  Christopher "  had  their  earlier 
prototypes.  Both  in  and  out  of 
school  they  were  under  the  rule  of 
their  pnepostors  (prcejyositi)  —  the 
elder  boys  who  were  intrusted  with 
authority,  on  Wykeham's  principle, 
in  each  of  the  chambers.  It  would 
seem  that  at  this  time  there  were 
four  ;  of  whom  the  senior  in  autho- 
rity was  called,  us  he  is  to  this  day 
at  Winchester,  "  Prefect  of  Hull," 
and  the  two  next  "  Prefects  of 
Chapel."  There  was  also  one  whose 
special  business  it  was  to  see  that 
the  younger  boys  kept  their  hands 
and  faces  clean,  and  their  persons 
generally  tidy :  a  superintendence 
by  no  means  unnecessary,  and 
which  the  Winchester  prefects  of 
modern  days  do  not  think  it  be- 
neath them  to  enforce.  Besides  the 
college  prefects,  there  were  two  pre- 
fects of  oppidans  :  and  as  the  num- 
ber of  oppidans  at  this  date  seems 
to  have  ranged  between  thirty  and 
forty,  the  proportion  would  be 
about  the  same  if  the  college  pre- 
fects were  four. 

The  books  in  use  were,  in  the 
higher  forms,  Virgil,  Horace,  Lucan, 
Martial,  Catullus,  Florus,  Caisar, 
and  the  Offices  and  Letters  of 
Cicero  ;  in  the  lower,  Terence 
and  Ovid.  The  first  form  were 
worked  chiefly  in  the  Latin  exer- 
cise book  of  Ludovicus  Vives. 
Greek  was  not  taught  at  allljeyond 
the  grammar,  and  that  only  in  the 
two  highest  forms.  The  Fables  of 
/Esop  and  the  Dialogues  of  Lucian 
were  used,  but  as  it  was  only  by 
the  second  and  third  forms,  these 
must  have  been  read  in  a  Latin 
translation.  Themes  and  verses 
were  largely  practised  ;  and  collec- 
tions of  phrases,  synonyms,  descrip- 
tions, ic.,  made,  probably  in  note- 
books, from  the  lessons  of  each 
day.  Compositions  in.  English 


verse,  chiefly  translations  from  the 
Latin  poets,  were  occasionally  al- 
lowed.     From   St  Thomas's  (Dec. 
21)  to  the   Epiphany,  the  regular 
classical  work    of   the  school   was 
laid  aside,  and  the  boys  were  prac- 
tised  in   writing.      Their  classical 
knowledge  was  kept  up  meanwhile 
by  a  system  of  mutual  examination, 
which  seems  to  have  somewhat  re- 
sembled the  Westminster  challenge; 
and  epigrams,    verses,   and    other 
voluntary   compositions    were    ex- 
pected to  be  produced.     At  Christ- 
mas-time there  were  public  speeches 
or  theatrical  perf  ormances  ( the  pieces 
being  selected  by  the  head-master), 
to  which  the  public  were  invited. 
These  were  got  up  with  some  care 
and  attention  to  scenic  display,  and 
the  whole  of  the  month  of  Decem- 
ber was  more  or  less  employed  in 
preparation.     They  took   place   in 
the    hall,   where    the    tragedy    of 
'  Dido,'  written  by  Hit  wise,  master 
of    St    Paul's    School,    was    acted 
before   Cardinal  Wolsey   in    1507. 
Some   apology   is   offered   for   the 
"  levity  "   of  such  entertainments, 
but    they    are    defended    on    the 
very  just  ground    of   encouraging 
a    graceful    action    and    self  -  pos- 
session  on  the  part  of  the  young 
performers.      But  these   Christmas 
holidays  were  spent  by  the  young 
Etonians   of   Elizabeth's    days    at 
school.      The    only   real   vacation, 
when  they  had  an  opportunity  of 
going  home   to  their  friends,  was 
from  Ascension   Day  to  the  feast 
called  Corpus  Christi — an  interval 
of  three  weeks  ;  and,  short  a.s  these 
holidays  were,  every  boy  who  did 
not  return   to  college  in  time  for 
vespers  on  the  evening  before  the 
last-mentioned  festival  was  flogged. 
Friday  was  the  day  when  all  the 
defaults  of  the  week  were  reviewed, 
and  when  the  floggings  took  place. 
There  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
any  regular  half-holiday,  and  even 
the  Sunday  had  its  work — chiefly 
recitations  and  declamations  on  a 
given  subject.     On   St  John   Bap- 
tist's and  St  Peter's  days,  and  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  Translation 


218 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


of  St  Thomas  Becket,  they  had 
bonfires  in  the  schoolyard — a  some- 
what inappropriate  amusement, 
since  all  these  festivals  occur  in  the 
middle  of  summer.  On  Shrove 
Tuesday  verses  were  written  in 
honour  or  dispraise  of  Bacchus — 
"  because  poets  were  considered  the 
clients  of  Bacchus" — and  those 
composed  by  the  senior  boys  were 
fixed  on  the  inside  of  the  folding- 
doors  of  the  hall,  as  was  the  old 
fashion  in  all  schools  and  colleges. 
This  custom  was  continued  almost 
into  modern  days,  and  though  the 
subject  was  changed,  the  copy  of 
verses  was  still  called  "  a  Bacchus/' 
When  Pepys  paid  a  visit  to  the 
school  in  1665,  he  found  the  sub- 
ject given  out  for  that  year  was  the 
one  topic  of  absorbing  interest — the 
plague  : — 

' '  To  the  hall,  and  there  found  the 
boys'  verses  '  De  Peste ; '  it  being  their 
custom  to  make  verses  at  Shrovetide. 
I  read  several,  and  very  good  they 
were  ;  better,  I  think,  than  ever  I  made 
when  I  was  a  boy  ;  and  in  rolls  as 
long  and  longer  than  the  whole  hall  by 
much." — Diary,  vol.  iii.  p.  165. 

Some  accounts  have  also  come 
down  to  us  of  the  expenses  of  com- 
mensales,  or  oppidans,  at  the  same 
date.  On  October  21,  1560,  two 
sons  of  Sir  William  Cavendish  en- 
tered Eton  in  this  capacity.  The 
father  was  dead,  and  their  mother 
had  remarried  with  Sir  William  St 
Loe.  The  almoner  of  the  college 
had  given  his  assurance  that  "  no 
gentleman's  children  should  be 
more  welcome,  or  better  looked 
unto."  They  took  a  man-servant 
with  them,  and  at  first  boarded 
with  a  Mr  Richard  Hylles ;  furnish- 
ing their  own  chamber,  and  paying 
at  the  rate  of  10s.  a- week  for  the 
two  brothers,  and  3s.  4d.  for  their 
man,  exclusive  of  firewood  for  the 
chamber.  They  had  two  young 
friends,  sons  of  Sir  Fran  cisKnowles, 
probably  already  members  of  the 
school,  to  sup  with  them  on  the 
day  of  their  arrival ;  and  they  gave 
a  sort  of  entrance-breakfast  to  "the 
company  of  forms  in  the  school " 


(meaning,  probably,  the  boys  in 
their  own  form),  which  cost  them 
6d.  They  Avore,  as  was  the  custom 
at  that  time  for  all  the  boys,  whether 
scholars  or  commoners,  a  gown  of 
black  frieze.  The  most  expensive 
item  of  dress  would  appear  to  be 
shoes,  of  which  they  had  a  new  pair 
"  against  All-Hallo w-tide,"  again  on 
January  28,  and  again  at  Christmas, 
Easter,  Whitsuntide,  on  July  26, 
and  at  Michaelmas.  They  moved 
into  the  college  on  November  25, 
about  a  month  after  their  entrance, 
which  was  a  less  expensive  arrange- 
ment, as  they  only  paid  there  24s. 
for  a  month  for  themselves  and 
their  man.  But  they  had  still 
some  connection  with  their  host, 
Mr  Hylles,  as  there  is  a  payment 
to  him  for  "one  quarter's  com- 
mons" to  May  22  of  13s.  4d. ;  pro- 
bably in  consequence  of  the  sick- 
ness of  one  of  the  brothers,  in 
which  case  it  was  usual  for  the  boys 
to  have  "  commons  "  out  of  college. 
They  paid  6d.  "  quarterage  "  for 
"ink,  brooms,  and  birch.'1  The 
books  they  had  to  buy  were  Lu- 
cian's  Dialogues,  '  Isope's  Fabylles/ 
and  '  Tullye's  Atticum.'  Of  their 
amusements  we  only  learn  that  they 
paid  3d.  to  a  man  for  seeing  "bear- 
baiting  and  a  camel,  as  the  other 
scholars  did."  They  appear  to 
have  remained  at  the  school  little 
more  than  a  year,  and  the  sum 
total  of  their  joint  expenses  was 
,£25,  11s.  5d. 

Of  these  two  boys,  the  elder 
married  at  seventeen ;  and  after 
representing  Devonshire  in  five 
parliaments,  and  travelling  for 
some  time  in  the  East,  died  without 
issue.  The  younger  was  created 
Baron  Cavendish  (much  to  his  elder 
brother's  vexation),  and  was  the 
first  Earl  of  Devonshire.  The 
family  have  been  Etonians  ever 
since  ',  and  few  have  done  more 
honour  to  the  school  than  the 
late  Duke,  who,  as  Mr  Cavendish, 
won  the  highest  honours  of  his 
year  at  Cambridge. 

The  term  oppidan  was  applied  to 
these  independent  scholars  at  least 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modem. — Part  I. 


21!) 


as  early  as  Fuller's  days.  Speaking 
of  the  college,  he  says,  "  There  be 
many  <>j>j>ulunes  there  maintained 
at  the  cost  of  their  friends."  A 
letter  of  1608  informs  a  friend  that 
"Phil  Lytton"  (a  son  of  Sir  Rowland 
Lytton  of  Knebworth)  "is  in  com- 
mons in  hall,"*  which  appears  to 
have  been  the  term  employed  for 
this  class  of  oppidan  boarders.  The 
number  in  those  years  was  usually 
about  thirty.  The  college  books 
record  the  names  of  many  young 
noblemen  who  appear  to  have  dined 
regularly  in  hall,  even  if  they  were 
not  lodged  with  the  foundation 
scholars.  Young  Lord  Willoughby 
and  his  page  were  in  commons  in 
the  hall,  either  regularly  or  at  in- 
tervals, from  1613  to  1618;  and  in 
1623  and  1624  there  are  charges  for 
"  Lord  Dormer  and  his  companie." 
This  class  of  Etonians  seems  to 
have  disappeared  during  the  Civil 
Wars  ;  for  there  are  no,  such  entries 
after  the  date  of  the  Restoration. t 

The  provosts  of  Eton  College 
have  always  taken  a  leading  part 
in  the  government  of  the  school. 
It  was  so  intended  by  the  founder. 
There  is  scarcely  any  detail  of  dis- 
cipline over  which  the  provost 
does  not,  according  to  the  sta- 
tutes, exercise  a  controlling  power. 
Even  over  the  head-master  he  has 
the  right  distinctly  given  him  of 
"  governing,  directing,  punishing, 
and  controlling  ;"  and  in  the  ear- 
lier times,  this  right  was  very 
commonly  exercised.  Sometimes, 
even  within  modern  memory,  the 
interference  has  been  frequent 
enough  to  be  mischievous.  But 
it  must  be  remembered  that,  in 
the  days  we  are  now  dealing  with, 
the  whole  college  —  provost,  fel- 
lows, and  masters — formed  really 
one  body ;  and  while  the  actual 
grammar  teaching  of  the  boys  was 
carried  on  by  the  master  and  his 
usher,  the  domestic  discipline  of 
the  whole  body  was  the  charge 
of  the  provosts.  Whenever  these 


were  men  of  mark,  they  left  the 
impress  of  their  character  on  the 
school.  With  the  exception  of 
Robert  Aldrich,  the  friend  of  Eras- 
mus, and  Sir  Thomas  Smith,  the 
successors  of  We.stbury  were  not 
very  remarkable  until  the  election 
of  Sir  Henry  Savile  in  1621.  He 
was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen  of 
his  time  who  could  lay  claim  to 
much  Greek  scholarship,  and  had 
the  honour  of  instructing  Queen 
Elizabeth  herself  in  that  language. 
He  took  an  active  part  in  the 
general  superintendence  of  the 
studies,  and  maintained  a  very 
strict  discipline  among  the  young 
Etonians.  He  had  little  love  for 
erratic  genius,  and  gave  its  due 
honour  to  study  and  earnest  appli- 
cation. "  Give  me  the  plodding 
student,"  said  he  ;  "  if  I  would 
look  for  wits,  I  would  go  to  New- 
gate— there  be  the  wits."  He  had 
a  fancy  for  ruling  the  fellows  of  the 
college  pretty  much  as  if  they  also 
were  in  statu  jntjii/fari,  which,  as 
was  natural,  they  highly  resented  ; 
and  he  was  ruled  in  his  turn 
by  an  authority  which  certainly 
was  not  provided  for  in  the  college 
statutes, — his  wife.  She  threatened 
to  burn  that  costly  edition  of 
Chrysostom,  which  he  was  printing 
at  his  private  press  in  the  college, 
>  because  she  thought  he  paid  more 
attention  to  it  than  to  herself  ;  "  I 
would  I  were  a  book,"  said  the 
jealous  lady,  "  and  then  you 
would  a  little  more  respect  me." 
Provost  Murray,  who  came  next 
him,  only  lived  two  years,  when 
another  great  name  succeeded — Sir 
Henry  Wotton.  He,  too,  interested 
himself  greatly  in  the  boys,  and 
appears  to  have  been  a  constant 
visitor  in  the  school :  choosing 
occasionally  some  one  or  two  pro- 
mising boys  (or  perhaps  such  as 
had  been  recommended  to  him  by 
personal  friends)  to  make  pets  of, 
and  having  them  under  his  own 
care  in  his  lodgings,  where  they 


*  State  Pajters,  Domestic  Scries,  anno  1008. 

t   Public  Schools  Eviil. ,  Eton,  1517,  &c.  (Mr  Dnpui.s'a  evidence). 


220 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


attended  upon  him  at  his  meals, 
which  would  in  those  days  be  con- 
sidered as  a  service  of  honour. 
Very  probably  the  provost  of  Eton 
(as  the  warden  of  Winchester  cer- 
tainly did)  received  some  of  the 
"  filii  nobilium  "  into  his  lodgings 
as  boarders.  Especially  he  en- 
couraged the  study  of  rhetoric : 
being  wont  to  say  that  "  none 
despised  eloquence  but  those  dull 
souls  who  were  not  capable  of  it." 

The  discipline  of  the  school  was 
interfered  with,  during  Wotton's 
provostship,  by  the  quartering  in 
the  town  of  some  of  the  troops 
whom  the  Duke  of  Buckingham 
was  collecting  for  his  unlucky  ex- 
pedition against  France.  A  letter 
of  the  provost  and  fellows  to  him 
complains  that  "  certain  companies 
of  soldiers  are  billetted  at  Eton," 
and  that  "  the  privileges  of  the  col- 
lege suffer,  and  the  youth  and  the 
soldiers  do  not  well  comport." 

John  Harrison  was  schoolmaster 
for  a  few  years  during  Wotton's 
provostship.  His  celebrated  pupil, 
Robert  Boyle,  who  was  an  oppidan 
out  of  college,  gives  him  a  high 
character  ;  but  Boyle  was  a  favour- 
ite. "  Mr  Harrison  would  often 
dispense  Avith  his  attendance  at 
school  at  the  accustomed  hours,  to 
instruct  him  privately  and  famil- 
iarly in  his  chamber."  Not  only 
this,  but  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
presenting  him  on  those  occasions 
with  balls  and  tops,  the  confiscated 
property  of  less  favoured  pupils 
who  had  been  caught  in  the  un- 
lawful use  of  them  during  school- 
hours.  No  wonder  that  Boyle 
found  the  next  master  (William 
Norris)  "  a  rigid  fellow ;"  and  since 
this  is  all  that  we  can  find  re- 
corded of  him,  it  may  be  open 
for  charity  to  suppose  that  Mr 
Norris  merely  did  his  duty  without 
respect  of  persons.  Eton  must  by 
this  time  have  attained  to  some- 
thing of  its  present  repute,  and 
had  done  much  to  advance  the  re- 
putation of  English  scholarship  : 
Isaac  Casaubon,  the  great  French 
scholar,  had  already  sent  a  son 


there  to  be  educated.  Boyle  speaks 
of  it  as  being  "  very  much  thronged 
with  the  young  nobility;"  but 
there  appears  no  record  of  the 
numbers.  He  himself  narrowly 
escaped  being  killed  there,  twice  : 
once  by  the  falling  in  of  the  cham- 
ber in  which  he  and  his  brother 
slept,  when  Robert  was  all  but 
crushed  in  his  bed ;  and  once  by 
the  Eton  apothecary,  who  gave  him 
a  wrong  dose  in  mistake.  The 
next  time  he  was  ordered  physic, 
his  prudent  servant  gave  him,  in- 
stead of  the  apothecary's  draught, 
a  perfectly  harmless  potion  of  his 
own  concocting ;  which,  however, 
acting  on  the  body  through  the 
imagination,  had  all  the  desired 
effect,  and  he  got  well  immediately. 
Norris  was  succeeded  in  the 
mastership  by  Nicholas  Gray,  some- 
time master  of  the  Charter-House 
(which  he  lost  by  marrying  against 
the  statute),  then  of  Merchant  Tay- 
lors', and  finally  of  Eton.  "  He  left 
behind  him  the  character  of  an  ex- 
cellent scholar,"  says  Huggett.  His 
exact  date  is  variously  given  ;  Cole 
says  he  was  only  master  three 
months.  He  had  fallen  upon  evil 
times  for  the  old  royal  foundations. 
Stewart,  who  had  succeeded  Sir  H. 
Wotton  as  provost,  was  in  arms 
with  the  King  at  Oxford ;  the 
elections  at  Eton  had  been  put  off 
(1643),  and  the  records  of  the  col- 
lege are,  for  some  years  to  come, 
confused  and  defective.  Many  of 
the  loyal  Etonians  followed  their 
provost's  example,  and  took  up 
arms  for  the  Crown.  Fellows  of 
King's  College  threw  off  the  gown 
for  the  steel  cuirass.  William  Raven 
and  Charles  Howard  raised  troops 
of  horse,  and  the  latter  fell  at  the 
siege  of  Newark.  So  did  Sampson 
Briggs  at  Gloucester,  James  Eyre 
at  Berkeley,  Henry  Pierce  at  Bridge- 
water.  The  royal  college  gave  at 
least  a  fair  proportion  of  her  sons 
to  the  cause  of  "  Church  and  King." 
Henry  Bard  was  more  fortunate  ; 
he  served  through  the  whole  of  the 
war,  including  the  fatal  day  of 
Naseby,  and  became  Viscount  Bel- 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  /. 


221 


lamont.  James  Flcetwood  carried 
the  church  into  the  camp,  did  his 
office  as  chaplain  to  hi.s  regiment  in 
the  bloody  right  at  Edgehill,  and 
survived  to  be  provost  of  hi.s  col- 
lege and  bishop  of  Worcester. 

Complaints  as  to  the  management 
of  the  royal  foundation  began  in 
very  early  times.  Disputes  arose 
upon  questions  of  privilege  between 
the  two  colleges  at  Eton  and  at 
Cambridge,  and  this  led  to  the  pre- 
sentation of  general  "  Articles  of 
Complaint"  on  the  part  of  King's 
College  against  the  sister  society  to 
Archbishop  Laud  in  or  about  1034. 
They  represented,  first,  that  the 
number  of  fellows  of  Eton,  which 
by  statute  should  be  ten,  was  now 
only  seven  ;  and  that  the  object  of 
this  reduction  was  the  eovetousness 
of  the  governing  body,  who  thus 
increased  their  own  individual  in- 
comes. That  whereas  the  statutes 
directed  that,  in  case  of  any  defi- 
ciency in  the  college  revenues,  the 
number  of  scholars  should  be  first 
diminished,  they  had  preferred  the 
suppression  of  the  fellowships,  be- 
cause the  scholars  did  not  cost 
them  nearly  so  much  as  a  fellow; 
"  they  being  deprived  of  breakfast, 
clothing,  bedding,  and  all  other 
necessaries  which  the  statute  amply 
allows  them,  and  forced  to  be  con- 
tent with  a  bare  scanty  diet  and  a 
coarse  short  gown,  while  the  college 
revenues  are  shared  among  a  few." 
Secondly,  they  complained  that  all 
the  fellows  ought  to  be  elected  from 
those  who  are  or  have  been  fellows 
of  King's  or  conducts  of  Eton. 
Thirdly,  that  choristers  had  a  pre- 
ferential claim  to  the  scholarships. 
And,  fourthly,  that  the  schoolmaster 
ought  to  be  chosen  from  the  fel- 
lows of  King's  College  ;  whereas 
all  these  claims  were  in  practice 
neglected.  The  Archbishop  decided 
that  five  of  the  seven  Eton  fellows 
at  the  least  must  have  been  fellows 
of  King's  ;  his  decision  on  the  other 
points  does  not  appear  ;  but  at  any 
rate  the  claim  of  the  poor  choris- 
ters seems  to  have  been  quietly  ig- 
nored, as  at  Winchester  and  West- 


minster. Xo  reformer,  modern  or 
ancient,  thought  it  worth  while  to 
make  a  fight  for  them.  They  used 
formerly  to  sleep  in  the  same  cham- 
bers as  the  scholars,  and  dine  with 
them  in  hall,  and  were  probably 
taught  with  them.  They  are  at 
present  taught  in  a  separate  school 
(being,  of  course,  boys  of  a  different 
class),  and  receive  little  more  than 
a  commercial  education.  It  is  pro- 
fessed that  if  a  boy  of  promise  were 
discovered  among  them  he  would 
be  allowed  to  compete  for  college  ; 
but  this  discovery  has  never  been 
known  to  have  been  made  for  many 
generations.  Yet  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  claim  was  admitted  in  the 
earlier  days  of  the  society  :  one  at 
least  of  the  original  members  of  the 
foundation — Roger  Flecknowe,  or 
Fleckmore — went  off  as  a  fellow  to 
King's  in  1445.  The  Great  Rebel- 
lion stopped  the  execution  of  Laud's 
injunctions  with  regard  to  the  fel- 
lowships, but  they  were  afterwards 
confirmed  under  James  II.  As  to 
the  election  of  head-masters,  there 
has  certainly  been  no  ground  since 
those  days  to  complain  of  any  want 
of  due  preference  to  King's  and 
Eton  men.  The  Royal  Commis- 
sioners have  rather  taken  occasion 
to  notice  the  strict  exclusiveness  of 
the  college  in  this  respect;  not  only 
the  head-masters,  but  the  assistant- 
masters  also,  having  been  appointed 
solely  from  that  body  for  many 
generations,  the  field  of  choice  hav- 
ing been  only  partially  opened 
within  the  last  few  years. 

It  would  be  very  interesting,  if 
it  were  possible,  to  know  something 
of  the  effect  of  the  civil  wars  upon 
the  numbers  and  internal  economy 
of  the  school.  The  Parliament  had 
appointed  to  the  provostship  Fran- 
cis Rouse,  afterwards  Speaker  of 
the  "  Barebones  "  Parliament,  and 
one  of  Cromwell's  peers.  Gray 
lost  his  mastership  and  fellowship 
at  the  same  time,  but  found  a  re- 
fuge, after  a  while,  as  schoolmaster 
at  Tunbridge.  New  fellows  were 
put  in  the  places  of  ejected  loyalists. 
A  special  catechist  was  appointed 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


to  the  college,  who  was  to  teach 
the  boys  sound  doctrine,  and  their 
neighbours  of  Eton  and  Windsor 
were  invited  to  attend  his  lectures. 

It  is  probable  that  the  spirit  of 
loyalty  survived  in  the  school  in 
spite  of  all  discouragements.  At 
any  rate,  it  showed  itself  in  a  very 
characteristic  way  immediately  up- 
on the  Restoration.  The  usurp- 
ing authorities  were  of  course  dis- 
placed, and  such  of  the  ejected 
fellows  as  survived  were  restored 
to  their  places.  Gray  was  among 
them,  but  died  soon  after — it  is 
said,  "  very  poor."  One  of  the  in- 
truders— Goad — was  allowed  to  re- 
main ;  though  elected  under  Rouse, 
it  was  before  the  King's  execution. 
Another,  Nathaniel  Ingelo,  holding 
the  office  of  vice -provost,  though 
subsequently  elected,  was  also  al- 
lowed to  retain  his  place  :  but  as 
the  validity  of  his  appointment  was 
not  acknowledged,  he  had  to  submit 
to  a  fresh  election.  But  the  loyal 
Etonians  were  disgusted.  They 
sent  iip  a  petition  to  the  Bishop  of 
Lincoln,  the  Visitor  of  the  College, 
against  him.  He  had,  they  al- 
leged, "  turned  out  and  warned  off 
the  college  precincts,  under  peril  of 
whipping  by  the  college  servants, 
one  Hill,  a  scholar  ;"  also  "  another 
cavalier's  son,  Esquire  Harrison's, 
for  nothing,  as  it  is  now  known  ;  " 
and  the  petition  —  evidently  gen- 
uine, from  the  wording — concluded 
in  these  terms, — "  We  all  want  to 
be  eased  of  the  yoake  that  we  un- 
dergo by  the  means  of  this  Ingelo." 
It  does  not  appear  that  the  applica- 
tion was  successful. 

But  the  college  was  purged  of  the 
Puritan  leaven  in  other  respects. 
Francis  Lord  Rouse  had  died  a  few 
years  before,  and  had  been  buried 
with  great  pomp  in  the  aisle  known 
as  "  Provost  Lupton's  Chapel." 
The  Royalists  did  not  proceed  to 
the  extent  of  digging  up  his  bones. 
But  his  banners  and  escutcheons, 
says  Antony  Wood,  "were  pulled 
down  with  scorn  by  the  loyal  pro- 
vost and  fellows,  and  thrown  aside 
as  tokens  and  badges  of  damned 


baseness  and  rebellion."  "  The 
irons  for  the  banner,"  says  Hug- 
gett  (in  1767),  "are  there  to  this 
day."  They  did  all  they  could  to 
erase  the  memory  of  "  the  old  illi- 
terate Jew  of  Eton,"  as  they  called 
him — though,  so  far  as  really  ap- 
pears, he  was  as  much  of  a  Chris- 
tian and  not  more  illiterate  than 
some  other  provosts  ;  and  he  found- 
ed three  exhibitions  at  Pembroke 
College,  Oxford,  which  Etonians 
enjoy  to  this  day.  In  the  portrait 
of  him  which  is  still  suffered  to 
hang  in  the  provost's  dining- hall, 
he  shows  a  face  that  might  pass  for 
an  honest  Royalist  enough.  Rouse's 
successor,  Lockyer,  who  had  been 
appointed  by  Richard  Cromwell  as 
Protector,  was  removed  ;  probably 
also  Singleton,  the  master,  as  Tho- 
mas Montagu  succeeded  him  that 
year. 

Petitions  of  all  sorts  crowded  in 
upon  the  new  King  from  sufferers 
— not  always  the  most  really  de- 
serving— who  looked  for  recom- 
pense under  the  new  order  of  things. 
Many  also  of  the  other  party  tried 
to  excuse  themselves,  or  to  make 
their  peace.  Amongst  others,  John 
Boncle  applied  for  some  indulgence, 
as  having  once  been  in  the  service 
of  the  -royal  children — as  page,  or 
gentleman,  or  in  some  such  capacity 
—  from  which  having  been  dis- 
missed under  the  Parliament,  he 
had  become  schoolmaster  of  Charter- 
House,  afterwards  of  Eton,  then 
fellow  of  the  college,  and  now,  at 
the  date  of  his  application,  in  gene- 
ral difficulties  ;  his  letter,  in  fact, 
leaving  an  impression  not  alto- 
gether favourable  to  Mr  Boncle 
himself,  or  conveying  a  high  notion 
of  an  Eton  head-master's  dignity  in 
those  days. 

The  college,  which  had  no  doubt 
suffered  considerably  during  the 
Rebellion  and  the  Commonwealth, 
rose  to  even  more  than  its  former 
prosperity  under  provost  Allestree 
and  head-master  Rosewill.  Never 
man  deserved  his  elevation  better 
than  Dr  Richard  Allestree.  He  had 
fought  for  the  First  Charles  in  the 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  1. 


223 


students'  troop  at  Oxford — had 
risked  his  life  for  the  Second  in 
conducting  his  correspondence  with 
loyal  friends  abroad — had  been  pro- 
scribed and  all  but  hanged  more 
than  once— was  a  hearty  Church-of- 
England  man,  and  a  sound  divine. 
Yet  the  story  went  (and  it  is  very 
possibly  true)  that  all  these  merits 
might  have  been  forgotten  by  his 
royal  and  thoughtless  master,  but 
for  the  accident  of  his  remarkable 
ugliness — patent,  to  this  day,  to  any 
one  who  sees  his  picture.  Roches- 
ter is  said  to  have  made  a  bet  with 
the  King  that  he  would  find  an 
uglier  man  than  Lauderdale,  and 
forthwith  to  have  introduced  Alles- 
tree,  whom  he  had  stumbled  upon 
in  the  street,  and  whom  Charles 
then  remembered  and  promoted. 
He  found  Eton  in  debt,  and  half 
in  ruins  ;  "  the  pretended  saints," 
Huggett  says,  had  divided  amongst 
themselves  the  surplus  revenues, 
instead  of  employing  them  for  the 
advantage  of  the  foundation — a 
course  which,  it  must  be  confessed, 
members  of  collegiate  bodies  who 
make  no  special  pretension  to  be 
saints  have  been  also  known  to 
pursue.  Allestree  rebuilt  the  whole 
western  face  of  the  large  quadrangle 
at  his  own  charge.  But  the  neces- 
sary repairs  and  alterations  were  by 
no  means  completed  ;  for  Rosewill, 
then  head-master,  left  £300  by  will, 
which  formed  the  nucleus  of  a  large 
subscription  a  few  years  afterwards, 
when  the  whole  appears  to  have 
been  again  rebuilt.  It  is  in  Rose- 
will's  mastership  that  we  have  first 
been  able  to  find  any  list  of  the 
school,  or  any  clue  to  the  numbers. 
This  list,  of  the  year  1673,  *  shows 
that  the  old  "  seventh  "  form  had 
disappeared,  and  the  sixth  stands 
first,  as  it  does  now.  It  contains 
only  eight  names  —  all  collegers, 
and  all  elected  afterwards,  in  dif- 
ferent years,  to  King's.  The  fifth 


contains  thirty-eight — nineteen  col- 
legers, followed  by  the  same  num- 
ber of  oppidans,  of  whom  .Sir  John 
Price  is  "  captain."  There  are 
fifty -nine  in  the  fourth,  fifty-eight 
in  the  third,  thirty-four  in  the  se- 
cond, one  in  the  "  Bible  seat,"  and 
nine  apparently  "unplaced"  below, 
unless  they  may  possibly  be  choris- 
ters. The  whole  number  (includ- 
ing these  last)  is  207.  The  strange 
thing  is,  that  there  appear  to  be  at 
least  seventy-eight  collegers.  The 
only  nobleman  is  Lord  Alexander  ; 
there  are  five  baronets. 

The  plague,  of  which  the  Eton 
scholars  had  been  so  much  afraid  in 
Elizabeth's  days,  returned  again 
with  far  greater  virulence  in  16G2 
and  the  following  years.  It  does 
not  seem  that  on  either  occasion  it 
was  very  fatal  in  the  school  itself; 
at  least  but  few  deaths  are  recorded 
in  the  Eton  registers.!  But  it  gave 
rise  to  a  remarkable  ordinance  as  to 
the  use  of  tobacco,  which  contrasts 
curiously  with  modern  Eton  rules. 
Let  old  Thomas  Hearne  give  it  in 
his  own  words  : — 

"Even  children  were  obliged  to 
smoak.  And  I  remember  that  I  heard 
formerly  Tom  Rogers,  who  was  yeoman 
beadle,  say  that  when  he  was  that  year 
a  schoolboy  at  Eaton,  all  the  boys  of 
that  school  were  obliged  to  smoak  in  the 
school  every  morning,  and  that  he  was 
never  whipped  so  much  in  his  life  as  he 
was  one  morning  for  not  smoaking.  "— 
Diary,  ii.  449. 

Later  Eton  reminiscences  connect 
the  whippings  with  smoking  in  a 
different  way. 

James  II.  touched  for  the  evil  at 
Eton  in  1686,  and  amongst  his 
patients  were  the  Hon.  Charles 
and  George  Cecil,  sons  of  the  Earl 
of  Exeter.  He  performed  the  same 
ceremony  there,  possibly  for  the 
last  time,  in  1688. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  times 
when  the  records  of  the  school  and 


*  Rawlinson  MSS.,  B.  266. 

t  The  deaths  of  three  "scholars'"  appear  iu  Huggett's  copy  of  the  Eton  regis- 
ters in   1062,  and  of  one  iu  each  of  the  three  following  years,  but  the  plague  is 


not  stated  to  be  the  cause. 


224 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


its  masters  become  more  distinctly 
historical.  Charles  Roderick,  who 
had  been  lower-master,  or  usher  as 
it  was  still  called,  under  Ilosewill, 
succeeded  him  in  the  head-master- 
ship ;  "  an  excellent  scholar,"  says 
Cole,  "  yet  never  had  the  courage  to 
preach  one  sermon,  though  he  com- 
posed not  a  few."  Roderick  became 
provost  of  King's,  and  was  succeeded 
by  John  Newborough,  the  first  Eton 
head -master  of  whom  there  has 
survived  any  satisfactory  account. 
Vixere  fortes  ante  Agamemnona  : 
but  Newborough  was  fortunate  in 
having  a  pupil  to  draw  a  portrait 
of  him,  which,  though  evidently 
touched  with  a  loving  and  partial 
hand,  receives  sufficient  corrobora- 
tion  in  the  main  from  other  no- 
tices : — 

"  He  was  of  a  graceful  person  and 
comely  aspect ;  had  a  presence  fit  to 
awe  the  numerous  tribe  over  which  he 
presided ;  grave  was  he  in  his  behaviour, 
and  irreproachable  in  his  life ;  very  pa- 
thetical  were  his  reproofs,  and  dispas- 
sionate his  corrections ;  and  when  any 
hopes  of  amendment  appeared,  he  de- 
clined severe  remedies.  He  always 
chose,  in  the  places  to  which  as  mas- 
ter he  had  a  right  of  collation,  those 
youths  whose  industry,  modesty,  and 
good  behaviour  rendered  them  remark- 
able, and  that  so  far  from  being  moved 
by  their  parents'  or  friends'  application 
made  to  him,  that  even  without  their 
knowledge  he  frequently  conferred  his 
place  on  them.  Careful  he  was,  to 
the  greatest  exactness  and  rigidness 
imaginable,  of  the  morals  of  the  youths 
committed  to  his  charge.  Nor  in  the 
common  school  exercises  was  a  light 
airy  wit  so  much  aimed  at,  as  good 
sound  sense  and  grave  reflections.  .  .  . 
Exceeding  happy  was  he  in  his  expres- 
sion, his  words  llowing  from  him  jnsfc, 
though  swift,  and  always  inimitably 
expressive  ;  the  jejune  and  insipid 
explications  of  the  common  rank  of 
commentators  he  held  in  the  utmost 
contempt,  who  rather  confound  and 
perplex  the  sense  of  their  authors,  than 
extricate  us  from  our  difficulties.  .  .  . 
Generous  and  hospitable  was  he ;  and 


knew  as  gracefully  how  to  dispose  of 
his  money,  as  how  to  receive  it.  To 
the  poorer  lads  on  the  foundation  he 
was  known  to  be  very  noble,  in  supply- 
ing them  with  the  proper  books  and 
other  necessaries,  and  that  in  good 
quantity  ;  being  rightly  apprised  that 
the  quickest  natural  parts,  and  the 
most  promising  genius,  might  be  cramp- 
ed by  the  "'res  angusta  domi."  * 

The  grateful  biographer  goes  on 
to  speak  of  him  as  "  versed  in  men, 
as  well  as  in  books,"  and  admired 
and  respected  by  old  and  young  in 
the  college.  Even  the  excellent 
health  which  the  college  enjoyed  in 
his  time  ("there  being  only  one 
death  for  three  years'  space  out  of 
about  400  boys")  Rawlinson  attri- 
butes in  great  measure  to  Dr  New- 
borough's  scrupulous  care.  He  had 
been  often  anxious  to  resign,  but 
was  persuaded,  for  the  sake  of  the 
school,  to  retain  his  office,  until  his 
failing  health  obliged  him  to  retire 
in  1711.  He  died  the  year  follow- 
ing, and  lies  buried  at  Hitcham  in 
Buckinghamshire,  where  the  inscrip- 
tion on  his  tomb  records  him  as — 

Etonensis  Scliolaj 

Terrarum  Orbis  per  ipsum  maxima? 
Magister. 

The  boast  was  not  an  empty  one. 
The  list  of  Newborough's  pupils 
would  include  a  large  proportion  of 
the  men  who  were  then  rising  to 
eminence.  Foremost  among  them 
were  the  two  Walpoles,  Robert 
and  Horatio  ( afterwards  Lord 
Walpole),  and  Horace  St  John, 
Lord  Bolingbroke.  Of  Sir  Ro- 
bert Walpole's  future  eminence 
Newborough  seems  to  have  had 
some  prevision.  When  he  heard 
that  some  of  his  late  pupils  were 
already  making  themselves  heard 
in  Parliament — especially  St  John 
— he  wrote  in  reply.  "  But  I  am 
impatient  to  hear  that  Robert  Wal- 
pole has  spoken,  for  I  am  convinced 
he  will  be  a  good  orator."  t 


*  Proposals  for  printing  by  subscription  "  Antiqiiitates  et  Athena?  Etonenses, " 
in  four  vols.  8vo.  "By  an  Impartial  Hand"  (Richd.  Rawlinson,  D.D.),  with 
specimen  page. 

•j-  The  following  bill  for  "extras,"  fora  boy  named  Patrick,  from  April  1687 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


225 


Newborough  was  succeeded  by 
another  man  of  some  eminence  in 
Ills  way,  though  rather  as  a  polemi- 
cal divine  than  as  a  schoolmaster. 
The  Gentleman's  Magazine  of  the 
time  calls  him  "the  great  ])r 
Snape  ;"  lwt  the  great  fight  that  he 
fought  with  Bishop  Hoadley  in  de- 
fence of  orthodoxy,  and  the  virulent 
pamphlets  which  it  called  forth  on 
both  sides,  are  pretty  well  forgotten, 
and  posterity  has  had  no  great  loss. 
Party  spirit  must  have  run  high  at 
Eton  on  this  "  Bangor  controversy;" 
for  one  of  the  assistant -masters, 
Thackeray,  found  his  position  there 
so  uncomfortable  in  consequence  of 
the  part  he  had  taken,  that  he  re- 
signed, and  afterwards  became  head- 
master of  Harrow. 

Dr  Snape's  enemies  have  pre- 
served the  fact,  very  much  to  his 
credit,  that  he  was  a  self-made 
man — his  family  having  been  "Ser- 
geant-farriers" to  the  King  for  200 
years.  His  mother,  and  afterwards 
his  sister,  kept  the  earliest  recorded 
"  Dame's"  houses  at  Eton.  He  was 
selected  to  represent  the  faculty  of 
divinity  when  the  University  of 
Frankfurt  invited  Cambridge  to  be 
present  by  delegates  at  their  great 
Jubilee  in  1707,  the  two-hundredth 
anniversary  of  their  foundation. 
On  resigning  his  post  in  1720,  he 
is  said  to  have  entered  a  town-boy's 
name  upon  the  school  list  without 
consulting  his  parents,  in  order  to 
raise  the  number,  for  the  first  time, 
to  the  round  total  of  400. 


It  was  the  year  of  the  great 
South  Sea  bubble  when  I)r  Henry 
Bland  succeeded,  coming  from  Don- 
caster  School.  The  tide  of  false  pro- 
sperity floated  the  numbers  up  at 
once  to  425  ;  next  year  the  bubble 
had  burst,  and  they  fell  to  375. 
One  of  his  favourite  pupils  was 
William  Cole,  the  antiquary,  who 
speaks  of  him  as  a  man  of  "  fine  and 
stately  presence,"  and  an  elegant 
Latin  scholar.  Sir  Robert  Wai  pole- 
gave  him  the  deanery  of  Durham, 
and  offered  to  make  him  a  bishop, 
which  he  declined.  Sir  Robert  was 
said  never  to  forget  his  old  school- 
fellows. Cole  mentions  a  letter  in 
his  possession  from  Bishop  Tanner 
to  a  friend,  in  which  he  says  he 
"  does  not  hope  to  be  preferred  till 
all  the  Eton  and  King's  men  have 
been  provided  for. 

Of  Dr  George,  the  next  in  suc- 
cession, an  amusing  anecdote  has 
been  preserved  by  Nichols.  George 
was  accustomed  to  declaim  Greek 
to  his  boys  r<?r  rotnndo.  Frederick 
Prince  of  Wales,  then  residing  at 
Clifden  House,  walked  over  one 
day  to  Eton  to  call  upon  Dr  George, 
taking  with  him  Dr  Ayscough,  tu- 
tor to  the  boy-princes  afterwards 
George  III.  and  the  Duke  of  York. 
The  head-master  was  engaged  in 
school,  and  the  Prince  and  his  com- 
panion stood  for  some  time  listen- 
ing and  peeping  at  the  door  while 
he  was  expounding  Homer  witli  re 
markable  energy  and  action.  When 
Dr  George  heard  of  the  royal  visitor 


to  March  IfiSS,  is  preserved  amongst  Tanner's  MSS. 
Newborough, "  as  head-master: — 

Carriage  of  letters,  Ac., 

For  a  bat  and  ram  club, 

Four  pairs  of  gloves, 

Eight  pairs  of  shoes, 

Bookseller's  bill,     .... 

Cutting  his  hair  eight  times, 

Wormsced,  treacle,  and  manna,     . 

Mending  his  clothes, 

Pair  of  garters,       .... 

Schole  fire,  .... 

Given  to  the  servants, 

A  new  frock, 


Paid  the  writing-master  half  a  year,  due  next  April  21,  '89, 


It  has  the  receipt  of  "  II 


£0 

o 

1 

0 

0 

:i 

0 

o 

0 

0 

16 

0 

0 

14 

o 

0 

2 

(i 

0 

o 

8 

0 

o 

8 

0 

0 

.3 

0 

3 

it 

0 

1-2 

r, 

0 

5 

8 

£.'{ 

r, 

s 

\  1 

0 

0 

226 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


[Feb. 


whom  lie  had  missed,  he  went  over 
to  Clifden  tlie  same  afternoon  to 
make  his  apologies.  The  Prince  told 
him  the  story,  adding  that  he  wished 
the  Doctor  had  come  an  hour  ear- 
lier, to  have  heard  Ayscough  taking 
off  his  energetic  performance  in  a 
lesson  with  7m  boys.  It  was  not  a 
gracious  speech ;  and  Dr  George, 
Nichols  adds,  "took  himself  off" 
very  shortly.  The  period  of  his 
mastership  was  marked  by  one  very 
horrible  event.  In  March  1730, 
was  buried  in  the  college  chapel 
"Edward  Cochran,  murdered  by 
his  schoolfellow,  Thomas  Dalton, 
with  a  penknife."  Such  is  the 
entry  in  the  parish  register ;  but 
the  inscription  which  is  or  was 
to  be  read  on  his  tomb  has  the 
words  "accidentally  stabbed."  Pro- 
bably it  was  an  act  of  sudden  pas- 
sion. 

The  increasing  numbers  of  the 
school  must  have  very  early  re- 
quired some  additional  teaching 
power  besides  the  two  masters  pro- 
vided for  by  the  statutes.  Up  to  the 
time  of  Elizabeth,  and  probably  to 
a  much  later  date,  this  had  been 
supplied  by  monitors.  The  restric- 
tion by  which  the  masters  were  for- 
bidden to  take  any  fees  (even  from 
oppidans)  was  probably  evaded, 
almost  from  the  first,  by  the  system 
then  universal  in  all  transactions  of 
giving  presents,  under  which  head- 
ing the  sons  of  wealthy  parents  soon 
began  to  pay  pretty  highly  for  their 
education.  Traces  of  this  arrange- 
ment remain  in  the  custom  still 
prevailing — not  at  all  to  the  credit 
of  the  school — of  presenting  a  sum 
as  "leaving-money"  to  the  head- 
master and  the  private  tutor.  At 
what  time  assistant -masters  were 
first  appointed  does  not  appear. 
But  they  were  no  doubt  paid,  up  to 
a  comparatively  late  date,  entirely 
from  such  fees  as  the  parents  of 
those  under  their  tuition  chose  to 
give  them.  A  curious  advertise- 
ment (in  the  'London  Evening  Post' 
of  Nov.  9,  1731)  by  Mr  Francis 
Goode,  who  had  been  lower-master 
for  many  years  under  Newborough, 


throws  some  light  upon  the  sub- 
ject : — 

"Whereas  Mr  Franc.  Goocle,  under- 
master  of  Eaton,  does  hereby  signify  that 
there  will  be  at  Christmas  next,  or  soon 
after,  two  vacancies  in  his  school — viz. , 
as  assistants  to  him  and  tutors  to  the 
young  gents.  :  if  any  two  gentlemen  of 
either  University  (who  have  commenced 
the  degree  of  B.  A.  at  least)  shall  think 
themselves  duly  qualified,  and  are  de- 
sirous of  such  an  employment,  let  them 
enquire  of  John  Potts,  Pickleman  in 
Gracious  Street,  or  at  Mr  G.'s  own 
house  in  Eaton  College,  where  they 
may  purchase  the  same  at  a  reasonable 
rate,  and  on  conditions  fully  to  their 
own  satisfaction.  F.  GOODE. 

"N.B.- — It  was  very  erroneously  re- 
ported that  the  last  place  was  disposed 
of  under  40s." 

Certainly  the  place  is  worth  some- 
thing more  now.  There  seems  to 
have  been  no  doubt  in  Goode's 
mind  of  the  perfect  propriety  of  the 
arrangement ;  he  was  a  very  respect- 
able man,  and  was  very  nearly  suc- 
ceeding Newborough  in  the  head- 
mastership.  He  was  only  defeated 
by  Dr  Snape  after  a  very  warm  con- 
test, and  was  much  disappointed  at 
the  result. 

Dr  George  was  succeeded  by  one 
of  his  assistants,  William  Cooke. 
His  short  administration  of  two 
years  is  thus  summed  up  by  Cole  in 
his  most  spiteful  vein  : — 

"William  Cooke  made  master  of  the 
school,  for  which  post  not  being  found 
equal,  he  was  made  fellow  of  the  col- 
lege to  let  him  down  gently;  and,  to  get 
rid  of  his  impertinence,  insolence,  and 
other  unamiable  qualities,  he  was  strong- 
ly recommended  to  be  provost  of  King's 
on  Dr  Sumner's  death.  It  is  not  the 
first  time  a  man's  unsocial  and  bad  dis- 
position has  been  the  occasion  of  his  ad- 
vancement. I  know  the  college  would 
be  delighted  to  kick  him  up  higher,  so 
that  they  could  get  rid  of  a  formal  im- 
portant pedant,  who  will  be  a  school- 
master in  whatever  station  of  life  his 
fortune  may  advance  him  to." 

Some  personal  enmity  had  evi- 
dently a  share  in  this  note  ;  but 
Cooke  was  certainly  not  a  success- 
ful master,  and  the  school  under  his 
management  fell  off  in  numbers  and 
repute.  His  successor,  Dr  Sumner, 


1865.] 


Etoniana,  A  ncient  and  Modern. — Part  I. 


227 


though  an  able  and  zealous  teacher, 
could  only  partially  restore  its  good 
name  during  nine  years  of  office. 

Dr  llawlinson,  amongst  his  MSS., 
quotes  from  the  '  Daily  Advertiser ' 
an  account  of  a  royal  visit  at  this 
time.  It  is  not  a  very  complimen- 
tary paragraph  : — 

"  1747,  Aug.  llth. — King  George  II. 
visited  the  College  and  School  of  Eton, 
when  on  short  notice  Master  Slater  *  of 
Bedford,  Master  Masham  of  Heading, 
and  Master  Williams  of  London,  spoke 
each  a  Latin  speech  (most  prol>al>ly 
made  l>y  their  masters),  with  which 
his  Majesty  seemed  exceedingly  well 

1>leased,  and  obtained  for  them  a  week's 
lolidays.  To  the  young  orators  live 
guineas  each  had  been  more  accept- 
able." 

In  1754,  on  Sumner's  resignation, 
Dr  Edward  Barnard,  Fellow  of  St 
John's  College,  Oxford,  who  had 
been  private  tutor  at  Eton  to 
Charles  Townshend,  was  elected  to 
the  head -mastership.  Under  his 
vigorous  rule  the  school  rose  again 
rapidly  and  steadily.  Two  assist- 
ant-masters were  added  the  year 
after  his  appointment  to  meet  the 
increasing  number  of  oppidans ;  and 
two  more  in  1760.  Sumner  had 
gradually  raised  the  total  number 
of  the  school  to  350  ;  when  Dr  Bar- 
nard was  promoted  to  the  provost- 
ship  in  1756,  he  left  522  boys  on 
the  Eton  list — a  larger  number  by 
far  than  had  been  known  at  any 
previous  time,  and  which  the  school 
never  reached  again  for  more  than 
fifty  years. 

For  Eton  was  unfortunate  in  his 
successor;  doubly  unfortunate,  be- 
cause the  new  master  was  a  man 
from  whom  very  much  was  expect- 
ed, whose  appointment  seemed  the 
best  that  could  have  been  made, 
and  who  did  really  possess  many  of 
the  most  important  qualifications 
for  his  office.  John  Foster,  the  son 
of  a  Windsor  tradesman,  had  enter- 
ed the  school  very  young,  and  dur- 
ing his  career  there  was  the  ad- 
miration of  his  schoolfellows  and 


the  pride  of  his  masters.  He  went 
otf  early  as  captain  to  King's,  with 
the  highest  reputation  as  a  scholar ; 
and  Dr  Barnard,  immediately  upon 
his  own  appointment,  had  recalled 
him  from  Cambridge  to  an  assistant- 
mastership.  In  that  position  he 
seems  to  have  fully  borne  out  the 
expectations  which  had  been  formed 
of  him;  for,  on  Barnard's  resigna- 
tion, Foster  was  at  once  elected  to 
succeed  him.  But  though  his  scho- 
larship was  unquestionable,  and  his 
discharge  of  his  duties  most  con- 
scientious, there  were  deficiencies 
of  other  qualifications  which  were 
not  to  be  got  over.  He  wanted 
dignity  of  person  and  manner,  as 
well  as  knowledge  of  the  world; 
and  these  are  very  important  points 
in  the  ruler  of  five  hundred  boys, 
many  of  them  just  attaining  man- 
hood. The  words  of  an  anonymous 
contemporary  biographer  probably 
state  the  case  fairly  : — 

"  learning  is  not  the  only  requisite 
qualification  for  such  a  school  as  Eton ; 
other  qualities  are  necessary  to  consti- 
tute the  character  suited  to  such  an 
important  and  difficult  charge.  He, 
unfortunately  for  himself,  succeeded  a 
man  who  pre-eminently  possessed  all 
the  requisite  talents  for  his  situation. 
The  comparison  was  replete  with  dis- 
advantage ;  and,  not  being  able  to  adopt 
his  predecessor's  mode  of  management 
and  regulation,  he  rested  upon  the  sever- 
ity of  discipline.  He  therefore  became 
unpopular  among  his  scholars.  The  in- 
feriority of  his  birth,  which  would  never 
have  suggested  itself  had  he  made  him- 
self beloved,  was  a  circumstance  which 
helped  to  augment  dislike,  and  to  dis- 
pose the  higher  classes  of  his  scholars 
frequently  to  display  a  contempt  for  his 
person,  and  sometimes  to  resist  his  au- 
thority ;  he  therefore  judged  it  best  to 
resign  his  situation." 

He  had  the  mortification,  before 
he  resigned,  to  see  the  school  fall 
away  in  numbers  from  the  522  left 
by  Dr  Barnard  to  230  ;  but  his  zeal 
and  conscientiousness  were  deserv- 
edly rewarded  by  such  consolation 
as  a  canonry  of  Windsor  could  give. 


*  Thomas  Rclatcr  went  to  King's  as  captain  that  year. 
VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCII. 


228 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


His  health,  however,  was  broken, 
though  he  was  only  forty-two.  "  He 
had  a  bad  consumptive  constitu- 
tion," says  Cole,  "  which  was  not 
bettered  by  the  fatigues  of  a  school 
and  the  sedentariness  of  a  scholar." 
He  died  at  Spa  the  year  following. 
His  remains  were  subsequently 
removed,  and  reinterred  at  Wind- 
sor. On  his  tomb  in  the  church- 
yard there  are  the  following  re- 


markable words,  most  probably  his 
own : — 

"  Qui   fuerim,    ex   hoc    m  arm  ore    cog- 
nosces; 

Qualis  vero,  cognosces  alicubi ; 
Eo  scilicet  supremo  tempore 
Quo  egomet  qualis  et  tu  fueris  cog- 
o  os  cam." 

Of  the  many  distinguished  pupils 
of  Barnard  and  Foster  we  must 
speak  hereafter. 


CORNELIUS    0  DOWD   UPON   MEN   AND   WOMEN,   AND    OTHER   THINGS 
IN   GENERAL. 

PART   XIII. 


GOING    INTO    PARLIAMENT. 


LOOKING  out  at  life  from  the  very 
narrow  loophole  at  which  I  sit,  I 
scarcely  like  to  affirm  anything  very 
positively ;  but,  so  far  as  I  am  able 
to  see,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  never 
remember  a  time  in  which  so  many 
men  aspired  to  public  life  as  the 
present.  There  were  always,  and 
I  trust  there  always  will  be,  a  large 
class  to  whom  Parliament  will  be  a 
natural  and  suitable  ambition.  The 
House  of  Commons  has  the  proud 
prerogative  of  representing  every 
interest  of  the  kingdom.  The  land- 
owner, the  millowner,  the  man  of 
ships,  the  man  of  mines,  the 
friend  of  Exeter  Hall,  the  advocate 
of  the  Pope.  Even  crotchets  and 
caprices  have  their  members ;  and 
there  are  men  who  tinker  about 
street-organs  or  licences  to  oyster- 
cellars,  but  who  really,  as  they 
consume  their  own  smoke,  are 
small  nuisances,  and  may  easily  be 
endured.  Even  bores  are  repre- 
sented in  Parliament ;  and  if  the 
Brothers  Davenport  only  live  long 
enough  amongst  us,  there  is  no 
reason  why  Mr  Howitt,  for  instance, 
should  not  stand  up  in  the  House 
to  represent  the  spiritual  interests 
of  the  nation.  I  like  all  this.  I 
am  certain  that  at  the  price  of  lis- 
tening to  an  enormous  amount  of 
twaddle  we  purchase  safety.  One 


Idea  would  be  a  very  troublesome 
and  cantankerous  fellow  if  you 
would  not  let  him  talk,  but  with 
his  free  speech  he  is  happy,  and, 
better  still,  he  is  innocuous.  How- 
ever silly  his  project  be,  he  is  so 
certain  to  make  it  sillier  by  his  ad- 
vocacy of  it,  that  it  is  right  good  pol- 
icy to  invite  him  to  explain  himself. 
It  would  be  hard,  too,  to  deny  a 
man  who  has  contested  his  borough, 
borne  the  fag  and  the  rough  usage, 
the  abuse,  the  insult,  and  the  heavy 
cost  of  a  contested  election,  the  small 
privilege  of  hearing  himself  say 
"  Sir"  to  the  Speaker,  though  the 
shuffling  sound  of  departing  feet 
should  make  the  sentence  that  fol- 
lowed inaudible.  This,  however,  is 
a  costly  privilege ;  it  is  essentially 
the  luxury  of  the  rich  man  ;  for 
since  we  have  taken  such  immense 
precautions  against  bribery,  a  seat 
in  Parliament  has  become  a  far 
more  expensive  thing  than  ever  it 
was  before.  The  apparent  paradox 
admits  of  an  easy  explanation. 
Have  you  not  once  or  twice,  if  not 
oftener,  in  life  drunk  excellent 
claretinsomc  remote  country-house, 
where  the  owner's  means  were  cer- 
tainly not  equal  to  such  a  luxury  ? 
The  reason  was,  the  duties  were 
high,  and  the  smuggler  found  it 
worth  while  to  evade  them.  The 


1865.] 


and  otfar  Things  in  Genera1. — Part  X I  If. 


reduced  tariff,  however,  cut  off  the 
contraband,  and  though  the  legal 
article  was  cheaper,  it  never  came 
so  low  in  price  as  the  "run"  one. 
There  is  therefore  now  less  smug- 
gling into  the  House  ;  but  even  the 
low  duty  is  too  high  for  the  poor 
man. 

This  circumstance  it  is  which 
makes  it  the  more  incomprehensible 
to  me  : — when  men,  whose  fortunes 
I  am  well  aware  are  small,  and  whose 
positions  would  seem  to  call  for 
every  exercise  of  energy  and  industry, 
lounge  into  my  room  and  tell  me 
"  they  are  going  into  Parliament.'' 
If  these  were  all,  or  if  even  a  fair 
number  of  them  were,  very  clever 
fellows — well  read,  well  grounded, 
with  good  memories,  fluent  of 
speech,  endowed  with  much  tact, 
and  a  happy  address — I  might  say, 
though  not  exactly  born  to  be  states- 
men, they  might  find  a  career  in  pub- 
lic life.  The  discipline  of  a  govern- 
ment requires  so  many  petty  officers, 
that  there  is  nothing  unreasonable 
in  such  men  expecting  to  be  ser- 
geants and  corporals.  The  House, 
too,  is  a  rare  club  ;  its  gossip  is  the 
best  gossip,  its  interests  are  the  best 
interests,  even  its  jobs  and  intrigues 
are  finer,  grander,  better  games  of 
skill  than  any  that  ever  engaged 
the  wits  and  tried  the  temper  of 
gamblers.  I  cannot  imagine  a 
sphere  in  which  ability  was  so  sure 
to  have  its  legitimate  sway  and 
swing. 

One  cannot  conceive  a  place,  ex- 
cept it  be  the  play-ground  of  a  great 
school,  where  fair  play  is  so  sure  to 
be  the  rule  and  practice.  It  is  the 
one  spot  on  earth  where  the  weak 
cannot  be  browbeaten,  and  the 
strong  cannot  be  a  tyrant.  It  is 
the  only  arena  the  world  has  ever 
witnessed,  wherein  right-minded- 
ness has  obtained  the  force  of 
talent,  and  mere  honesty  can  hold 
its  own  against  any  odds  in  ability. 
I  admit  at  once  how  proud  a  thing 
it  is  to  belong  to  such  an  assem- 
blage, and  I  only  ask  that  the  men 
who  aspire  to  it  should  have  some- 
thing in  proportion  to  the  preten- 


sion. I  mean  that  it  is  not  enough 
that  they  have  failed  as  barristers — 
broken  down  as  novelists  —  been 
bankrupt  as  speculators,  or  unfor- 
tunate in  any  other  career  in  life — 
that  they  sliould  come  here.  The 
House  of  Commons  is  neither  a  re- 
formatory nor  an  asylum.  It  was 
never  intended  to  recall  the  wander- 
ing sheep  of  politics  to  the  pleasant 
pasturages  of  office,  or  prove  a  re- 
fuge for  the  forlorn  castaways — the 
street-walkers  of  the  learned  pro- 
fessions. 

Johnson  called  patriotism  the  last 
refuge  of  a  scoundrel.  What  if 
Parliament  were  to  become  the  last 
resource  of  incapacity  !  I  earnestly 
hope  this  may  not  be  so.  1  ar- 
dently desire  that  other  men's  ex- 
periences may  not  be  as  my  experi- 
ences. I  long  to  think  that  the 
dreary  creatures  who  come  to  show 
me  the  "twaddle"  they  have  written 
to  the  free  and  independent  electors 
of  Snugborough,  are  not  a  wide- 
spread pestilence,  but  a  small  local 
disease  invented  for  my  especial 
torment.  What  mornings  have  I 
passed,  listening  to  their  opinions 
on  currency,  on  the  colonies,  on  the 
Catholics !  what  they  would  do 
about  Church  rates — how  they  would 
deal  with  the  franchise.  These  are 
the  aspiring  creatures  who  mean  to 
be  terrible  to  Gladstone,  and  thorns 
in  the  side  of  Disraeli.  There  are 
others  who  vow  themselves  to  com- 
mittee life — who  mean  to  pass  their 
days  in  the  smaller  shrines  of  poli- 
tics, and  only  pray  to  the  saints  who 
] ireside  over  railway  rogueries  and 
the  peculations  of  public  works. 
Last  of  all,  there  are  the  "  Dun- 
drearies"  of  statecraft,  who  know 
nothing  themselves,  nor  ever  knew 
any  one  who  did — who  want  to  be 
in  the  House  because  it  is  the  right 
thing,  and  who  feel  about  politics 
as  did  the  Bourgeois  Gentilhomme 
about  prose — it  was  a  fine  thing  to 
be  talking  it  even  unconsciously. 
These  men,  by  some  strange  fatality, 
always  speak  of  the  achievement  as 
an  easy  one.  They  know  a  "  fel- 
low" who  can  get  them  in  for  eight 


230 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


hundred  or  a  thousand ;  and  they 
tell  you  little  anecdotes  of  election- 
eering rogueries  you  have  often 
read  in  print,  as  part  of  the  personal 
experiences  of  "the  fellow"  afore- 
said. I  own  these  men  try  me  sore- 
ly, and  even  the  bland  temper  with 
which  nature  has  endowed  me  is  at 
moments  driven  to  its  last  intrench- 
ments.  The  affected  contempt  they 
assume  for  public  life — the  tone  of 
"  rogues  all"  they  put  on  with  re- 
spect to  men  in  power,  and  the 
levity  with  which  they  treat  re- 
sponsibilities that  the  strongest  are 
seen  to  stagger  under — these  are  the 
things  that  push  my  patience  to  its 
limits. 

It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that  if 
these  men  entered  the  House  we 
should  never  hear  of  them  ;  that 
they  would  be  as  completely  ignor- 
ed as  if  they  sat  in  the  reporters' 
gallery.  Be  it  so  ;  but  I  ask,  Why 
should  they  be  there  at  all  1  why 


should  they  aspire  to  be  there  ] 
What  fatal  tendency  of  our  age  in- 
clines men  to  adopt  a  career  in  all 
respects  unsuited  to  them  1  When 
Pitt  said  of  our  octogenarian  gene- 
rals, "  I  don't  know  what  effect 
they  produce  on  the  enemy,  but  I 
know  that  they  frighten  me"  he 
expressed  what  I  very  strongly  feel 
about  these  small  boys  of  politics — 
they  fill  me  with  fear  and  mis- 
giving. The  numbers  of  such  men 
assuming  airs  of  statecraft,  talking 
of  great  questions,  and  identifying 
themselves  and  their  small  natures 
with  measures  of  moment,  has  the 
same  effect  in  political  life  as  the 
great  issue  of  a  depreciated  paper 
currency  has  in  finance.  These  are 
the  greenbacks  of  public  life  ;  and 
as  a  general  election  is  approaching, 
let  me  caution  constituencies  against 
making  them  a  legal  tender,  or  even 
for  a  moment  supposing  they  are 
good  as  gold. 


CONTINENTAL   EXCURSIONISTS. 


In  common  with  others  of  my 
countrymen  who  live  much  abroad, 
I  have  often  had  to  deplore  the  un- 
fair estimate  of  England  that  must 
be  made  by  commenting  on  the 
singular  specimens  of  man  and 
woman-hood  that  fill  the  railroad 
trains,  crowd  the  steamboats,  and 
deluge  the  hotels  of  the  Continent. 
How  often  have  I  had  to  assure 
inquiring  foreigners  that  these 
people  were  not  the  elite  of  our 
nation !  With  what  pains  have  I 
impressed  upon  them  that  these 
men  and  women  represent  habits 
and  ways  and  modes  of  thought 
which  a  stranger  might  travel  Eng- 
land in  its  length  and  breadth  with- 
out once  encountering,  and  that  to 
predicate  English  life  from  such 
examples  would  be  a  grievous  in- 
justice ! 

This  evil,  however,  has  now  de- 
veloped itself  in  a  form  of  exagger- 
ation for  which  I  was  in  no  way 
prepared.  It  seems  that  some  en- 
terprising and  unscrupulous  man 


has  devised  the  project  of  conduct- 
ing some  forty  or  fifty  persons,  ir- 
respective of  age  or  sex,  from  Lon- 
don to  Naples  and  back  for  a  fixed 
sum.  He  contracts  to  carry  them, 
feed  them,  lodge  them,  and  amuse 
them.  They  are  to  be  found  in 
diet,  theatricals,  sculpture,  carved- 
wood.  frescoes,  washing,  and  rou- 
lette. In  a  word,  they  are  to  be 
"done  for  "in  the  most  complete 
manner,  and  nothing  called  for  on 
their  part  but  a  payment  of  so  many 
pounds  sterling,  and  all  tbe  details 
of  the  road  or  the  inn,  the  play- 
house, the  gallery,  or  the  museum, 
will  be  carefully  attended  to  by  this 
providential  personage,  whose  name 
assuredly  ought  to  be  Barnum  ! 

When  I  read  the  scheme  first  in 
a  newspaper  advertisement  I  caught 
at  the  hope  that  the  speculation 
would  break  down.  I  assured  my- 
self that,  though  two  or  three  un- 
happy and  misguided  creatures,  des- 
titute of  friends  and  advisers,  might 
be  found  to  embrace  such  an  offer, 


1865.] 


and  utter  Things  in  General. — Part  XIII. 


2:',] 


there  would  not  be  any  real  class 
from  which  such  recruiting  could  be 
drawn.  I  imagined,  besides,  that 
the  characteristic  independence  of 
Englishmen  would  revolt  against 
a  plan  that  reduces  the  traveller  to 
the  level  of  his  trunk,  and  obliter- 
ates every  trace  and  trait  of  the 
individual.  I  was  all  wrong  :  the 
thing  h;is  "  taken  " — the  project  is 
a  success  ;  and,  as  I  write,  the  cities 
of  Italy  are  deluged  with  droves  of 
these  creatures,  for  they  never  sep- 
arate, and  you  see  them,  forty  in 
number,  pouring  along  a  street  with 
their  director — now  in  front,  now  at 
the  rear — circling  around  them  like 
a  sheep-dog — and  really  the  process 
is  a-s  like  herding  as  maybe.  1  have 
already  met  three  flocks,  and  any- 
thing so  uncouth  I  never  saw  be- 
fore, —  the  men,  mostly  elderly, 
dreary,  sad-looking,  evidently  bored 
and  tired — the  women,  somewhat 
younger,  travel-tossed  and  crumpled, 
but  intensely  lively,  wide-awake,  and 
facetious.  Indeed,  to  judge  from  the 
continual  sparkle  of  the  eye  and 
the  uneasy  quiver  of  the  mouth, 
one  would  say  that  they  thought 
the  Continent  was  a  practical  joke, 
and  all  foreigners  as  good  fun  as 
anything  at  Astley's.  When  for- 
eigners first  inquired  of  me  what 
this  strange  invasion  might  mean — 
for  there  was  a  sort  of  vague  sus- 
picion it  had  some  religious  pro- 
paganda in  the  distance — I  tried 
to  turn  oft*  the  investigation  by  some 
platitude  about  English  eccentri- 
city, and  that  passion  for  anything 
odd  that  marks  our  nation.  Finding, 
however,  that  my  explanation  was 
received  with  distrust,  1  bethought 
me  of  what  pretext  I  could  frame 
as  more  plausible,  and  at  la.st  hit 
upon  what  I  flatter  myself  was  in- 
genious. 

I  took  the  most  gossip-loving  of 
my  acquaintances  aside,  and  under 
a  solemn  pledge  of  secrecy,  which 
I  well  knew  he  would  not  keep, 
I  told  him  that  our  Australian  colo- 
nies had  made  such  a  rumpus  of 
late  about  being  made  convict  set- 
lements,  that  we  had  adopted  the 


cheap  expedient  of  sending  our 
rogues  abroad  to  the  Continent, 
apparently  as  tourists  ;  and  that, 
being  well  dressed  and  well  treated, 
the  project  found  favour  with  the 
knaves,  who,  after  a  few  weeks, 
took  themselves  off  in  various  direc- 
tions as  taste  or  inclination  sug- 
gested. In  fact,  said  I,  in  less  than 
ten  days  you'll  not  see  three,  per- 
haps, of  that  considerable  party  we 
met  a  while  ago  in  the  cathedral  ; 
and  then  that  fussy  little  bald  man 
that  you  remarked  took  such  trouble 
about  them  will  return  to  England 
for  more. 

I  cannot  describe  the  horror  with 
which  he  heard  me — the  scheme 
outdid  in  perfidy  all  that  he 
had  believed  even  of  "  la  perfide 
All  lion  ;"  but  it  was  so  like  us,  that 
much  he  must  say.  It  was  so  self- 
ish and  so  saving  and  so  insolent- 
ly contemptuous  towards  all  foreign 
countries,  as  though  the  most  de- 
graded Englishman  was  still  good 
enough  company  for  the  foreigner. 

As  I  have  since  made  a  similar 
confidence  to  two  others,  my  mind 
is  relieved  as  to  all  the  dire  conse- 
quences of  these  invasions.  Do  not 
imagine  that  the  remedy  was  too 
strong  for  the  disease  ;  far  from  it. 
I  tell  you  deliberately  it  will  be  all 
but  impossible  to  live  abroad  if  these 
outpourings  continue  ;  for  it  is  not 
merely  that  England  swamps  us  with 
everything  that  is  low-bred,  vulgar, 
and  ridiculous,  but  that  these  people, 
from  the  hour  they  set  out,  regard 
all  foreign  countries  and  their  inha- 
bitants as  something  in  which  they 
have  a  vested  right.  They  have 
paid  for  the  Continent  as  they  paid 
for  Cremorne,  and  they  will  have 
the  worth  of  their  money.  They 
mean  to  eat  it  and  drink  it  and 
junket  it  to  the  uttermost  farthing. 
When  the  cutlet  is  overdone,  or  the 
cathedral  disappoints  them,  it  is 
not  merely  unsatisfactory — it  is  a 
"  do" — a  "sell" — a  swindle — just  as 
if  the  rockets  would  refuse  to  go  up 
at  Vauxhall,  or  the  Catharine-wheels 
to  play.  Europe,  in  their  eyes,  is  a 
great  spectacle,  like  a  show-piece  at 


Cornelius  0' Dowel  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


Govent  Garden  ;  and  it  is  theirs  to 
criticise  the  performance  and  laugh 
at  the  performers  at  will. 

Now,  if  ive  are  not  acquiring 
French  and  Italian,  foreigners  are 
learning  English  ;  and  I  must  say 
the  acquisition  redounds  to  them  in 
other  ways  than  pleasure,  for  what 
mortifying  and  impertinent  things 
do  not  these  "drove  Bulls"  say  of 
all  and  everything  around  them  ! 

Is  it  without  reason  that  I  pro- 
test against  these  Barnumites  who 
now  crowd  the  tables  d'hote  and  fill 
the  fiacres,  and  whose  great  unmean- 
ing looks  of  wonder  and  stolidity 
meet  one  at  every  corner  1 

What  a  blessing  it  was  for  our 
ministers  and  envoys  abroad  that 
the  passport  system  was  abrogated 
before  these  people  took  to  the 
road  !  Our  legations  abroad  would 
otherwise  be  besieged  like  a  union 
workhouse  in  a  famine.  One  of 
the  strangest  peculiarities,  too,  of 
the  vulgar  Bull  is  his  passion  for 
talking  what  he  believes  to  be 
French  to  his  own  minister  or 
envoy  on  the  Continent,  whenever 
any  accident  may  have  brought 
them  face  to  face. 

One  of  our  most  distinguished 
diplomatists — a  man  whose  reputa- 
tion is  now  European — once  told 
me  that  the  ordinary  work  of  his 
station  was  nothing  compared  with 
the  worry,  irritation,  and  annoy- 
ance he  experienced  from  these 
people.  He  gave  me  an  instance, 
too,  and  I  rejoice  to  say  that  the 
victory  did  not,  as  is  so  often  the 
case,  lie  with  the  Bore  :  "  Vous  etes 
Minister  d'Angleterre,  I  think," 
said  a  pompous  -  looking  elderly 
Bull,  who  once  made  his  way  into 
a  room  where  my  friend  was  writ- 
ing, with  a  boldness  all  his  own. 
The  Minister  saw  that  he  was  a 
stranger,  ignorant  of  the  place  and 
its  ways,  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
do  anything  for  his  service. 
"  Oui,  oui — j'ai  besoin — 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupt- 
ing ;  but  as  I  am  an  Englishman, 
and  you  I  apprehend  to  be  an- 
other, let  us  talk  English. 


"  Oui,  oui,  je  parle  parfaitement." 

"  Pray,  sir,  say  what  is  it  you 
want  in  the  vernacular." 

"  J'ai  besoin,  passport." 

"  For  what  place  ]" 

"  Je  crois  que  j'irai — 

"  Tell  me,  sir,  the  name  of  the 
place,  and  your  own  name." 

"  Moi  ?  Je  m'appelle  Richard 
Govens  ;  mais  il  y  a  Madame  Go- 
vens,  trois  Mademoiselles  Govens, 
Monsieur  Jacques  et  Joseph  Go- 
vens, and  le  tuteur." 

"  There — there,  sir, — you  said  Aix- 
la-Chapelle  ;  do  me  the  favour  now 
to  leave  me  to  my  own  occupations. 
No — -nothing  to  pay ;  good-morn- 
ing-" 

No;  he  was  not  to  be  got  rid 
of  thus  easily,  for  he  continued  in 
the  same  vile  jargon  to  explain 
that  lie  was  familiar  with  foreign 
usages,  and  long  habituated  to  tra- 
vel abroad ;  and  it  was  only  by  the 
employment  of  very  energetic  lan- 
guage that  my  friend  ultimately 
persuaded  him  to  withdraw  and  go 
about  his  business. 

Three  days  after  this  dreary  in- 
terview, however,  there  came  to  the 
Minister  a  long  letter,  dated  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  and  written  in  that  strange 
tongue  the  writer  imagined  to  be 
French.  It  was  evidently  a  demand 
for  some  service  to  be  rendered — 
some  favour  to  be  accorded — but 
so  mysteriously  veiled  was  the  re- 
quest in  the  complexity  of  the  style, 
that  my  friend  was  totally  unable 
to  ascertain  what  had  been  asked 
of  him.  His  reply,  therefore,  ac- 
knowledged the  receipt  of  the  epis- 
tle, and  his  inability  to  comprehend 
it.  "  I  perceive,  sir,"  continued  he, 
"dimly and  indistinctly  indeed,  that 
you  wish  me  to  do  something  for 
you,  though  what  that  something 
may  be,  the  language  of  your  re- 
quest has  totally  obscured.  I  ren- 
der you,  however,  the  only  service 
that  appears  to  lie  at  my  hands.  I 
have  corrected  twenty  -  eight  mis- 
takes in  the  spelling,  and  seventeen 
in  the  grammar  of  your  letter, 
which  I  now  enclose,  and  have  the 
honour  to  be,"  &c. 


1SG5.] 


and  otlifr  Things  in  General. — Part  XIII. 


233 


Though  the  pretentious  tone  of 
certain  public  speakers  and  occa- 
sional newspaper  articles  may  deny 
it,  the  truth  is,  England  has  lost 
much  of  the  influence  she  once  pos- 
sessed over  Continental  peoples.  I 
know  there  are  many  ready  todeclare 
that  they  do  not  regret  this.  1  am 
aware  that  the  non  -  intervention 
policy  has  begotten  a  race  of  men 
who  say,  We  want  to  trade  with  the 
foreigner,  not  to  influence  him.  Let 
him  buy  our  cottons  and  our  cut- 
lery, and  we  will  not  ask  him  to 
believe  England  a  great  country  and 
its  alliance  a  safeguard.  I  shall  not 
contest  these  theses.  I  know  enough 
of  life  never  to  dispute  with  people 
who  are  not  mainly  of  my  own 
opinion  ;  but  I  go  back  to  what  I 
have  asserted  as  a  fact,  that  Eng- 
land no  longer  holds  the  high  place 
she  once  held  in  the  estimation  of 
all  nations  of  Europe  ;  and  equally 
advisedly  do  I  say,  that  a  great  deal 
of  the  depreciation  we  have  incur- 
red is  owing  to  the  sort  of  people 
who  come  abroad,  and  are  deemed 
by  foreigners  to  represent  us. 

We  h.vve  all  of  us  heard  in  what 
disrepute  certain  woollen  fabrics  of 
ours  were  held  in  foreign  markets 
a  few  years  ago,  because  some  un- 
principled manufacturers  deluged 
the  Continent  with  ill-woven  ill- 
dyed  cloths,  so  that  the  word  Eng- 
lish, which  was  once  the  guarantee 
for  goodness,  became  the  stamp  of 
an  inferior  and  depreciated  article. 
So  has  it  been  with  our  travellers. 
These  devil's -dust  tourists  have 


spread  over  Europe,  injuring  our 
credit  and  damaging  our  character. 
Their  crass  ignorance  is  the  very 
smallest  of  their  sins.  It  is  their 
overbearing  insolence,  their  purse- 
strong  insistance,  their  absurd  pre- 
tension to  be  in  a  place  abroad  that 
they  had  never  dreamed  of  aspiring 
to  at  home, — all  these  claims  sug- 
gesting to  the  mind  of  the  foreigner 
that  he  is  in  the  presence  of  very 
distinguished  and  exalted  repre- 
sentatives of  Great  Britain ! 

As  long  as  it  was  open  to  one  to 
deal  with  individual  cases,  he  could 
talk  of  "  oddity,"  "  eccentricity," 
"  strange  specimens,"  and  the  like  ; 
but  now  they  come  in  droves:  what 
is  to  be  done  }  Europe  may  turn 
on  us  one  day  on  account  of  thes 
"  Haiders,"  as  America  is  well  dis- 
posed to  do  at  this  moment.  Eo- 
reigners  may  say,  "  We  desire  to  be 
able  to  pray  in  our  churches,  to  hei 
in  our  theatres,  to  dine  in  our  rei 
tnnrants,  but  your  people  will  not 
permit  us.  They  come  over,  not  in 
twos  and  threes,  but  in  scores  and 
hundreds,  to  stare  and  to  laugh  at 
us.  They  deride  our  church  cere- 
monies, they  ridicule  our  cookery, 
they  criticise  our  dress,  and  they 
barbarise  our  language.  How  long 
are  we  to  be  patient  under  these 
endurances  ?  " 

Take  my  word  for  it,  if  these 
excursionists  go  on,  nothing  short 
of  another  war  and  another  Wel- 
lington will  ever  place  us  where 
we  once  were  in  the  estimation  of 
Europe. 


ITALIAN    FINAXriAL    POLICY. 


When  M'Guppy  remonstrates 
with  his  friend  for  going  to  live  at 
Whitechapel  for  economy,  and  as- 
tutely asks,  What's  the  use  of  living 
cheap  when  one  has  nothing  ?  he 
was  enunciating  the  great  guiding 
principle  of  Italian  finance. 

Here  is  a  country  immensely 
taxed,  with  an  empty  treasury,  an 
enormous  army,  a  costly  fleet,  her 
home  resources  undeveloped,  her 


foreign  credit  a  nullity,  launching 
forth  into  the  most  extravagant 
expenditure  on  public  works,  and 
engaging  in  undertakings  of  a  mag- 
nitude that  few  English  ministers 
would  have  the  hardihood  to  pro- 
pose to  a  British  House  of  Com- 
mons. 

With  a  deficit  annually  of  eight 
millions  sterling,  and  her  Eive  per 
Cents  vacillating  between  65  and  66, 


234 


Cornelius  0 'Dowel  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


Italy  contemplates  the  possibility 
of  a  great  war  with  Austria,  and 
prepares  for  the  eventuality  by  a 
most  wasteful  and  reckless  expendi- 
ture. 

In  the  old  days  of  misgovern- 
ment  taxation  was  low.  One  reason 
was,  that  the  cost  of  protection 
fell  upon  the  protector  •  and  if 
Austria  bullied,  she  paid.  There 
was  little  liberty,  to  be  sure,  but  it 
cost  little ;  and  one  must  know  the 
Italians  to  understand  how  thor- 
oughly they  could  appreciate  a  life 
of  indolence  that  secured  a  number 
of  small  economies  and  little  to 
think  of. 

With  great  ambitions  came  great 
outlay.  Italy  wanted  to  be  a  Euro- 
pean Power,  and  she  will  have  to 
pay  for  it. 

The  retrenchments  that  men  ex- 
pected after  the  conclusion  of  the 
war  were  rendered  impossible  to 
effect  by  the  condition  of  the 
southern  provinces.  Calabria  en- 
tailed a  campaign,  and  the  employ- 
ment of  from  sixty  to  eighty  thou- 
sand soldiers.  Sicily  was  restless 
and  discontented.  She  had  never 
been  called  on  by  the  conscription 
before,  and  submitted  with  an  ill 
grace  to  this  first  demand  of  Italian 
unity.  There  was  a  widespread 
pauperism  over  the  country  gene- 
rally, and  little  demand  for  labour ; 
and  there  was  at  the  same  time  that 
most  painful  of  all  the  symptoms 
of  an  awakened  nationality — a  uni- 
versal looking  to  Government  to 
provide  remedies  for  every  griev- 
ance and  every  shortcoming. 

None  of  the  wants  of  the  new 
kingdom  cried  more  piteously  for 
aid  than  the  demand  for  educa- 
tion. There  were  certainly  cares 
enough  to  have  employed  the  most 
active  hands  and  heads  ;  difficul- 
ties, too,  to  have  taxed  the  most  con- 
summate skill  in  statecraft  ;  and 
along  with  these,  mingled  up  and 
blended  with  each  and  all  of  them, 
was  the  greater  difficulty,  that  the 
Government  was  obliged  to  popu- 
larise itself  in  the  very  crisis  of  the 
pressure.  It  was  in  the  position  of 


a  candidate,  who  had  all  but  ruined 
himself  in  a  successful  contest,  be- 
ing called  on  to  feast  his  electors 
after  the  close  of  the  poll. 

The  great  public  works  were  in 
reality  little  else  than  electioneer- 
ing tactics.  They  were  so  many 
grants  of  public  money  to  distant 
localities,  whose  discontent  made 
conciliation  a  wise  policy  towards 
them. 

It  was  necessary  to  satisfy  the 
grumblers,  and  hence  fabulous 
prices  were  given  for  worthless  plots 
of  ground  ;  ruinous  old  houses  were 
bought  at  the  cost  of  palaces  ;  and 
the  most  exorbitant  demands  were 
made  and  complied  with  for  pro- 
perties whose  value  was  calculated 
on  the  presumed  completion  of  the 
very  undertakings  for  which  they 
were  purchased.  Peculation  had 
used  to  be  a  secret  practice;  it 
now  walked  at  large  and  in  the 
noonday.  With  corruption  so 
general,  who  could  be  the  accuser  1 
Could  the  Minister  who  pocketed  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  by  a  coal 
contract  arraign  the  wretched  sub- 
ordinate who  secreted  a  few  hun- 
dreds by  false  tallies  ] 

Such  things,  of  course,  occur 
everywhere;  here  the  novitas  regni 
made  them  simply  more  frequent. 

The  immense  number  of  Govern- 
ment employes  suddenly  thrown 
upon  the  State  from  the  Duchies 
and  the  Romagna  became  an  intol- 
erable burden. 

In  small  states  the  whole  business 
of  life  is  conducted  cheaply.  They 
are  like  the  humble  families  of 
social  life,  who  spend  next  to  no- 
thing in  "  representation."  The 
men  who  serve  these  Governments 
suffer  no  loss  of  station,  no  impair- 
ment of  their  just  influence,  that 
they  live  on  small  means  and  prac- 
tise strict  economies.  The  habits 
of  the  small  capital  they  belong  to 
are  their  standards.  Linked,  how- 
ever, to  the  fortunes  of  a  large 
kingdom,  with  higher  ambitions 
and  more  pretentious  expenditure, 
these  men  are  driven  to  compare 
their  own  positions  with  those  of 


1865.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XIII. 


235 


their  richer  compeers,  and  the  chief 
judge  or  prefect  of  Parma  is  un- 
willing to  accept  a  status  inferior  to 
that  of  his  colleague  at  Milan  or 
Genoa. 

As  to  the  professors,  their  name 
is  legion.  Many  of  the  lecture- 
rooms  in  the  universities  are  never 
entered  by  a  student ;  and  more 
than  once  have  1  heard  that,  if  a 
census  were  to  be  taken,  it  would 
be  found  that  for  each  matriculated 
student  in  Italy  three  professors 
have  been  provided  and  paid  for  by 
the  State. 

In  this,  as  in  everything  else, 
unification  has  been  a  costly  pro- 
cess. The  absorption  of  so  many 
small  households  into  one  great 
establishment  pictures  the  case  ex- 
actly. Tuscany  had  her  little  ret- 
inue, so  had  Parma  and  Modena, 
and  so,  too,  had  the  Romagna.  All 
these  had  to  be  taken  into  the  ser- 
vice of  the  State,  and,  what  was  still 
more  difficult,  to  be  pacified  and 
satisfied. 

To  make  the  new  kingdom  popu- 
lar Avas  a  costly  proceeding,  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it.  Italy  was 
in  the  position  of  the  famished  dog, 
driven  to  eat  an  inch  of  his  own 
tail  to  support  existence. 

Like  one  of  those  great  commer- 
cial undertakings  which,  to  secure 
success,  must  at  once  declare  a  high 
dividend,  Italy  had  to  start  on  her 
course  with  a  fictitious  prosperity, 
and  declare  her  "  shares  were  at 
a  premium." 

"  The  populations  must  be  con- 
tented." Adhesions  to  the  new 
order  of  things  must  be  accom- 
plished by  the  strong  ties  of  per- 
sonal interest.  Men  must  be  able 
to  vouch  for  public  prosperity  by 
the  safe  gauge  of  their  own  success, 
and  say,  "Italy  is  doing  well  be- 
cause /  am." 

This  policy  was  a  leaf  from  the 
Imperial  note-book.  The  Italians 
saw  how  craftily  the  French  Empe- 
ror had  pushed  the  credit  of  France 
into  the  position  of  capital,  and  by 
mere  encouragement  engaged  the 
great  energies  of  that  wonderful 


people ;  but  there  are  not  here  either 
the  enterprise  or  the  energy  of 
Frenchmen,  nor  is  there  at  Turin 
that  wise  direction  and  skilful  guid- 
ance which  prevail  at  the  Tuileries. 
Another  difficulty  of  Italian  un- 
dertakings was  the  grand  scale  on 
which  they  were  projected.  The 
question  never  was,  "What  does 
Italy  require?"  but,  "What will  she 
require  when  Rome  is  her  capital — 
when  railroads  will  connect  her 
cities  of  Genoa,  Naples,  and  Venice 
— when  her  population  will  count 
nigh  thirty  millions — her  standing 
army  be  four  hundred  thousand — 
her  navy  be  the  equal  if  not  the 
superior  of  that  of  France  ?"  Take 
the  projected  arsenal  of  Spezia 
for  instance.  Examine  its  details 
and  its  plan,  and  say,  would  not 
such  an  xindertaking  be  deemed 
colossal  even  for  resources  as  rich 
as  those  of  France  and  England  ? 
To  convert  a  gulf  of  about  nine 
miles  in  depth  and  some  four  or 
five  in  width  into  a  naval  depot  is 
the  idea.  To  make  of  a  harbour 
that  could  hold  all  the  navies  of 
Europe  and  give  them  space  enough 
to  manoeuvre,  a  dock,  is  the  present 
project — to  insure  whose  safety  en 
the  land  side  it  will  be  necessary  to 
fortify  a  line  of  more  than  thirty 
miles  in  extent,  and  secure,  by 
works  of  considerable  strength,  a 
vast  number  of  mountain-passes. 

This  immense  harbour  has  not 
alone  to  be  fenced  round  and  pro- 
tected. Ships  of  the  line,  heavy 
iron-clads,  and  great  frigates  are  to 
float  where  there  is  not  now  water 
for  a  cock-boat.  Slips  are  to  stand 
where  granite  cliffs  now  frown,  and 
graving-docks  are  to  be  fashioned 
out  of  marble  quarries.  Such  are 
the  enormous  difficulties  to  be  un- 
dertaken, that  the  enumeration  of 
them  reads  less  like  a  reasonable 
project  than  one  of  those  legendary 
stories  in  which  a  certain  work  was 
confided  to  the  "  Evil  one  "  as  a 
sure  means  of  keeping  him  employ- 
ed for  centuries,  if  not  indefinitely. 
Nor  least  of  all  amongst  the 
difficulties,  these  works  are  to  be 


236 


Cornelius  0' Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


undertaken  by  men  who  have  had 
no  experience  whatever  of  great  pub- 
lic works  ;  who  never  saw  adock  or  a 
breakwater  ;  and  who  are  as  totally 
unacquainted  with  the  details  of  di- 
recting as  they  are  ignorant  of  all  that 
regards  the  organisation  of  labour. 
The  Gulf  of  Spezia — not  unlike, 
but  much  larger  than,  the  Bay  of 
Weymouth — is  indented  on  every 
side  by  bays  more  or  less  deep,  some 
of  them  admirably  sheltered,  and 
with  water  deep  enough  for  a  line- 
of-battle  ship  to  lie  close  to  the 
very  rocks.  Of  these,  more  than 
one  would  have  been  well  adapted 
for  the  site  of  an  arsenal  fully  ca- 
pable of  holding  one  hundred  and 
fifty  ships,  and  with  every  advan- 
tage which  security  and  good  an- 
chorage can  confer.  Varignano, 
now  well  known  to  the  world  as 
the  place  of  Garibaldi's  imprison- 
ment, is  such.  There  there  is  a 
harbour  made  by  nature,  girt  a- 
round  by  mountains  that  protect  it 
from  the  north-west  and  westerly 
gales,  on  the  extremity  of  a  penin- 
sula to  fortify  which  against  land 
attack  would  be  the  easiest  thing 
possible,  and  with  a  sufficient  coast 
space  to  contain  such  public  build- 
ings and  stores  as  would  be  re- 
quired— a  space  at  present  occupied 
by  a  town  of  two  thousand  inhabi- 


tants. An  English  engineer  of  the 
first  rank  in  his  profession  declared 
Varignano  to  be  the  most  perfect 
harbour  of  nature's  making  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  capable,  by  a  mode- 
rate outlay,  of  being  made  one  of 
the  strongest  naval  stations  in  the 
world.  It  was  not,  however,  im- 
mense enough  for  a  people  who 
have  already  imagined  themselves 
masters  of  the  Mediterranean  and 
sole  owners  of  the  commerce  with 
the  Levant — whose  word  is  to  be 
law  within  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar, 
and  whose  nag  is  to  float  supreme 
over  the  tideless  sea.  They  must 
have  Spezia.  Spezia  as  a  naval 
station  reads  like  a  prairie  for  a 
review-ground  ! — a  vast  savannah 
for  a  field-day  !  What  navy,  what 
fleet,  could  possibly  be  commensu- 
rate with  such  a  station !  They 
talk  of  a  contract  for  sixty  iron 
frigates  !  Sixty  1  Great  as  the 
number  is,  it  ought  to  be  six  hun- 
dred. And  all  this,  as  I  said  a 
while  ago,  with  a  deficient  exche- 
quer and  a  depreciated  credit.  If 
they  be  really  serious  in  what  they 
are  projecting — if  they  are  honestly 
in  earnest  as  to  these  great  under- 
takings —  is  it  not  because,  like 
M'Guppy,  they  feel  there  is  "no 
use  in  economy  when  one  has  got 
nothing  "  ] 


A   WOKD    FOR   AN    ILL-USED    CLASS. 


"  Give  a  dog  a  bad  name  "  was  never 
more  forcibly  illustrated  than  by  the 
manner  in  which  the  world  regards 
what  is  called  tuft-hunting.  Now 
tuft-hunting,  like  usury,  has  got  in- 
to disfavour  entirely  by  the  class  of 
men  who  have  adopted  it  as  a  career 
instead  of  accepting  it  as  an  accident 
of  their  station.  The  ancient  Parasite 
was  very  little  more  or  less  than  a 
modern  diner-out :  he  was  a  gentle- 
man of  parts  and  ability,  with  great 
adaptiveness  and  consummate  tact  ; 
he  was  an  admirable  talker,  and, 
what  is  far  rarer,  a  finished  listener. 
He  was  not  as  rich  as  the  great  man 
to  whose  fortunes  he  attached  him- 


self, but  in  every  other  respect  he 
was  infinitely  his  superior.  His 
task  in  life  was  a  difficult  one.  It 
was  not  merely  to  exercise  his  men- 
tal gifts  and  display  his  acquirements 
for  the  pleasure  and  instruction  of 
his  host  and  his  friends,  but  so  to 
merge  his  individuality  in  his  ac- 
complishments, that  nothing  of  the 
man  remained  but  what  was  amus- 
ing or  interesting. 

If  I  had  lived  in  those  days,  and 
been  rich  enough  to  do  it,  I  should 
have  surrounded  myself  with  these 
creatures.  I'd  have  had  them  of 
every  fashion  and  age  and  complex- 
ion. I  cannot  imagine  a  pleasanter 


1S65.] 


ami  other  Things  in  General. — Part  X 1 J I . 


237 


exorcise  of  wealth  than  to  create 
about  one  an  atmosphere  of  wit, 
sound  sense,  knowledge  of  life,  and 
refined  taste— all  dashed  with  that 
humorous  appreciation  of  human- 
ity, in  its  varied  aspects,  which  is 
the  quality  of  all  others  that  makes 
a  man  truly  companionable.  1  be- 
lieve the  Greeks  understood  this 
thoroughly,  and  1  take  it  that  they 
are  not  more  our  masters  in  marble 
than  in  the  wonderful  perfection  to 
which  they  elevated  tuft-hunting. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  discourag- 
ing the  practice — ridiculing  its  use 
and  decrying  its  habit — I  would 
like,  if  I  could,  to  restore  it  to  its 
ancient  dignity,  and  install  it  where 
it  ought  to  be,  amongst  the  line 
arts.  First  of  all,  no  man  can 
possibly  be  a  proficient  in  the 
art  who  is  not  very  considerably 
and  very  variously  gifted.  The 
tuft-hunter — I  hate  the  word,  but  I 
have  no  other — is  essentially  a  man 
highly  accomplished  ;  but  he  is,  be- 
sides, a  man  of  emergencies.  It  is 
not  alone  that  he  must  do  each 
thing  a  little  better  than  any  one 
else,  but  he  must  be  ready  to  do 
it  at  any  moment  he  may  be  called 
on.  While,  in  the  exercise  of  his 
judgment,  he  must  be  prepared  to  be 
witty;  and  under  the  dreariest  in- 
fliction of  listening  to  a  proser,  he 
must  be  ready  to  recover  himself 
and  display  his  faculties  in  all  their 
brightness. 

Wide  as  is  his  knowledge,  it  is 
not  one  half  so  wide  as  his  sym- 
pathy. He  sympathises  with  my 
lord  and  my  lady,  and  with  my 
lord's  friend  and  my  lady's  admirer, 
and  with  the  eldest  son  and  all  the 
daughters,  and  occasionally,  of  a 
morning  in  the  garden,  with  the  go- 
verness, and  always  with  the  head 
groom,  and  very  often  with  the  gar- 
dener ;  he  sympathises  with  the 
butler  and  the  gamekeeper,  and  he 
has  even  a  little  .sympathy  for  the 
chaplain,  who  loves  it  much,  and 
fancies  it  means  promotion. 

Now,  your  real  tuft-hunter  — 
your  man  who  aspires  to  the  high 
honour  of  the  "caste" — ia  not  to  be 


confounded  with  one  of  those  use- 
ful but  humble  followers  who  secure 
boxes  at  the  opera  or  take  seaside 
lodgings  for  the  children  after  the 
measles;  he  is  no  "grand  utility" 
to  cheapen  china  and  hire  a  wet- 
nurse  ;  he  is  simply  a  man  who, 
having  qualities  to  secure  a  great 
career  in  life,  is  too  self  indulgent 
and  too  indolent  to  exercise  them, 
except  for  amusement,  and  who  con- 
sents to  merge  certain  things  that 
are  not  very  palatable  to  him  in 
his  pursuit  of  an  existence  which 
shall  afford  him  many  of  the  en- 
joyments that  wealth  provides, 
and  one  thing  which  he  values 
still  more  —  a  splendid  arena  for 
his  personal  display.  There  is 
no  saying  what  thousands  of  pro- 
mising men — men  with  the  seeds 
of  great  things  in  them — have  fal- 
len from  virtue  through  the  fasci- 
nation of  a  society  in  which  they 
shone  !  How  is  that  fellow  of  "  in- 
finite humour,"  he  who  sets  the 
table  in  a  roar,  to  forego  the  ec- 
stasy of  his  triumph  and  go  up  to 
his  room  and  work  !  ])o  you  ex- 
pect that  the  wit  who  enlivened 
your  dull  dinner,  or  the  graceful 
narrator  who  charmed  your  com- 
pany, leaves  you  at  midnight  to  sit 
down  to  Term  Reports  or  Crown 
cases  reserved  I  Hut  for  him  what 
would  have  been  your  turtle  and 
your  truflles,  your  blackcock  and 
your  burgundy  1  You  know  in  your 
heart  that  your  guests  would  have 
growled  away  over  their  dreary 
dinner  in  a  spirit  that  almost  anti- 
cipated indigestion,  and  yet  for 
him  you  have  no  milder  name,  at 
least  when  you  talk  of  your  neigh- 
bour's adjunct,  than  Tuft-hunter! 

Has  it  never  occurred  to  you 
that,  if  you  were  the  poor  man  and 
he  the  rich  one,  it  is  ten  thou- 
sand to  one  if  you  ever  met  or 
dined  at  the  same  table  !  Has  it 
ever  struck  you  that  all  the  gold 
plate  on  your  sideboard  never  shone 
with  the  brilliancy  of  his  wit,  or 
that,  even  in  the  blundering  way 
you  told  it,  his  smallest  jest  has 
made  you  a  "  success  "  for  the  week 


238 


Cornelius  O'Doivd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[Feb. 


after  you  learned  it  1  Have  you 
never  found  out  that  you  yourself 
derived  from  bis  presence  a  verve 
and  a  geniality  tbat  Maraschino  or 
CuraQoa  couldn't  give  you  ]  and  do 
you  not  know  in  your  beart  "why 
your  bouse  is  called  pleasant  and 
your  dinners  delightful '? 

In  the  lavish  exuberance  of  his 
great  resources,  he  goes  on  giving 
you  day  by  day  what  might  make 
him  great,  rich,  honoured,  and 
courted !  You  may  imagine  you 
are  his  entertainer,  while  you  have 
supplied  nothing  but  the  grossest 
part  of  the  feast.  What  you  have 
really  given  him  is  the  arena  where- 
on to  display  his  strength  and  ex- 
ercise his  activity,  and  for  this  he 
is  grateful  to  you,  for  he  likes  the 
pastime  even  better  than  you  do. 

You  are  the  host,  but  he  is  the 
entertainer  of  your  company.  It 
is  you  who  feed,  but  it  is  he  who 
charms,  delights,  and  transports 
them.  The  "Patrons"  know  it, they 
feel  it,  they  recognise  in  themselves 
stores  of  appreciation  they  never 
knew  of  before  ;  and,  after  an  hour 
or  two  of  Olympian  enjoyment,  they 
jog  homeward  trying  to  recall  his 
witty  rejoinders  and  his  "  apropos/' 
and  to  make  themselves  illustrious 
in  some  remote  sphere  where  he  has 
never  been  heard  of. 

We  'are  constantly  told  that  the 
great  business  of  the  State  is  not 
carried  on  by  mighty  ministers  and 
right  honourable  secretaries,  but 
by  a  number  of  rather  saturnine- 
looking  men,  of  expressions  com- 
pounded of  sternness  and  submis- 
sion, who  may  be  met  crossing  the 
Green  Park  every  morning  at  eleven 
and  seen  coming  back  by  six  or 
seven  o'clock.  These,  we  are  told, 
are  the  wheel-horses  who  do  all  the 
work,  leaving  the  leaders  to  show 
the  way  and  display  their  grand 
action.  Now,  I  am  certain  that  the 
great  pleasure  of  nearly  every  house 
in  the  dinner-giving  world  depends 
on  men  whose  names  figure  on  no 
door-plates,  who  are  not  assessed  to 
large  figures  in  the  municipal  rates, 
and  who  might  be  traced  at  a  late 


hour  of  night  to  very  small  habi- 
tations about  St  James's  Street. 

Think  what  dismay  there  would 
be  in  Downing  Street  if  all  the 
heads  of  departments  struck  work 
and  held  out  for  some  exorbitant 
conditions  of  one  sort  or  another. 
There  would  be  a  dire  confusion, 
there  is  no  doubt;  for  though  some 
of  the  minor  priests  might  be  able 
to  say  mass  as  well  as  the  digni- 
taries, the  ministers  and  right  hon- 
ourable secretaries  accustomed  to 
Mr  T.  and  Mr  Pi,  Avouldn't  believe 
it,  and  the  public  business  would 
stand  still.  And  now  fancy  what 
would  become  of  a  London  season 
if  the  whole  tuft -hunting  profes- 
sion were  to  declare  with  one  voice, 
"  We'll  not  amuse  you  any  more. 
Never  a  story,  never  a  mot,  so 
much  as  a  pun,  shall  you  have  at 
any  price.  We  are  an  ill-used  class ; 
and  until  you  come  to  recognise 
our  true  claims,  and  show  your- 
selves disposed  to  accord  us  what 
we  feel  to  be  our  right,  we  shall 
stand  out  to  the  last.  You  imagine 
you  can  coerce  us  by  denying  us 
your  venison  and  grouse  ;  some  of 
iis  have  tried  mutton,  and  actually 
liked  it.  We  hear  daily  of  different 
sorts  of  food  that  will  support  life, 
so  don't  imagine  that  we  are  to  be 
starved  into  compliance." 

There  must  be  something  in- 
tensely natural  in  the  human  para- 
site, or  we  should  not  see  him  as 
we  do,  in  every  rank  and  class  and 
condition  of  society.  Like  the  "pal- 
lida  Mors"  of  the  satirist,  they 
knock  alike  at  the  palace  and  the 
cottage.  They  solace  the  ennui  of 
the  bishop,  they  amuse  the  retire- 
ment of  the  beadle.  Indeed,  so  far 
as  my  own  experience  goes,  I  think 
I  have  never  seen  anything  so  near 
perfection  as  the  episcopal  parasite. 
Not  taking  vegetable  life  as  the 
type  of  his  vocation — like  some  in- 
ferior artists,  who  are  content  to 
wind  themselves  like  ivy  around 
their  patron  oak — these  men  seek 
their  inspirations  in  the  animal 
kingdom,  and  act  as  the  jackal  to 
the  lion. 


1865.] 


and  oilier  Things  in  General. — Part  XIII. 


239 


How  T  recall  one  of  these  going 
forth  to  hunt  out  the  prey  for  his 
master,  beating  every  cover,  scour- 
ing every  thicket,  well  knowing  the 
sort  of  game  he  can  bring  down  ; 
and  even  in  some  cases — like  cer- 
tain courtiers  we  have  heard  of — 
hamstringing  the  deer  that  he  may 
be  more  easily  shot ;  and  how  1  see 
again  before  me  the  episcopal 
sportsman  with  his  gun  at  full 
cock,  and  ready  for  the  signal  to 
fire.  And  what  showers  of  ap- 
plause have  followed  the  explosion. 
"What  wit,  what  readiness!"  ex- 
claim they;  "never  at  a  loss!  You 
heard  what  his  Grace  said  to 

--  ."  At  such  displays  as  these 
— I  have  assisted  at  more  than 
one  of  them  —  it  is  the  jackal  I 
have  admired  far  more  than  the 
lion  ;  the  restless  activity  to  scent 
out  the  game,  converted,  the  in- 
stant after  discovery,  into  perfect  in- 
difference. To  see  him  you  would 
say  he  was  a  chance  passer,  a  care- 
less spectator,  who  had  happened  to 
come  that  way.  To  insure  a  high  suc- 
cess, he  must  cut  oft'  all  complicity 
with  his  chief.  Having  given  the 
cue  as  the  prompter,  he  must  hasten 
before  the  foot-lights  and  appear 
as  public.  These  are  high  gifts, 
let  me  tell  you.  No  wonder  that 


the  men  who  possess  them  become 
archdeacons. 

Kings  have  their  courtiers — great 
lords  their  followers  ;  but  no  men 
are  so  admirably  served  by  their 
parasites  as  the  bishops.  They  take 
to  their  calling, too, with  such  a  zest, 
such  a  hearty  will.  Their  admira- 
tion for  his  Grace  has  a  false  air  of 
piety  about  it — it  is  so  suave,  so 
deferential,  so  full  of  homage. 

What  sorry  practitioners  lords- 
in-waiting  and  equerries  look  after 
these  men  !  what  inferior  talents 
do  they  bring  to  their  calling  ! 

More  than  once  in  a  glorious  re- 
verie have  I  caught  myself  imagin- 
ing I  was  a  bishop,  and  had  a  chap- 
lain in  waiting  to  stimulate  me  to 
note,  and  to  record,  and  circulate 
my  drolleries. 

Were  it  only  for  the  sake  of  these 
men,  I  am  sorry  when  I  hear  a  sneer 
against  parasites.  Let  us  remember 
that  but  for  the  drooping  branches 
of  the  acanthus,  itself  a  parasite,  we 
should  never  have  had  the  tasteful 
beauty  of  the  Corinthian  capital ; 
and  let  us  bear  in  mind  what  a  com- 
fort the  oak  must  be  to  the  ivy,  and 
that  if  the  tree  be  a  true  monarch 
of  the  woods,  there  will  be  a  height 
where  the  creeper  has  never  soared 
to,  nor  can  ever  come. 


Tito  Rigid  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I.          [Feb. 


THE   RIGHT   HONOURABLE   WILLIAM    GLADSTONE,    M.P. 


THE  family  from  which  Mr 
Gladstone  derives  his  descent  can 
lay  no  claim  to  ancestral  dignity 
or  historic  renown.  His  father, 
a  Scotchman,  sprung  from  the 
middle  class  of  society,  came  to 
Liverpool  in  early  life,  and  by 
steady  application  to  business, 
amassed  there  a  large  fortune  with 
a  character  altogether  irreproach- 
able. This  is  not  to  be  done, 
even  in  our  commercial  country, 
except  by  the  exercise  of  talents 
of  a  superior  order.  Of  these  Mr 
Gladstone  was  possessed  ;  and  be- 
ing enterprising  and  intelligent  as 
well  as  clever,  he  deserved  the  suc- 
cess which  attended  his  mercantile 
speculations.  But  he  was  more 
than  this  :  he  was  a  man  consistent 
in  his  opinions — a  steady  supporter, 
in  troublesome  times,  of  the  cause 
of  order  and  good  government ;  and 
when,  by-and-by,  he  made  his  way 
into  the  House  of  Commons,  his  vote 
could  always  be  calculated  upon  for 
the  advancement  of  measures  fa- 
vourable to  the  support  of  a  con- 
stitutional monarchy.  The  conse- 
quence was,  his  advancement  late 
in  life  to  the  dignity  of  a  baronet- 
age, which,  together  with  a  good 
estate  in  Forfarshire,  purchased 
with  money  honourably  acquired, 
he  bequeathed  to  his  eldest  son — a 
Tory  like  himself.  The  birthplace 
of  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was 
Liverpool — the  time,  1809  ;  and, 
from  the  first  dawn  of  his  intel- 
lect, he  is  said  to  have  exhibited 
more  than  a  foreshadowing  of 
the  moral  and  intellectual  qualities 
by  which  he  is  now  distinguished. 
Amiable  and  loving,  he  had  from 
the  outset  an  irritable  temper,  with 
no  small  amount  of  obstinacy.  He 
cared  little  for  the  ordinary  sports 
of  children,  though  he  would  mix 
in  them  when  the  occasion  re- 
quired. His  great  delight  was  in 


books,  which  he  devoured ;  and, 
as  generally  happens  in  such  cases, 
devoured  in  the  most  desultory 
manner.  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  Plu- 
tarch's Lives,  Scott's  Novels,  and 
the  'Arabian  Nights,'  equally  de- 
lighted him ;  and  Hume  and  Ro- 
bertson, then  the  standard  histo- 
rians of  his  own  country,  he  had 
mastered  long  before  boys  in  gene- 
ral think  of  inquiring  what  history 
is.  He  was  addicted,  likewise,  to 
a  habit  common  enough  among 
clever  children,  of  scribbling  both 
in  prose  and  verse  ;  but  that  which 
took  him  out  of  the  common  cate- 
gory was  the  astonishing  command 
which  he  seemed  to  possess  of  lan- 
guage, especially  in  speaking.  Wil- 
liam Gladstone,  we  are  assured,  was 
at  seven  years  of  age  very  much  in 
tins  respect  what  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  is  now  :  he  could 
defend  a  position  or  press  a  point 
with  such  a  flow  and  multiplicity 
of  words  as  amused  not  less  than 
it  astonished  and  puzzled  the  lis- 
tener. "  He  was  born,"  says  one 
of  his  greatest  admirers,  "  an  ora- 
tor." 

His  father,  determined  to  give 
him  a  liberal  education,  sent  him 
to  Eton,  through  which  he  passed 
with  great  eclat.  A  popular  boy 
it  can  scarcely  be  said  that  he 
ever  was.  Though  neither  reserved 
nor  cold,  he  kept  much  aloof  from 
the  sports  which  find  most  favour 
at  our  public  schools ;  and  partly 
on  that  account,  partly  through  the 
infirmities  of  his  temper,  he  failed 
to  command  that  enthusiastic  de- 
votion which  schoolboys  render  to 
such  of  their  companions  as  show 
something  of  the  Admirable  Crich- 
ton  in  their  idiosyncrasies.  Yet 
all  respected,  and  his  own  set 
greatly  loved  him.  He  never  got 
into  scrapes  ;  he  was  foremost  at 
every  lesson  ;  he  was  always  ready 


18C5.]          The  K'ujht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I. 


241 


to  help  duller  boys,  and  did  it  with 
the  best  possible  grace.  Prizes 
came  in  upon  him  thick  and  fast  ; 
and  by-and-by,  when  he  removed  to 
Oxford,  there  was  not  a  master  or 
pupil  capable  of  forming  a  judg- 
ment in  the  case  who  did  not  prog- 
nosticate that  William  (Jladstone 
would  carry  all  before  him  —  first 
at  the  University,  and  afterwards 
in  that  arena  of  public  life  to 
which  it  was  understood  that  he 
looked  forward. 

The  prognostications  of  his 
schoolfellows  were  soon,  so  far  as 
Oxford  was  concerned,  fulfilled  to 
the  letter.  At  the  College  lectures 
he  showed  himself  on  all  occasions 
facile  i>ri.ncey.s.  In  the  Union,  to 
which  he  was  immediately  admit- 
ted, he  took  at  once  a  prominent 
part.  A  frequent,  we  might  have 
said  a  constant  speaker,  he  always 
spoke  well,  and  in  the  same  style  of 
oratory  which  is  still  so  peculiarly 
his  own.  It  is  true  that  in  the 
Union,  not  less  than  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  impulsiveness  and 
temper  would  often  lead  to  his 
committing  himself ;  but  in  the 
Union  mistakes  of  this  kind  did 
him  no  harm.  The  dexterity  with 
which  he  got  out  of  a  dilemma,  or 
the  skill  with  which  he  defended 
a  false  position,  won  for  him  the 
applause  of  opponents  as  well  as 
supporters.  In  the  adroitness  with 
which  the  blunder  was  handled, 
the  blunder  itself  was  forgotten. 
To  a  man  of  his  peculiar  tempera- 
ment this  was  a  great  snare.  It 
encournged  the  disposition  natur- 
ally inherent  in  him  to  dogmatise, 
and  got  him  into  a  habit  of  argu- 
ing against  his  own  convictions 
rather  than  abandon  ground  which, 
in  a  moment  of  excitement,  he 
might  have  taken  up. 

That  Gladstone  should  win  in  the 
schools  the  highest  honours  which 
the  University  could  bestow,  was 
not  more  than  his  established  re- 
putation as  an  undergraduate  led  all 
men  to  expect.  There  was  no  sur- 
prise, therefore,  anywhere,  though 
in  his  own  circle  there  was  hearty 


rejoicing,  when,  in  Michaelmas  term 
1KJ1,  he  came  out  a  double-first. 
And  his  own  circle  comprised  a  set 
of  men,  not  one  of  whom  can  be 
spoken  of,  so  far  as  regards  talent 
and  private  worth,  otherwise  than 
with  respect.  His  chief  associates 
in  Christclmrch  seem  to  have  been 
the  late  Marquess  of  Dalhousie, 
the  late  Lord  Canning,  the  late 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  the 
Right  Honourable  N.  T.  Corrie. 
The  Duke  of  Somerset,  the  late 
Earl  of  Carlisle,  the  Earls  of 
Malmesbury,  Stanhope,  and  Shaftes- 
bury,  and  Mr  Stuart  Wortley,  were 
likewise  among  his  contemporaries. 
We  never  heard  that  his  intimacy 
with  these  gentlemen  was  at  any 
time  very  close,  but  outside  the 
College  walls  he  had  friends  to 
whom  his  entire  confidence  was 
given.  Such  were  Mr  Sidney  Her- 
bert of  Oriel,  Mr  Hobhouse  of 
Ualliol,  and  many  more  of  like 
tastes  and  opinions. 

And  this  brings  us  to  notice  a 
phase  in  Mr  Gladstone's  career,  of 
which  the  influence,  though  strange- 
ly blended  with  other  influences, 
has  gone  a  great  way  to  form  in 
him  that  remarkable  inconsistency 
of  character  which  we  shall  have 
occasion  by-and-by  to  point  out. 
The  whole  term  of  his  under- 
graduate life  was  one  of  violent 
excitement  in  Church  and  State. 
As  regards  the  Church — dormant 
for  more  than  a  century  subse- 
quently to  the  Revolution,  and 
roused  at  last  to  vague  action  by 
the  spread  of  what  were  called  Evan- 
gelical opinions  —  she  found  her- 
self, amid  the  agitation  which  pre- 
ceded and  accompanied  the  grand 
crises  of  1827,  '28,  '29,  and  '30, 
in  no  little  danger  of  losing  alto- 
gether her  hold  upon  the  affections 
of  the  people.  Excellent  men  in 
their  private  lives  as  the  originators 
of  the  Evangelical  movement  were, 
they  had  allowed  feeling  and  senti- 
ment too  much  to  run  away  with 
them.  In  their  indignation  at  the 
supineness  and  secular  lives  of 
many  of  the  clergy,  they  threw 


242 


The  Eight  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  I.  [Feb. 


upon  the  system  of  the  Church  it- 
self the  blame  which  belonged  of 
right  only  to  some  of  its  ministers. 
Finding  little  or  no  response  among 
their  brethren  to  the  appeals  which 
they  made  for  a  better  order  of 
things,  they  turned  in  an  evil  hour 
to  the  Dissenters.  It  was  an  ill- 
considered  and  unfortunate  act, 
and  led  to  such  results  as  were 
never  contemplated  at  the  outset. 
By  little  and  little  the  opinion 
gained  ground  that  between  the 
Church  and  other  Protestant  bodies 
in  this  country  there  are  no  essen- 
tial differences  ;  that  neither  the 
great  Founder  of  Christianity,  nor 
His  immediate  followers,  had  given 
to  the  society  which  they  gathered 
out  of  the  world  any  specific  con- 
stitution ;  and  that  true  catholicity 
consists  in  the  mere  acceptance,  no 
matter  under  what  form  of  words 
expressed,  of  certain  opinions  which 
recommend  themselves  to  men  of 
warm  feelings  and  ardent  imagin- 
ations. Hence  the  forwardness  of 
the  leaders  of  that  movement  to 
make  common  cause  with  all  who 
thought  as  they  did  on  the  subject 
of  the  "  new  birth,"  of  "  effectual 
calling,"  and  the  "perseverance  of 
the  saints."  And  hence  the  ac- 
cumulation of  societies  avowedly 
religious,  where,  on  the  same  plat- 
form, and  with  the  same  assump- 
tion of  authority,  spoke  the  rector 
of  the  parish,  the  Wesleyan  min- 
ister, the  Baptist  preacher,  and  now 
and  then,  as  in  the  British  and 
Foreign  Bible  Society,  the  Uni- 
tarian minister  himself.  It  is  not 
for  us  to  say  how  far  such  an  order 
of  things  was  either  consistent  with 
the  dogmatic  teaching  of  the  Church 
of  England,  or  safe  as  regards  the 
Church's  relations  with  the  State, 
even  in  quiet  times  ;  but  when 
times  of  trouble  came,  and  men 
began  to  call  in  question  every 
principle  which  their  fathers  had 
accepted — when  established  insti- 
tutions were  carped  at  and  con- 
demned because  they  were  old, 
and  change  became  the  fashion  of 
the  day — then  was  it  made  manifest 


enough,  that  whatever  else  of  good 
the  Evangelical  clergy  might  have 
accomplished,  they  had  done  no- 
thing towards  confirming  the  great 
body  of  their  people  in  loyalty  and 
devotion  to  the  Church  as  by  law 
established.  On  the  contrary,  the 
people,  systematically  taught  to 
think  lightly  of  the  differences  in 
a  religious  point  of  view  between 
the  Church  and  Evangelical  dissent, 
were  ill  prepared  to  dispute  the 
reasoning  of  those  who  required 
that  all  denominations  should  be 
placed  on  the  same  political  level, 
and  came  by-and-by  to  accept  it  as 
an  axiom,  that  the  Church  as  by 
law  established  is  a  public  burden. 
It  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
upon  this  state  of  public  opinion, 
that  Dissenters  should  find  among 
many  professing  Churchmen  cham- 
pions of  their  demand  to  be  re- 
lieved from  the  payment  of  church- 
rates,  and  not  a  few  who  were  will- 
ing to  confiscate  the  tithes  them- 
selves, in  order  to  create  out  of 
them  a  fund  by  which  the  teach- 
ers of  all  religious  denominations 
might  alike  be  remunerated.  Now, 
let  us  not  be  misunderstoood.  We 
are  far  from  desiring  to  insinuate 
that  the  Evangelical  clergy,  either 
forty  years  ago  or  now,  entertained, 
or  now  entertain,  opinions  so  wild 
as  these,  far  less  that  they  sought 
to  impress  them  upon  others.  But 
the  leading  Evangelicals  of  the 
present  day  must  be  of  duller 
intellect  than  we  take  them  to 
be,  if  they  are  not  by  this  time 
convinced  that  the  habit  of  frater- 
nising with  Dissenters,  from  which 
we  are  glad  to  find  that  they  are 
now  withdrawing,  could  lead  to  no 
other  results  than  those  which  we 
now  see  around  us. 

It  is  well  for  them  and  for  Eng- 
land at  large  that  the  founders  of 
their  school  proved  less  influential 
than  they  desired  to  be.  For  if 
you  once  persuade  a  whole  people 
to  believe  that  one  religious  de- 
nomination is  as  good  as  another — 
that  the  sacraments,  for  example, 
are  as  valid  when  administered  in 


lSG.r>.l          The  li'xjht  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I. 


243 


a  Wesleyan  chapel  as  in  a  parish 
church,  and  that  the  Wesleyan  or 
Baptist  minister  has  the  same  au- 
thority as  the  rector  to  dispense 
these  sacraments  and  to  preach — 
then  you  will  find  it  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  defend,  on  purely  political 
grounds,  such  an  institution  as  the 
Established  Church  of  England,  or 
to  assign  any  reason  why  on  it,  as 
well  as  on  the  electoral  system  of 
the  empire,  the  hand  of  a  radical 
reform  should  not  be  laid. 

It  was  well  for  the  Church,  and, 
let  us  add,  for  the  State  of  England, 
that  the  Evangelical  movement  did 
not  everywhere  prevail.  A  large 
ascendancy  it  doubtless  achieved, 
which  the  open  resistance  of  the 
high-and-dry  orthodox  party  rather 
augmented  than  restrained.  But 
all  the  orthodox  among  the  clergy 
were  not  high  and  dry  ;  and  of  the 
prelates  not  a  few  set  themselves, 
between  1818  and  1827,  to  enforce 
in  their  respective  dioceses  at  least 
decorum  and  the  outward  appear- 
ance of  zeal.  Conspicuous  among 
these  was  Bishop  Blomh'eld,  whose 
exertions  in  the  diocese  of  Chester 
cannot  be  too  much  commended, 
and  who,  being  removed  to  Lon- 
don, continued  to  work  there  with 
all  the  vigour  and  something  of 
the  specialty  of  a  steam  -  engine. 
Neither  he  nor  his  admirers,  how- 
ever, touched  the  core  of  the  mat- 
ter. They  built  material  churches  ; 
they  caused  rectors  and  curates 
to  serve  these  churches  with  regu- 
larity ;  they  made  no  attempt  to 
bring  before  the  people,  in  an  in- 
telligible form,  the  claims  of  the 
Church  itself  apart  from  its  con- 
nection with  the  State  on  their  re- 
verence and  affection.  It  remained 
for  a  different  class  of  persons — a 
knot  of  earnest,  thoughtful,  and 
disinterested  men,  themselves  fill- 
ing no  conspicuous  place,  except  in 
the  intellectual  society  of  Oxford — 
to  begin  this  work.  And  had  there 
been  among  them  more  of  sound 
judgment  with  less  of  excitability 
and  imagination,  without  doubt 
the  work  would  have  prospered  in 

VOL.  xcvu. — NO.  DXCII. 


their  hands,  and  attained  to  a  glo- 
rious issue. 

Mr  Gladstone  entered  Christ- 
church  at  a  time  when  what  has 
since  been  called  the  Oxford  move- 
ment was  just  beginning.  It  had 
taken  then  no  very  definite  shape  ; 
indeed  its  originators  and  promot- 
ers, though  impressed  with  the 
necessity  of  action,  were  as  yet  at  a 
loss  how  to  begin,  and  at  what  re- 
sult to  aim.  The  repeal  of  the  Test 
and  Corporation  Acts  had  startled 
them.  Not  that  the  measure  was 
looked  upon  either  with  absolute 
disfavour  or  the  reverse.  On  the 
one  hand  they  saw  in  it  the  over- 
throw of  a  fiction  which  had  hither- 
to reconciled  them,  at  least  in.  part, 
to  the  Erastianism  which  prevailed 
in  the  Church.  It  was  impossible, 
after  the  repeal  of  these  laws,  to 
speak  of  Parliament  any  longer  as 
a  Church  synod,  and  this  galled 
them.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it 
was  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  laws  which 
for  so  many  years  had  prostituted 
the  most  solemn  mysteries  of  their 
faith  by  making  them  the  touch- 
stone of  men's  political  opinions. 
Then  followed  the  Catholic  Relief 
Bill — a  measure  to  which  in  itself 
most  of  them  were  favourable,  but 
with  which,  because  of  the  way  in 
which  it  was  carried,  they  one  and 
all  avowed  their  dissatisfaction. 
The  consequence  was,  that  when 
Peel  again  proposed  himself  to  re- 
present the  University  in  Parlia- 
ment, he  was  rejected  by  a  large 
majority  of  voters — and  that  the 
majority  was  swelled  by  not  a  few 
of  those  who,  while  the  question 
was  still  in  abeyance, had  repeatedly 
in  convocation  spoken  and  voted  in 
favour  of  repeal.  So  strangely  agi- 
tated at  that  period  were  Church- 
men's minds.  The  ground  on  which 
their  fathers  had  stood  for  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  seemed,  so  far  as 
ecclesiastical  matters  were  con- 
cerned, to  be  slipping  from  beneath 
them.  And  when  they  looked 
further  into  the  political  and  social 
condition  of  the  empire,  they  felt 
like  men  gazing  into  chaos. 
R 


241  T/ie  Rl'jlit  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I.  [Feb. 


It  would  be  out  of  place  to  de- 
tail here  the  process  by  which  this 
state  of  things  was  in  the  poli- 
tical world  brought  about.  The 
return  of  peace,  after  a  protracted 
and  desperate  war,  and  the  non- 
arrival  of  those  blessings  which 
peace  is  assumed  to  carry  on  her 
wings,  led  men,  not  all  of  them 
qualified  for  the  task,  to  inquire 
into  the  causes  of  their  own  disap- 
pointment ;  and  the  Constitution 
was  blamed  for  evils  which  were 
either  unavoidable,  or  arose  out  of 
the  mistakes  of  public  men  ap- 
pointed to  administer  the  Consti- 
tution. Parliamentary  reform  be- 
came, in  consequence,  the  watch- 
word of  the  Whigs,  and  all  who  were 
suffering  or  discontented  in  the 
country  responded  to  it.  But  the 
crisis  passed  gradually  away,  and 
with  the  return  of  remunerative 
employment  in  the  manufacturing 
districts  and  at  the  seaports,  the 
desire  among  the  great  body  of  the 
people  for  radical  change  died  out. 
Had  the  statesmen  who  then  guided 
the  councils  of  the  Sovereign  been 
but  wise  in  their  generation  and 
united  among  themselves,  the  course 
of  events  would  have  doubtless  run 
in  a  channel  very  different  from  that 
into  which  it  soon  fell.  Unfortu- 
nately, however,  such  was  not  the 
case.  Lord  Liverpool's  Cabinet, 
composed  of  elements  the  most 
discordant,  was  eminently  calcu- 
lated to  pave  the  way  for  any  con- 
vulsions which  the  reckless  party- 
spirit  of  their  rivals  might  precipi- 
tate. One  section  of  that  Cabinet 
would  listen  to  no  suggestions  of 
change  in  any  form  ;  another  press- 
ed too  eagerly  for  change  in  every- 
thing ;  a  third,  labouring  to  me- 
diate between  the  two,  barely  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  the  machine  from 
falling  to  pieces.  It  is  in  such  situ- 
ations that  personal  ambition  finds 
a  ready  field  on  which  to  work,  and 
of  personal  ambition  in  Lord  Liver- 
pool's Cabinet  there  was  no  lack. 
At  last  came  the  crash  :  Lord  Liver- 
pool died — Mr  Canning  intrigued 
for  the  Premiership,  and  won  it. 


The  Tory  party  became  divided, 
and  all  that  followed — the  passing 
of  measures,  in  themselves  perhaps 
necessary,  but  so  mismanaged  as  to 
disgust  and  disappoint  everybody 
— the  attempt  at  coalitions  and 
reconciliations  which  failed,  and 
could  not  but  fail — the  anger  and 
mistrust  of  old  friends,  the  abso- 
lute unreliability  of  new — all  these 
things  came  about  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  produced  their  inevi- 
table results.  When  the  three  glo- 
rious days  occurred  in  Paris,  Lon- 
don was  ripe  for  a  similar  catas- 
trophe ;  and  a  shout  which  rang 
through  the  land  for  Parliamentary 
reform,  lifted  the  Whigs  into  office. 
Into  the  quiet  groves  of  Oxford, 
amidst  which  Mr  Gladstone  then 
wandered,  the  echoes  of  that  wild 
cry  made  their  way.  Their  influ- 
ence upon  masters  and  undergra- 
duates alike  was  in  accord  with  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  individuals.  A 
minority,  not  destitute  of  talent 
and  influence  —  for  Whately  was 
one  of  the  band  —  heard  them 
with  delight.  They  were  not  blind 
to  the  consequences  which  would 
probably  attend  the  success  of  the 
Reform  movement.  The  Church 
in  Ireland  must  be  sacrificed,  and 
the  Church  of  England  yield  many 
points  which  they  would  have  been 
glad  to  retain  had  their  retention 
been  possible.  But,  weighing  the 
good  against  the  evil,  they  were 
ready  to  surrender  these  things, 
and  much  more,  rather  than  stay 
the  progress  of  that  freedom  of 
opinion  of  which  they  had  long 
been  the  advocates.  The  majority 
took  a  different  view  of  the  subject; 
and  Keble,  and  Hawkins,  and  New- 
man, and  their  adherents,  looked 
forward  to  days  of  trouble  and  an- 
guish, through  which  it  would  be 
no  easy  matter  to  carry  the  Church 
at  all.  To  this  party  Mr  Gladstone 
and  his  friends  gave  in  their  adhe- 
sion. They  were  regular  attend- 
ants at  St  Mary's  when  Newman 
preached.  They  received  with  will- 
ing minds  the  teaching  which  in- 
vited them  to  look  to  antiquity  as 


1865.]         The  lii<jht  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.— Part  I. 


245 


the  only  true  exponent  of  the  faith 
anddoctrines  of  theirChurch.  They 
devoured  the  'Christian  Year,'  and 
learned  from  it  more  and  more  to 
reverence  a  society  the  principles 
of  which  are  there  so  beautifully 
enunciated.  It  became  also  among 
them  a  settled  conviction  that 
Church  and  State  ought  not  to  be 
separated ;  that  civil  government 
cannot  rightly  go  on  in  dissociation 
from  religious  government  ;  and 
that  a  nation,  to  be  religious,  must, 
so  far  as  its  public  acts  are  con- 
cerned, connect  itself  with  only  one 
deiinite  form  of  religion,  however 
liberal  it  may  be  in  extending  the 
benefits  of  toleration  to  others.  Of 
these  views  some  nine  or  ten  years 
later  Mr  Gladstone  gave  to  the 
world  his  own  exposition  in  a  trea- 
tise which,  however  obscure  its 
phraseology  may  be,  and,  looking 
to  the  position  of  the  writer  at  the 
time,  however  unguarded,  cannot, 
as  a  whole,  fail  to  impress  all  who 
give  to  it  the  attention  which  it 
deserves,  with  a  high  sense  of  the 
ability  and  earnestness  of  the  writer. 
Whether  or  not  he  would  have  been 
induced  to  modify  these  views  had 
his  University  career  been  protract- 
ed a  few  years  longer,  we  cannot 
pretend  to  guess,  But  he  quitted 
Oxford  before  the  authors  of  the 
'Tracts  for  the  Times'  had  begun 
to  ride  their  hobby  to  death,  and 
escaped  thereby  the  temptation  to 
throw  in  his  lot  absolutely  with  a 
body  of  men,  of  whom  it  would 
be  hard  to  say  whether  they  did 
more  good  or  harm  to  a  cause  which 
they  began  by  advocating  judici- 
ously and  honestly,  and  ended,  in 
more  than  one  instance  at  least,  by 
miserably  betraying. 

We  have  no  concern  with  the 
manner  in  which  Mr  Gladstone  may 
have  spent  his  time  during  the  in- 
terval which  elapsed  between  his 
removal  from  Oxford  and  his  en- 
trance upon  public  life.  Doubtless 
he  watched  with  anxiety,  as  men  of 
all  shades  of  political  opinion  did, 
the  death-struggle  of  parties  which 
went  on  all  the  while  in  and  out 


of  Parliament.  It  is  more  than 
probable  that,  young  as  he  was,  he 
began  already  to  consider  the  line 
which,  when  called  upon  to  take 
part  in  the  strife  raging  round 
him,  it  would  be  judicious  to  adopt. 
But  however  this  may  be,  the  high 
reputation  which  he  had  acquired 
at  Oxford,  and  the  estimation  in 
which  his  father  was  held,  fixed 
upon  him  at  once  the  attention  of 
the  Tory  leaders  ;  and  at  the  dis- 
solution in  1832  he  was  invited  to 
stand,  and  on  the  Newcastle  inter- 
est was  returned,  for  the  borough  of 
Newark.  From  that  moment  his 
name,  his  conduct,  his  pretensions, 
became  public  property  ;  and  as 
public  property,  avoiding  as  imich 
as  possible  every  approach  to  criti- 
cism on  his  private  character  and 
opinions,  we  propose  in  this  article 
to  deal  with  him. 

Mr  Gladstone  took  his  seat  on  the 
Opposition  benches  of  the  House  of 
Commons  at  a  period  of  great  de- 
pression and  much  anxiety  to  all 
who  understood  and  valued  Eng- 
land's greatness  and  the  causes  of 
it.  The  Reform  Bill  had  swept 
away  the  old  landmarks  of  the 
Constitution  as  it  had  existed  for  a 
century  and  a  half.  That  mixed 
system  of  voting  which  used  to 
insure,  though  indirectly,  their 
proper  influence  in  the  Legislature 
to  the  poor  as  well  as  to  the  rich, 
to  the  low  as  well  as  to  the  high, 
appeared  to  be  superseded  by  one 
which  threw  all  power  into  the 
hands  of  a  particular  class,  and  that 
too,  a  class  which  was  assumed  to 
be  the  least  friendly  of  the  whole 
to  the  great  institutions  of  the 
country.  Men  arrived  at  this  con- 
clusion from  observing  the  class  of 
persons  whom  the  I'lO  household- 
ers of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland 
had  sent  to  represent  them  in  the 
reformed  House  of  Commons.  The 
majority  were  persons  whose  names 
had  never  been  heard  of  before  ; 
the  minority  were  known  to  be 
tinged,  at  least,  with  the  principles 
of  democracy.  Now  nobody  sus- 
pected the  Ministers,  reckless  as  in 


246 


Tlie  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I.  [Feb. 


party-strife  they  had  shown  them- 
selves to  be,  of  deliberate  hostility 
to  the  throne,  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  the  Church  ;  but  nobody  could 
look  across  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  see  by  whom  they  were  surround- 
ed, without  feeling  that  throne, 
House  of  Lords,  and  Church,  were  all 
in  danger.  The  single  question, 
therefore,  which  the  leaders  of  the 
Opposition  asked  themselves  was, 
How  may  this  danger  most  effectually 
be  averted?  Was  it  desirable,  was 
it  even  safe,  to  enter  at  once  into 
a  state  of  active  party  warfare  ? 
Would  not  this  course,  on  the  con- 
trary, keep  alive  feelings  which,  as 
past  experience  had  shown,  were 
too  powerful  to  be  kept  in  check 
by  the  restraints  of  principle  1  On 
the  other  hand,  by  contenting 
themselves  with  watching  narrowly 
the  course  of  events — by  exposing 
in  debate  the  mistakes  of  Ministers, 
when  they  committed  them,  with- 
out going  further  —  by  support- 
ing the  Ministers  against  their  own 
friends  when  they  were  right,  and 
suffering  small  wrongs  to  pass 
rather  than  get  rid  of  them  by 
going  to  a  division, — by  following 
up  this  course  systematically  and 
steadily,  time,  it  was  hoped,  might 
be  afforded  to  the  country  to  re- 
cover its  senses  ;  and  the  habit  of 
paying  obedience  to  the  law,  and 
the  administrators  of  the  law,  might 
be  re-established.  Such  were  the 
views  of  public  affairs  which  pre- 
sented themselves  to  Sir  Robert 
Peel,  now  restored  by  acclamation 
to  his  eld  place  as  leader  of  the 
Conservative  party.  He  looked  at 
them  carefully,  and  adopted  his 
own  line  ;  and  to  the  honour  of  the 
party  be  it  remembered,  that  they 
to  a  man  expressed  their  willing- 
ness to  be  guided  by  him,  though 
even  in  this  first  session  of  the 
reformed  Parliament  there  were 
many  who  would  have  been  glad 
had  his  decision  taken  a  bolder 
course. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  conceive 
a  parliamentary  training  better  cal- 
culated than  this  to  develop  and 


confirm  all  the  worst  points  in  the 
political  character  of  the  distin- 
guished man  about  whom  we  are 
now  writing.  Taken  up  by  Peel, 
and  admitted,  as  far  as  Peel  could 
admit  any  one,  to  his  confidence — 
lectured,  directly  and  indirectly,  on 
the  wisdom  of  observing  the  signs  of 
the  times — taught  to  look  at  every 
question  as  it  came  before  him 
through  the  medium  of  expediency 
rather  than  by  the  light  of  abstract 
truth  —  Mr  Gladstone  could  have 
hardly  failed,  had  he  begun  public 
life  without  any  natural  bias  at  all, 
to  become,  under  such  skilful  man- 
ipulation, a  political  sophist.  But 
when  we  recollect  what  his  natural 
disposition  was — how  prone  he  had 
been  from  childhood  to  refine,  and 
reconsider,  and  divide — we  see  in 
all  that  has  since  come  to  pass  only 
the  sequence  of  effects  upon  causes, 
— the  inevitable  building  up,  out  of 
materials  supplied  by  nature,  and 
disposed  and  arranged  by  a  very 
master  in  finesse,  of  the  exact  char- 
acter which  stands  before  us.  Ob- 
serve that  we  are  speaking  of  Mr 
Gladstone  as  a  politician,  not  as 
a  private  member  of  society.  As 
a  private  member  of  society,  he 
may  be  incapable  of  holding  that 
to  be  true  to-day  which  he  pro- 
nounced to  be  false  yesterday.  But 
as  a  politician,  his  best  friends  will 
admit  that  it  is  impossible  to  place 
the  smallest  reliance  upon  him,  be- 
cause he  never  speaks  except  with 
a  view  to  the  attainment  of  some 
immediate  purpose — which  purpose, 
to  every  eye  except  his  own,  is  not 
unfrequently  at  variance  with  con- 
clusions at  which  he  had  formerly 
arrived.  But  we  are  anticipating. 
In  the  interval  between  his  first 
return  for  Newark  and  his  re-elec- 
tion consequent  upon  the  dissolu- 
tion of  1834,  Mr  Gladstone  took  no 
prominent  part  in  the  management 
of  public  affairs.  Never  absent 
from  his  place,  always  ready  with 
his  votes,  and  voting  on  each  occa- 
sion loyally  with  his  party,  he  put 
a  becoming  restraint  upon  that 
furor  loquendi  which  burnt  within 


18G5.1          The  Right  If  on.  William  Glfttltlone,  M.P.— Part  I. 


247 


him  even  then,  and  has  since  be- 
come irrepressible.  A  wise  instinct 
told  him,  that  members  who  begin 
too  soon  to  aim  at  instructing  the 
House  rarely  succeed  in  establish- 
ing a  lasting  influence  over  it ;  and 
he  held  his  peace,  except  on  two 
occasions,  when  attacks  upon  the 
moral  character  of  his  father  called 
him  up.  Sir  John  being  a  landed 
proprietor  in  Demerara,  was,  like 
all  West  India  proprietors  in  those 
days,  a  slaveowner,  and  charges 
were  brought  against  him  in  the 
summer  of  1833  of  causing  a  severe 
mortality  among  his  slaves  by  over- 
working. That  calumny  Mr  Glad- 
stone rebutted,  shortly  indeed,  but 
forcibly,  speaking  to  the  point,  and 
speaking  well.  In  the  debates  on 
larger  questions  he  was  content  to 
be  a  listener,  and  to  go  out  as  often 
as  divisions  took  place  into  the 
same  lobby  with  his  leader.  He 
voted  thus  against  the  reduction  of 
the  Irish  Episcopate,  against  the 
admission  of  Dissenters  to  the  Eng- 
lish Universities,  and  afterwards  in 
favour  of  Lord  Althorpe's  proposal 
to  transfer  the  burden  of  maintain- 
ing the  fabrics  of  our  churches  to 
the  land-tax.  In  this  instance,  by 
the  by,  he  behaved  with  greater 
spirit  than  Peel,  for  Peel  absented 
himself  from  the  division.  Again, 
when  a  bill  was  1  trough t  in  for  the 
admission  of  Jews  into  Parliament, 
he  recorded  his  vote  against  the 
measure,  as  he  did  against  the  re- 
peal of  the  Conventicle  Act,  which 
followed  not  long  afterwards.  But 
he  never  spoke.  It  was  well  un- 
derstood, however,  on  the  Opposi- 
tion benches,  that  this  silence  was 
the  result,  not  of  lack  of  talent,  but 
of  modesty ;  and  observing  how 
straightforward  he  appeared  to  be, 
how  fixed  in  principle,  how  wise  in 
private  discussion,  others  than  Peel 
and  his  immediate  disciples  learned 
to  regard  Gladstone  as  destined  to 
become,  at  no  remote  date,  an  able, 
as  well  as  a  consistent  defender  of 
the  Constitution  in  Church  and 
State. 

It  will  be  in  the  recollection  of 


our  readers  that  the  death  of  Earl 
Spencer,  and  the  removal  of  Lord 
Althorpe  to  the  House  of  Lords, 
gave  William  IV.  the  opportunity 
which  he  had  long  desired,  of  get- 
ting rid.  in  the  autumn  of  1H33,  of 
his  Whig  Ministers.  Peel,  recalled 
from  Koine  to  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  a  new  administration,  found, 
to  his  regret,  that  the  arrangements 
for  a  dissolution  were  complete,  and 
that  nothing  remained  for  him  ex- 
cept to  play  the  cards  which  hands 
less  skilful  than  his  own  had  dealt. 
Among  others,  Gladstone  went  back 
to  his  constituents  at  Newark,  who 
immediately  re-elected  him.  He 
went  back,  however,  no  longer  as  a 
private  person,  but  as  Under-Secre- 
tary  of  State  for  the  Colonies,  to 
which  office  the  new  Premier  had 
appointed  him  ;  and  being  return- 
ed took  his  seat  for  the  first  time 
on  that  front  bench,  from  which, 
whether  as  a  member  of  an  admin- 
istration, or  a  leader  in  opposition, 
he  was  never  again  to  be  removed. 
He  felt  that  now,  young  as  he  was, 
he  had  a  right  to  claim  the  ear  of 
the  House,  and  his  chief  encouraged 
him  to  do  so.  He  refrained,  how- 
ever, from  taking  part  in  minor  dis- 
cussions, reserving  himself  for  what 
was  the  grand  occasion  of  the  ses- 
sion. When  Lord  John  Russell 
brought  forward  his  famous  motion 
for  applying  what  he  called  the  sur- 
plus revenues  of  the  Irish  Church 
to  secular  purposes,  Mr  Gladstone 
broke  silence,  and  spoke  with  a 
power  which,  besides  eliciting  cheers 
from  both  sides  of  the  House,  won 
for  him  that  which  he  valued  much 
more — a  flattering  notice  from  the 
present  head  of  the  great  Conser- 
vative party.  The  Earl  of  Derby, 
then  Mr  Stanley,  who  had  separated 
on  this  question  from  his  old  po- 
litical associates,  pronounced  the 
speech  of  the  Under-Secretary  for 
the  Colonies  to  be  the  most  eloquent 
by  far  to  which  he  had  ever  listen- 
ed since  his  entrance  into  public 
life  from  so  young  a  member. 

The  division  on  the  Irish  Tempo- 
ralities Bill  sent  Peel   back  again 


TJie  Eight  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Pari  I.          [Feb. 


to  the  Opposition  benches,  and 
Gladstone  went  with  him.  He 
went  with  a  reputation  very  con- 
siderably enhanced,  because,  short 
as  his  tenure  of  office  had  been,  it 
was  long  enough  to  show  that  he 
possessed  in  no  ordinary  degree 
that  power  of  application  to  busi- 
ness, without  which  no  man  may 
hope  to  attain  to  eminence  either 
in  public  or  private  life ;  and 
the  consciousness  that  he  was  so 
gifted  seems  never  afterwards  to 
have  departed  from  him.  It  is 
said  that  as  early  as  1834  his 
thoughts  had  begun  to  dwell  upon 
place  and  power,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity of  instituting  and  going 
through  with  a  policy  of  his  own. 
Content,  no  doubt,  lie  was  to  be 
numbered  as  yet  among  the  ad- 
herents of  one  to  whom  the  coun- 
try had  assigned,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
the  highest  rank  among  her  living 
statesmen;  but  already  he  aspired 
at  becoming  something  more  than 
a  mere  follower,  even  of  Peel.  He 
could  suggest  and  advise  as  well  as 
listen  and  assent.  In  particular, 
it  was  understood  that  upon  Church 
questions  he  claimed  the  privilege 
of  being  allowed  to  think  for  him- 
self, and  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion his  divergence  from  the  views 
of  his  chief  was  exhibited  in  a 
manner  too  characteristic  to  be  mis- 
understood. For  example,  he  re- 
sisted at  every  stage,  and  with  all 
the  eloquence  of  which  he  was 
master,  the  attempt  to  confiscate 
by  Act  of  Parliament  the  property 
of  the  Irish  Church.  He  took  a 
different  course  when  a  bill  for 
the  reform  of  the  English  Church 
Establishment  was  introduced.  The 
measure  was,  in  point  of  fact, 
Peel's  measure,  the  principle  of 
which  could  scarcely  be  disputed 
by  a  member  of  the  Administra- 
tion which  framed  it ;  but  Glad- 
stone never  uttered  a  word  in  its 
favour.  Recording  a  silent  vote 
for  its  introduction  as  a  whole,  he 
took  his  own  line  in  the  discus- 
sions to  which  it  was  subjected  in 
detail.  He  objected  to  the  indis- 


criminate suppression  of  canonries, 
and  denounced,  as  at  once  danger- 
ous in  principle  and  dishonest  in 
fact,  the  application  of  funds  raised 
in  one  diocese  to  the  augmentation 
of  small  benefices  in  another.  There 
were  those  upon  his  own  side  of 
the  House  who  marked  these  dif- 
ferences between  him  and  Sir  Ro- 
bert Peel  with  approval.  There 
were  others  who  regarded  them  as 
mere  evidences  of  a  crotchety  tem- 
per ;  and  regretted  that  it  should  be 
there  to  mar  a  genius  otherwise  so 
brilliant,  and  to  detract  from  the 
value  of  a  reputation  so  important 
to  the  party. 

Time  passed,  and  the  Whigs 
made  use  of  it,  as  is  well  known, 
only  more  and  more  to  lose  their 
hold  upon  the  confidence  of  the 
country.  Everything  to  which 
they  put  their  hands  turned  out 
to  be  a  failure.  They  were  in 
constant  trouble  with  their  own 
friends  at  home,  and  with  all  the 
powers  of  Europe  and  of  Asia 
abroad.  They  could  never  manage 
to  make  the  revenue  balance  the 
expenditure,  though  they  added 
five  per  cent  to  the  customs,  and  as 
much  to  the  assessed  taxes.  They 
would  listen  to  no  proposal  of  levy- 
ing an  income-tax,  and  offered 
every  opposition  to  Mr  Villiers's 
annual  bill  for  the  repeal  of  the 
corn-laws.  And  here  it  is  worth 
while  to  notice,  that  Mr  Gladstone 
never  spoke  in  opposition  to  Mr 
Villiers's  proposal,  and  more  than 
once  stayed  away  when  the  House 
divided  against  it.  This  was  re- 
markably the  case  in  May  1840, 
when  the  early  break-up  of  the 
Whig  Cabinet  had  begun  to  be 
counted  upon  ;  yet  within  one 
short  month  from  that  date,  and 
again  in  May  1841,  he  not  only  voted, 
but  spoke  against  the  proposal  of 
the  Government  to  reduce  the  dis- 
criminating duties  between  colonial 
and  foreign  sugar.  Let  us  not 
forget  to  add,  that  he  took  on  that 
occasion  the  humanitarian  line. 
He  was  no  advocate  for  protection 
to  domestic  industry,  at  least  on 


1865.]          The  /fight  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.— Part  I. 


2-19 


that  occasion,  but  he  warned  the 
House  that  tlie  Government  mea- 
sure, if  carried,  would  give  a  de- 
rided impulse  to  the  slave-trade, 
and  he  protested  against  that. 

Another  noteworthy  incident  in 
Mr  Gladstone's  career  at  this  time 
can  scarcely  be  passed  by.  In  Feb- 
ruary Ks40,  Mr  Thomas  Duncoinbe 
iiskcd  leave  to  bring  in  a  bill  for 
exempting  Dissenters,  on  certain 
conditions,  from  the  payment  of 
church-rates.  The  conditions  were, 
that  persons  going  before  a  magis- 
trate, and  making  a  solemn  de- 
claration that  they  dissented  from 
the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the 
Established  Church,  and  desired 
on  that  account,  and  not  because 
of  mercenary  considerations,  to  be 
freed  from  the  payment  of  church- 
rates,  should  receive  a  certificate, 
the  production  of  which  would 
suffice  to  turn  away  the  collector 
empty-handed  from  their  doors. 
Whether  these  conditions  appeared 
to  Mr  Gladstone  to  be  reasonable 
or  otherwise  we  never  heard,  but 
this  much  is  certain,  that  after 
carefully  looking  through  Hansard, 
we  can  discover  no  trace  of  opposi- 
tion on  his  part  to  the  project,  and 
that  his  name  fails  to  appear  in  the 
division-list  which  that  usually  ac- 
curate publication  has  recorded. 

Mr  Gladstone's  conduct  in  refer- 
ence to  these  questions  attracted 
no  particular  attention  at  the  mo- 
ment. The  times  were  as  yet  unripe 
for  the  triumph  of  principles  re- 
preaented.by  Mr  Villiers  on  the  one 
hand,  and  Mr  Thomas  Duncombc 
on  the  other;  and  the  absence  of 
individual  members  from  divisions 
about  which  nobody  was  anxious 
passed  unheeded.  We  see  things 
through  a  more  trustworthy  me- 
dium now.  Mr  Gladstone,  it  is  ob- 
vious, never  built  much  upon  that 
protective  policy  which  was  then 
the  policy  of  his  party.  He  might 
allow  sentimentalism  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  slave-trade  to  turn  the 
scale  in  favour  of  the  West  Indian 
interests,  but  he  seems  already  to 
have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that, 


as  a  general  rule,  a  policy  of  pro- 
tection was  an  unwise  policy,  and 
that  the  sooner  it  could  be  departed 
from  in  this  country,  so  far  as  corn 
and  other  interchangeable  commo- 
dities were  concerned,  the  better 
the  results  would  be  for  the  com- 
munity at  large.  Indeed,  we  are 
disposed  to  go  further.  Mr  Glad 
stone,  unless  we  deceive  ourselves 
was  already  coquetting  with  the 
idea,  that  a  system  of  direct  taxa- 
tion is  the  only  one  which  is  suit- 
able to  the  true  interests  of  a  state 
so  rich  and  populous  as  England. 
Observe,  we  do  not  say  that  in 
lvS-40  lie  had  accepted  this  theory 
as  the  right  theory.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  even  now  belief  on  that 
head  has  settled  down  with  him 
into  conviction.  But  our  readers 
know  as  well  as  we,  that  such  opin- 
ions have  long  been  entertained 
and  inculcated  by  that  Liverpool 
clique  of  which  his  brother  Robert- 
son is  a  distinguished  member,  and 
that  Robertson  Gladstone  never 
hesitates  in  public  or  in  private  to 
atiirm  that  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  is  at  heart  one  of  them- 
selves. 

In  J>41  the  difficulties  of  Lord 
Melbourne's  Administration  attain- 
ed their  climax.  A  vote  of  want 
of  confidence  being  proposed  in 
June  of  that  year,  Ministers  found 
themselves  in  a  majority  of  one  ; 
and  after  huddling  up  as  well  as 
they  could  the  current  business  of 
the  session,  they  prorogued  and 
dissolved  the  Parliament.  The  re- 
turns went  dead  against  them.  The 
new  House  met  in  August.  An 
immediate  trial  of  strength  took 
place,  and  Ministers,  being  defeated 
by  not  less  than  ninety-one  votes, 
at  last  gave  in  their  resignation. 

That  Mr  Gladstone's  views  on 
fiscal  and  commercial  questions  were 
at  this  time  generally  in  accord 
with  those  of  Sir  Kobert  Peel, 
was  made  manifest  by  his  appoint- 
ment in  the  new  Administration  to 
the  important  office  of  Vice-Presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Trade.  A  seat 
in  the  Cabinet  could  not  as  yet  be 


250 


TJie  Riyht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I.          [Feb. 


offered  to  him  ;  that  dignity  was 
reserved  for  older  statesmen,  some 
of  whom,  because  of  their  hold  upon 
the  original  Tory  party,  others  be- 
cause of   the  new   prestige  which 
they  brought  with  them,  could  not 
be  excluded.     But  Gladstone  was 
too  valuable  a  man  to  be  left  out, 
and  Peel,  entertaining  the  designs 
which  he  gradually  developed,  did 
the  wisest  thing  possible  with  the 
member   for   Newark,  by  sending 
him  to  the  Board  of  Trade.     The 
young  statesman  was  free  to  scheme 
and  excogitate  there  to  his  heart's 
content.     His  plans,  when  he  had 
wrought  them  out,  were  all  submit- 
ted, not  to  his  own  immediate  chief, 
but  to  the  Prime  Minister.      The 
Prime  Minister  adopting  them  in 
their  entirety,  or  modified,  as  the  case 
might  be,  brought  them  before  the 
Cabinet,  and  the  Cabinet  received 
them   with   far    greater    deference 
from  his  hands  than   they  would, 
have  done  had  they  come  to  them 
direct  from  a  colleague  as  yet  so 
little  understood  as  the  Vice-Presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Trade.     It  is 
well  known  now  that  by  this  pro- 
cess Gladstone  worked  his  way  to 
the   commanding    position   which, 
even  in  Sir  Robert  Peel's  Adminis- 
tration, he  ultimately  attained.    He 
served   an    apprenticeship   of   two 
years  in  nominal  subordination  to 
Lord  Papon,  and  then,  on  the  re- 
tirement  of   that    nobleman,    was 
advanced  to  the  Presidency  of  the 
Board  of  Trade  with  a  seat  in  the 
Cabinet.     Let  us  pause  for  a  mo- 
ment, and   consider  a  little  more 
closely  what   he   did,   or  has   got 
the  credit  of  having  done,  in  that 
interval. 

Mr  Gladstone's  popular  biograph- 
ers tell  us  that,  "between  1842  and 
1845,  he  rendered  important  assist- 
ance to  Sir  llobert  Peel  in  rearrang- 
ing the  tariff."  This  is  the  truth  ; 
but  it  is  not  the  whole  truth.  We 
believe,  that  of  almost  every  change 
effected  in  the  commercial  system 
of  the  country  at  that  time,  Mr 
Gladstone  was,  in  part  at  least, 
the  originator ;  and  that  Peel's 
chief  care  was  to  apply  the  drag,  in 


order  that  the  machine  of  State 
might  escape  the  hazard  of  upset- 
ting in  a  too  rapid  descent.  Mr 
Gladstone  had  his  reward.  His 
vanity  (for,  proud  as  he  is,  vanity 
enters  largely  into  his  composition) 
was  gratified  by  having  assigned  to 
him,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  the 
initiative  in  this  great  work.  He 
took  the  lead  of  Peel  himself,  by 
bringing  in,  on  the  8th  of  February 
1842,  a  bill  for  the  abolition  of 
duties  heretofore  levied  on  certain 
articles  imported  into  the  British 
possessions  in  America  and  the 
Mauritius.  His  speech  was  a  bril- 
liant one,  and  as  a  specimen  of  elo- 
quence deserved  the  applause  with 
which  it  was  greeted.  On  his  own 
side  of  the  House,  men  were  taken 
a  good  deal  by  surprise  by  it,  and 
seemed  rather  at  a  loss  how  to  act ; 
but  the  Whigs  cheered  him  lustily, 
and  complimented  him  largely.  He 
resumed  his  seat  more  than  ever  a 
man  of  mark,  and  not  the  less 
pleased  with  himself  that  there 
was  on  both  sides  of  the  House  a 
large  amount  of  manifest  bam- 
boozlement. 

Following  up  the  blow  thus 
struck  at  old  habits  of  thought  and 
action,  Peel  himself,  on  the  25th  of 
February,  explained  at  length  his 
great  commercial  scheme.  Not 
within  living  memory  had  any 
speech  by  a  Minister  of  the  Crown 
produced  such  an  effect  on  public 
opinion.  In  the  House  itself  men 
listened  rather  with  amazement 
than  approval.  The  topics  brought 
forward  were  so  multifarious,  the 
calculations  so  nice,  the  arguments 
so  subtle,  that  the  keenest -witted 
observer  failed  at  first  to  take 
them  in.  But  the  results  are  well 
known.  While  the  Whigs  opposed 
themselves  to  some  parts  of  the 
plan,  such  as  the  imposition  of  an 
income-tax,  and  the  admission,  at 
reduced  duties,  of  cattle  into  Brit- 
ish markets,  the  Tories  made  a 
gulp  and  swallowed  the  whole ; 
assenting,  not  without  a  pang,  to 
the  change  in  the  corn-laws,  and 
persuading  themselves  that  Peel's 
pledge  to  let  the  income-tax  die  a 


1865.1          The  JiitjIU  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  If. r.— Part  I. 


natural  death  in  three  years,  would 
surely  be  redeemed.  How  far 
events  have  justified  that  anticipa- 
tion we  need  not  stop  to  inquire. 

The  part  played  by  Mr  Gladstone 
in  this  interesting  drama  was  not  a 
very  prominent  one,  yet  it  supplied 
him  with  an  opportunity  of  exhibit- 
ing, on  a  small  scale,  that  adroit- 
ness in  argument  which,  on  many 
subsequent  occasions,  has  stood  him 
in  excellent  stead.  To  him  was 
committed  in  debate  the  duty  of 
defending  that  change  in  the  sugar 
duties  which  was  to  place  colonial 
and  foreign  produce  rather  more 
than  heretofore  on  a  footing  of 
equality  in  the  British  market.  He 
could  find  no  support  for  his  new 
position  in  references  to  the  slave- 
trade.  That  argument  was  there- 
fore abandoned,  and  when  twitted 
with  forgetfulness  of  the  principles 
of  political  economy,  he  boldly  took 
the  ground  that  even  in  that  sci- 
ence there  is  no  rule  without  an 
exception.  In  all  ages  and  in  all 
countries — such  was  his  reasoning 
— "  wherever  there  has  been  a  pro- 
ducing interest  it  has  been  protect- 
ed by  a  duty  abroad  in  competing 
with  foreign  countries."  * 

Having  fought  his  own  battle 
successfully  in  1842,  Mr  Gladstone 
came  out  strong  in  1843  as  Peel's  ally 
on  the  corn  question.  The  real  con- 
test then  lay  between  Peel's  sliding- 
scale  and  a  fixed  duty  which  Lord 
John  Russell  had  proposed,  and 
Lord  Howick,  now  Karl  Grey,  ably 
supported.  Mr  Gladstone  followed 
Lord  Howick  in  the  debate  of  the 
13th  of  February,  and  spoke  at 
great  length.  A  reference  to  Han- 
sard will  show  that  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  and  a  half  he  never 
once  committed  himself  to  a  single 
declaration  of  principle.  His  rea- 
soning, if  such  it  may  be  called, 
amounts  to  this — "  Corn-laws  have 
been  so  long  in  force  in  this  coun- 
try, and  subject  to  so  many  changes, 
that  I  should  object,  on  the  one 
hand,  either  to  abolish  them  entirely, 
or  to  follow  any  course  which  should 


have  a  tendency,  on  the  other,  to 
render  them  permanent.  It  is  best 
to  treat  them  as  arrangements,  tem- 
porary in  their  nature,  and  liable 
at  any  moment  to  be  modified. 
For  though  we  have  recognised  the 
principle  of  protection  to  agricul- 
ture, we  have  never  as  yet  gone 
further,  and  I  will  not  consent  to 
abandon  that  principle  so  long  as 
it  is  applied  by  our  laws  to  the 
production  of  other  commodities. 
At  the  same  time  I  am  free  to  con- 
fess that  1  cannot  regard  as  perfect 
either  our  present  or  any  other 
corn-laws." 

There  is  nothing  to  show  that  by 
speeches  of  this  sort,  and  they  were 
of  daily  occurrence,  Mr  Gladstone 
excited  at  that  time  the  surprise  or 
suspicions  of  the  party.  It  was 
considered  that  in  supporting  his 
chief  he  only  did  his  duty,  and  his 
declarations  were  interpreted  rather 
by  the  light  which  they  derived 
from  Peel's  antecedents  than  from 
his  own.  Hence,  when,  in  combat- 
ing Mr  Ricardo's  proposal  to  nego- 
tiate treaties  of  reciprocity  with 
other  nations,  he  derided  the  idea 
of  establishing,  by  that  or  any  other 
means,  a  commercial  system  which 
should  be  permanent,  he  was  lis- 
tened to  on  his  own  side  of  the 
House  without  a  murmur.  The 
casuistry  which  pervaded  his  argu- 
ment escaped  attention  ;  the  adroit- 
ness with  which  he  managed  his 
subject,  and  foiled  his  adversary, 
commanded  universal  applause. 
For  in  one  respect  he  was  then,  as 
he  always  has  been,  thoroughly 
consistent  with  himself.  He  would 
accept  no  measure,  however  wise  ; 
he  would  listen  to  no  suggestion, 
whether  agreeing  with  his  own  pro- 
fessed opinions  or  the  reverse,  so 
long  as  it  emanated  from  a  mem- 
ber sitting  upon  the  Opposition 
benches. 

The  corn  question  tried  Mr  Glad- 
stone severely  at  all  its  stages,  but 
sugar  proved  for  a  while  to  be  his 
crux.  In  June  1844  he  was  again 
stretched  upon  it.  Ministers  deter- 


Sec  Hansard,  to  which  our  readers  are  invariably  referred. 


252 


The  Right  Hon.   William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  I.          [Feb. 


mined  at  that  time  to  reduce  the 
discriminating  duties  to  10s.  in  the 
cvvt.,  and  Mr  Gladstone  was  put 
forward  to  justify  the  course  which 
but  a  few  months  previously  he 
had  condemned.  He  played  his 
part  with  rare  intrepidity  and  char- 
acteristic scorn  for  the  very  sem- 
blance of  consistency.  In  reply  to 
a  cutting  speech  from  Lord  John 
Russell,  he  observed  : — "  The  noble 
Lord  has  stated — and  in  the  spirit 
of  that  remark  I  heartily  concur — 
that  he  hopes  the  Government  will 
not  be  induced,  by  any  weak  de- 
sire to  support  their  constituents,  to 
propose  a  measure  adverse  to  the 
general  political  interests  of  the 
country.  In  this  I  entirely  concur; 
but  I  think  a  heavy  responsibility 
will  rest  upon  them,  that  they  will 
be  guilty  of  a  serious  offence  for 
which  they  will  be  justly  visited 
with  public  reprobation,  if  they 
shall  be  induced,  by  the  circum- 
stance of  their  having  adopted  a 
particular  policy  in  1841,  to  adhere 
to  it,  after  they  had  found  it  un- 
tenable on  commercial  grounds." 
If  this  be  not  Gladstonianism  of 
the  purest  kind,  we  really  do  not  un- 
derstand the  meaning  of  the  term. 
Whatever  is  to  be  done  in  violation 
of  pledges  given — whatever  policy 
pursued,  the  very  opposite  of  that 
which  the  House  had  been  led  to 
expect — the  act  and  the  policy  must 
alike  be  referred  to  high  moral 
considerations.  Peel's  pupil,  as 
most  men  believed  him  to  be,  had 
well  learned  his  lesson.  Uriah 
Heep  himself  could  not  be  more 
indifferent  to  what  the  world  might 
think  of  him.  With  that  celebrated 
moralist,  he  might  have  exclaimed 
before  he  sat  down,  "  I  like  to  be 
despised." 

It  is  not  worth  while  to  follow 
step  by  step  the  downward  progress 
of  the  commercial  policy  which  end- 
ed in  placing  the  Conservatives, 
under  the  guidance  of  their  great 
leader,  on  the  same  dead  level  with 
the  Anti-Corn-Law  League.  As 
little  are  we  called  upon  to  attempt 
an  impossibility,  by  trying  to  bring 
within  the  compass  of  a  Magazine 


article  the  numberless  sophisms 
with  which  Mr  Gladstone  contrived 
to  adopt  the  views  of  the  extreme 
Liberals  on  the  Opposition  benches, 
yet  to  argue  against  them  in  debate. 
What  had  he — what  could  he  have 
— in  common  with  politicians  of  the 
school  of  Charles  Villiers,  Hie  hard 
Cobden,  Lord  John  Russell,  or  even 
Lord  Palmerston ']  Here  and  there, 
on  fiscal  matters,  they  might,  by 
accident,  arrive  at  the  same  conclu- 
sions ;  but  the  processes  of  reason- 
ing which  led  up  to  such  conclu- 
sions stood  so  entirely  apart  that 
sympathy  between  the  men  them- 
selves was  quite  out  of  the  question. 

Let  us  look  rather  to  Mr  Glad- 
stone's career  as  a  Churchman,  on 
which  his  friends,  and  especially 
Mr  Keble,  rely  so  strongly  in  recom- 
mending him  to  the  continued  sup- 
port of  the  electors  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford. 

We  are  quite  ready  to  admit  that 
Mr  Gladstone  behaved  well  both  in 
defending  the  property  of  the  Irish 
branch  of  the  Church,  and  in  the 
measure  of  support  which  he  gave 
to  Peel's  scheme  of  Church  reform 
in  England.  His  line  on  the  sub- 
ject of  church-rates  can  scarcely  be 
regarded  with  equal  satisfaction  ; 
it  exhibits  a'  marvellous  tendency 
towards  surrender.  In  1832  he 
voted  with  Lord  Althorpe  for  trans- 
ferring the  burden,  such  as  it  is,  to 
the  land-tax.  In  1837  he  resisted 
the  Government  plan  of  maintain- 
ing the  fabrics  of  our  churches  out 
of  a  portion  of  the  revenue  derived 
from  confiscated  estates;  but  in 
1840,  when  Mr  Thomas  Dun- 
combe  proposed  to  exempt  Dis- 
senters on  certain  easy  conditions 
from  the  payment  of  church-rates, 
Mr  Gladstone  voted  with  him. 
We  hardly  think  that  his  vote  on 
that  occasion  could  have  been  sat- 
isfactory to  some  at  least  of  his 
constituents.  His  next  exhibition 
as  a  Member  of  Parliament  deal- 
ing with  sacred  subjects,  must 
have  been  still  less  so.  Our 
readers  may  remember  that  Lady 
Hewley,  a  follower  and  ardent  ad- 
mirer of  Whitfield,  built  and  en- 


1865.]         The  /tight  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M. P.— Part  I. 


2,')  3 


dowed,  towards  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  certain  chapels  in  order 
that  orthodox  Christianity,  accord- 
ing to  her  interpretation  of  the 
term,  might  be  taught  therein  for 
ever.  In  process  of  time  Unitarian 
ministers  got  possession  of  these 
chapels,  and  in  default  of  support 
from  the  courts  of  law,  Parliament 
was  appealed  to  to  maintain  by 
statute  the  well-known  objects  of 
the  testator.  In  the  division  which 
took  place  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons Mr  Gladstone  voted  against 
legislation,  and  the  Unitarians  were 
left  in  possession  of  the  chapels, 
which  they  still  retain.  Now  we 
lire  not  prepared  to  say  that  Mr 
Gladstone  as  a  statesman  did  wrong 
on  that  occasion.  It  may  be,  and 
probably  is,  very  inconvenient  to 
disturb  existing  rights  of  posses- 
sion by  Act  of  Parliament  ;  but 
looking  at  the  question  from  the 
Churchman's  point  of  view,  Mr 
Gladstone  surely  laid  himself  open 
to  this  censure,  that  he  considered 
it  very  little  important  whether  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity  should  be 
inculcated  or  impugned  in  these 
chapels. 

This,  however,  was  a  Dissenter's 
question,  which  Mr  Keble  probably 
regards  as  scarcely  worth  his  own 
notice,  or  the  notice  of  those  to 
whom  lie  has  written  through  the 
'  Guardian.'  But  what  will  lie  say 
to  the  point  which  we  now  proceed 
to  lay  before  him  I 

Up  to  the  close  of  the  session  of 
1844,  the  utmost  unanimity  was 
understood  to  prevail  in  Sir  Robert 
Peel's  Cabinet.  The  Conservatives 
as  a  party  might  be  somewhat  out 
of  tune,  for  a  good  deal  had  occur- 
red to  disturb  them  ;  but  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Administration  sang  in 
perfect  harmony:  they  were,  or  were 
believed  to  be,  the  truly  happy 
family.  Great,  therefore,  was  the 
astonishment  of  outsiders  when, 
during  the  autumn  recess,  a  rumour 
got  abroad  that  Mr  Gladstone  had 
quitted  the  Government ;  and  deep- 
er still  became  the  feeling  when  it 
transpired  that  a  question  affecting 
the  interests  of  the  Church  had 


given  occasion  to  this  severance. 
Sir  Robert  Peel  was  about  to  inau- 
gurate a  new  system  of  academical 
education  in  Ireland,  and  in  order 
to  justify  the  measure,  he  had  de- 
termined to  substitute  for  the  an- 
nual vote  heretofore  agreed  to  a 
permanent  endowment  for  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  College  of  Maynooth. 
Now  Gladstone's  two  works,  'The 
Church  in  its  Relations  with  the 
State,'  and  '  Church  Principles 
considered  in  their  Results,'  were 
.still  accessible  to  all  readers.  A 
revised  edition  of  the  former  had 
indeed  come  out  so  recently  as  1841, 
which  contained,  among  others,  the 
following  remarkable  passage  : — 

"The  support  of  the  College  of  May- 
nooth was  originally  undertaken  l>v  the 
1'rotestant  Parliament  of  Ireland  in  the 
anticipation  which  has  wince  proved 
miscrahly  fallacious,  that  a  more  loyal 
class  of  priests  would  he  produced  l>y 
an  education  at  home  than  hy  a  foreign 
one,  and  that  a  gradual  mitigation  in 
the  features  of  Irish  Romanism  would 
IK-  produced  when  its  ministers  were  no 
longer  familiarised  with  its  condition  in 
Continental  countries,  where  it  still  re- 
mained the  religion  of  the  state,  or 
brought  into  contact  with  revolutionary 
principles,  then  so  prevalent  in  France. 
Instead  of  which  it  has  been  found  that 
the.  facility  of  education  at  home  has 
opened  the  priesthood  to  a  lower  and 
less  cultivated  class,  and  one  inoro  li- 
able to  the  influence  of  secondary  mo- 
tives. It  can  hardly  he  denied  that 
this  is  a  well-merited  disappointment. 
If  the  State  gives  anything  in  supjM>rt 
of  Romanism  in  Ireland,  it  should  in 
consistency  give  everything.  Unless 
it  is  hound  in  conscience  to  maintain 
the  national  Church  as  (tod's  apjioiutcd 
vehicle  of  religious  truth,  it  seems  that 
it  should  adopt  as  its  rule  the  nuinhcis 
and  the  creeds  of  the  several  classes  of 
religionists  ;  and  in  either  respect  the 
claim  of  the  Koman  Catholic  is  infinite- 
ly the  strongest.  In  amount  this  grant 
is  niggardly  and  unworthy— in  princi- 
ple it  is  wholly  vicious,  and  it  can 
hardly  fail  to  he  a  thorn  in  the  side  of 
the  State  of  these  countries  so  long  as 
it  may  continue.  When  foreigners  ex- 
press their  astonishment  at  finding  that 
we  support  in  Ireland  the  Church  of  a 
small  minority,  we  may  tell  them  that 
we  support  it  on  the  high  ground  of 
conscientious  necessity  for  its  truth. 
But  how  can  we  evince  the  consistency 


254 


The  Ititjht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  N. P. —Part  I.         [Feb. 


which  so  elevated  a  principle  requires 
from  its  professors,  while  we  are  bound 
to  support  an  institution  whose  avowed 
and  legitimate  purpose  it  is  constantly 
to  denounce  that  truth  as  falsehood?  " 

Bold  as  lie  had  shown  himself  in 
breaking  through  old  pledges,  and 
overriding  declarations  on  other 
subjects,  Mr  Gladstone  shrank  from 
standing  up  as  a  Minister  of  the 
Crown,  and  giving  a  practical  con- 
tradiction to  a  judgment  so  delib- 
erately recorded  as  this.  Whether 
he  made  any  attempt  in  Cabinet  to 
dissuade  Sir  Robert  Peel  from  his 
purpose,  there  is  nothing  to  show  ; 
but  if  he  did,  it  failed ;  and  in  spite 
of  the  earnest  entreaties  of  his  friends 
to  the  contrary,  he  resigned  his  seals 
of  office.  Accordingly,  when  the 
House  met  again  in  February 
1845,  he  took  his  seat  as  a  private 
member  of  Parliament,  still  upon 
the  right  of  the  Speaker,  but  below 
the  gangway.  Did  he  sit  there  for 
the  purpose  of  rendering  a  general 
support  to  the  Minister  whom,  on 
this  one  question,  conscience  con- 
strained him  to  oppose  1  Nothing 
of  the  sort.  He  had  changed  his 
principles  on  the  Church  question, 
just  as  he  had  changed  them  on 
other  questions.  Absent  at  the  first 
reading  of  Peel's  bill,  he  took  the 
earliest  possible  opportunity,  when 
the  second  reading  came  on,  to  speak 
in  support  of  the  measure.  His 
speech  now  lies  before  us,  in  that 
pamphlet  shape  into  which  the 
morbid  self-love  of  the  author  in- 
duced him  immediately  to  throw 
it  ;  and  of  all  the  curious  docu- 
ments which  it  has  been  our  fortune 
to  examine,  we  are  bound  to  say 
that  it  is  incomparably  the  most 
curious.  We  defy  the  acutest  of 
human  intellects  to  discover  there- 
in the  true  causes  of  his  conversion. 
He  puts  from  him  as  inadmissible 
the  reasoning  of  the  author  of  the 
bill.  He  cannot  admit  with  Sir 
Robert  Peel  that  the  measure 
amounted  to  no  more  than  would 
be  implied  by  an  honourable  and 
liberal  construction  of  that  compact 
or  engagement,  which,  with  relation 
to  this  subject,  may  be  considered 


to  subsist  between  the  Imperial 
Parliament  and  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics of  Ireland.  If  he  could  admit 
all  that,  his  course  would  be  plain 
enough ;  but  "  I  will  not  delude 
myself  with  a  plea  which  does  not 
present  itself  to  my  mind  as  real  and 
substantial ;  I  must  endeavour  to 
look  the  question  in  the  face  as  it 
is/'  What  does  he  do  next  ?  He 
deliberately  repeats  in  the  House 
all  the  arguments  which  he  had 
made  use  of  in  the  latest  edition  of 
his  work,  '  The  Church  in  its  Rela- 
tions with  the  State ; '  and  draws 
from  them  conclusions  diametrically 
the  reverse  of  those  at  which  he  had 
previously  arrived. 

"It"  (the  State),  says  the  book, 
"  does  not  recognise  the  right  of 
disposal  in  the  people  over  all  the 
funds  dedicated  to  national  pur- 
poses. It  does  not  recognise  their 
property  in  them  when  they  have 
become  national,  but  their  right  to 
have  them  appropriated  for  the  best 
advantage  of  the  nation."  In  the 
pamphlet  all  this  is  set  aside  : — 
"  You  have  the  strength  that  a  pro- 
posal of  this  kind  (the  proposal  to 
endow  Maynooth)  undeniably  de- 
rives from  those  popular  principles 
of  government  which  so  powerfully 
influence  the  tone  of  our  actual 
institutions.  According  to  those 
popular  principles,  it  is  admitted 
that,  as  the  public  funds  are  drawn 
from  the  labour  of  the  whole  com- 
munity, it  is  desirable  that,  except 
from  strong  and  overpowering  con- 
siderations, no  class  should  be  ex- 
cluded from  the  claim  to  share  in 
their  distribution."  In  the  treatise 
which  vindicates  the  right  of  the 
State  to  endow  only  the  Established 
Church  in  Ireland,  and  to  promote 
its  extension  in  every  possible  way, 
he  refers  to  the  payment  of  Roman 
Catholic  chaplains  in  jails  and 
workhouses,  and  adds — "  The  fore- 
going remarks  may  show  that  if,  in 
a  spirit  of  indulgence,  these  enact- 
ments be  made  for  workhouses  and 
prisons,  they  do  not  establish  a  pre- 
cedent from  which  general  endow- 
ments can  fairly  be  deduced."  How 
little  does  this  accord  with  the  fol- 


1SG5.]          Tlif  liiijht  If  on.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  I. 


lowing  extract  from  the  pamphlet ! 
— '*  You  have  also,  I  am  hound  to 
admit,  the  recollection  of  former 
wrongs.  When  we  look  hack  upon 
the  conduct  of  England  towards 
Ireland  in  former  times,  and  espe- 
cially upon  the  history  of  the  last 
century,  we  cannot  but  feel  that  it 
imposes  upon  us  the  obligation  to 
treat  Irish  questions  such  as  this 
with  an  especial  tenderness  and  con- 
sideration." 

Xor  is  the  process  by  which  he 
leads  himself  up  to  his  own  conclu- 
sions less  curious  than  the  conclu- 
sions themselves.  "  Mr  Speaker," 
he  says,  "  I  conceive  that,  by  adopt- 
ing the  bill  of  my  right  honourable 
friend,  we  are  about  to  alter  funda- 
mentally the  relation  of  the  State 
to  the  College."  We  are  going  to 
do  that,  and  exactly  that,  which  I 
have  elsewhere  demonstrated  to  be 
a  violation  of  all  our  duties,  social, 
political,  and  religious.  "We  charge 
the  State  with  the  whole  responsi- 
bility of  the  provision  for  the  Col- 
lege. Let  us  not  blind  ourselves  to 
facts.  This  is  the  real  subject  be- 
fore us,  and  to  this,  as  a  subject 
not  foreclosed  by  any  pledge,  I  in- 
tend to  address  myself." 

And  he  does  address  himself  to 
it,  and  thus — "  Am  I,  in  voting 
these  funds  to  the  College,  influ- 
enced by  the  motive  which  has 
weight  with  some,  that  in  so  doing 
restitution  is  made  to  the  Roman 
Catholics  of  Ireland  J" — (restitution 
of  what  0  "  By  no  means.  1  pro- 
test against  the  idea,  for  if  this  be 
an  act  of  restitution,  it  is  one  of 
the  most  shameful  confessions  ever 
extorted  from  a  legislature,  because 
we  admit  a  wrong  which  we  do  not 
repair."  May  1  anticipate  with 
others  that  "  as  the  consequence 
of  this  augmented  grant,  a  great 
and  radical  change  will  be  effected 
in  the  class  of  persons  from  which 
the  Roman  priesthood  in  Ireland 
draws  its  recruits  ?  Certainly  not. 
I  anticipate  no  such  change.  Shall 
I  profess  to  believe  that  I  by  this 
means  facilitate  the  extension  of 
Protestantism  in  Ireland  ?  The 
idea  is  monstrous.  To  be  sure,  I 


have  elsewhere  shown  that  to  ex- 
tend Protestantism  in  Ireland  is  a 
duty  which  the  State  cannot  ne- 
glect without  mortal  sin.  Hut  that 
does  not  prevent  my  perceiving 
now  that  it  is  just  as  much  the 
duty  of  the  State  to  extend  Rom- 
anism— in  other  words,  to  check 
the  growth  of  Protestantism  by 
'  conferring  a  new  element  of 
power  on  the  rival  creed  and  its 
professors.'  But  perhaps  1  am  in- 
duced to  stultify  my  former  con- 
clusions, because  it  has  been  proved 
to  me  that  Maynooth  has  more 
than  fulfilled  the  expectations  of 
the  Irish  Parliament  half  a  century 
ago  ]  Quite  otherwise.  The  Col- 
lege has  failed ;  all  parties  are 
agreed  in  that.  But  I  do  not 
think  it  reasonable  to  reject  the 
measure  on  the  ground  that  May- 
nooth has  failed  to  realise  the  pur- 
poses for  which  it  was  founded. 
What  tlven  are  the  reasons  which 
operate  with  me  in  a  matter  so 
momentous  as  I  have  elsewhere 
proved  this  to  be  ?  First,  the  con- 
sideration that  they  who  refuse 
their  assent  to  the  endowment  of 
an  institution,  founded  for  the  ex- 
tension of  what  I  honestly  believe 
to  be  error,  are  not  agreed  among 
themselves  as  to  any  common 
standard  of  truth.  And  next,  the 
State  has  already  gone  so  far  in  the 
endowment  of  error,  by  its  Annual 
Appropriation  Bill,  and  by  the  So- 
cinian  Endowment  Bill  of  last 
year,  that  I  consider  it  idle  any 
longer  to  maintain  the  views  from 
which,  as  I  have  shown,  no  man 
can  depart,  except  at  the  sacrifice 
of  an  outraged  conscience." 

Such  was  Mr  Gladstone's  reason- 
ing on  the  llth  of  June  1845, 
shrouded  as  his  reasoning  usually 
is  in  a  vast  multiplicity  of  words  ; 
but  not  rendered  so  obscure  as  to 
escape  the  eye  of  one  who  was 
henceforth  to  become  his  rival  in 
eloquence,  and  in  everything  else. 
Mr  Disraeli  had  sat  in  Parliament 
for  eight  years,  little  noticed,  and 
making  no  visible  attempt  to  draw 
attention  to  himself.  He  had 
given  his  support  to  Sir  Robert 


256 


Tlie  Right  lion,  William  Gladstone,  M.  P. —Part  I.  [Feb. 


Peel's  Government  ever  since  it 
came  into  power;  but  except  on 
one  or  two  occasions  he  had  not 
claimed  the  ear  of  the  House.  All 
at  once — and,  as  it  seemed,  not 
without  an  effort — he  broke  off 
from  his  old  allegiance.  He  had 
borne  much  and  done  much,  if  not 
cheerfully,  at  all  events  without 
complaining.  He  could  not  stand 
this;  but,  rising  after  Mr  Gladstone, 
delivered  himself  of  a  philippic 
which  will  long  be  remembered  as 
the  most  stinging,  as  well  as  the 
most  eloquent,  to  which  a  House 
of  Commons  has  in  modern  times 
listened : — 

"Sir,"  lie  said,  "  I  oppose  this  bill, 
on  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it 
has  been  introduced,  and  I  oppose  it 
also  on  account  of  the  men  by  whom 
it  has  been  brought  forward  —  (loud 
cheers.)  I  am  perfectly  ready  to  meet 
those  cheers,  and  I  do  so  by  declar- 
ing that  I  do  not  think,  putting  to- 
tally out  of  view  the  other  objections 
which  I  entertain,  that  the  gentlemen 
who  are  now  seated  on  the  Treasury 
bench  are  morally  entitled  to  bring  such 
a  measure  forward.  This  measure,  sir, 
involves  a  principle  against  which  the 
right  hon.  gentleman  and  most  of  his 
colleagues  have  all  along  signally  strug- 
gled. When  I  recall  to  mind  all  the 
speeches  and  all  the  motions  and  all  the 
votes  which  have  emanated  from  the 
present  occupants  of  the  Treasury  bench 
on  this  and  analogous  questions — when 
I  remember  their  opposition  to  that  sys- 
tem of  education  which  they  now  seek 
to  promote — when  I  recollect  the  pro- 
cession of  prelates  going  up  to  the  pal- 
ace of  the  Sovereign,  in  protest  against 
analogous  measures  with  those  which 
the  very  men  who  incited  that  proces- 
sion are  now  bringing  forward — when  I 
recall  to  mind  all  the  discussions  which 
have  taken  place  here  on  the  subject  of 
Irish  education— when  the  Appropria- 
tion Clause  presents  itself  to  my  mem- 
ory—  I  consider  that  it  would  be  worse 
than  useless  to  dwell  at  any  length  upon 
the  circumstances  which  induced  me  to 
adopt  this  opinion.  ...  I  am  politi- 
cally connected  with  a  district  which  is 
threatened  with  very  severe  suffering 
in  consequence  of  the  supposed  union  of 
Church  and  State.  The  inhabitants  of 
that  district  are  about  to  endure  one  of 
the  greatest  blows  that  could  be  inflict- 
ed upon  them,  and  this  solely  because  it 
has  pleased  a  Conservative  Government 


to  destroy  the  ancient  Episcopate  under 
which  they  have  so  long  been  governed. 
What  is  now  the  position  of  the  Church 
of  Scotland  ? — a  Church  which  the  late 
Earl  of  Liverpool  held  up  as  a  model 
and  as  the  perfection  of  a  religious  com- 
munity, probably  because  it  gave  him 
no  trouble.  What,  I  repeat,  is  the  pre- 
sent situation  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  ? 
It  is  rent  in  twain.  Besides  the  Kirk 
there  is  now  the  Free  Kirk.  Well,  will 
you  endow  the  Free  Kirk  ? — will  you 
apply  this  principle  of  endowment  to 
sectarians  and  schismatics  of  every 
class  ?  Where  will  you  stop  ?  Why 
should  you  stop?" 

In  spite  of  this  masterly  protest ; 
in  spite  of  the  adverse  votes  of  not 
fewer  than  152  Tory  members  ;  in 
spite  of  Mr  Disraeli's  appeal  to  the 
Whigs  to  assist  in  "  dethroning  this 
dynasty  of  deception,"  and  putting 
an  end  to  the  intolerable  yoke  of 
official  despotism  and  Parliament- 
ary imposture,  Peel  and  Gladstone 
carried  their  measure,  and  made 
shipwreck,  in  so  doing,  of  their  own 
prestige  as  constitutional  statesmen, 
and  of  the  great  and  generous  party 
which  had  trusted  them  too  far. 
They  succeeded  likewise  in  ob- 
taining from  the  House  a  grant  of 
£100.000  wherewith  to  found  what 
Sir  Robert  Inglis  described  as 
"  godless  colleges,"  and  a  permanent 
endowment  of  .£20,000  a-year  for 
their  maintenance.  And  here  it  is 
worth  the  while  of  Churchmen  to 
observe,  that  Mr  Gladstone  not 
only  co-operated  with  Peel  in  the 
general  advancement  of  this  pro- 
ject, but  that  he  resisted  every  effort 
to  engraft  upon  the  original  scheme 
an  element  of  religious  instruction, 
be  it  ever  so  slight.  When  Lord 
Mahon  proposed,  on  the  third  read- 
ing of  the  bill,  to  allow  a  Chair  of 
Theology  to  be  supported  by  the 
voluntary  offerings  of  such  students 
as  desired  to  profit  by  it,  Mr  Glad- 
stone voted  against  him.  Finally, 
this  same  session,  Mr  Gladstone 
supported  Sir  Robert  Peel's  bill 
for  throwing  open  to  Jews  civic 
and  corporate  offices,  thus  paving 
the  way  for  their  admission  into 
Parliament,  for  which  likewise — as 
we  shall  take  occasion  presently  to 
show — he  both  spoke  and  voted. 


18G5.]         The  Rujht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  Jf.r.—Part  I. 


257 


Now  we  arc  not  sitting  in  judg- 
ment on  the  abstract  merits  of  any 
or  all  of  these  measures.  It  may 
be  well  for  a  Protestant  State  to 
endow  a  Roman  Catholic  college  ; 
for  a  religious  State  to  found  and 
maintain  public  seminaries  where 
religion  is  not  taught  ;  for  a  Chris- 
tian State  to  unchristiani.se  the 
Legislature,  by  admitting  into  it 
members  avowedly  and  ostenta- 
tiously hostile  to  the  Christian 
faith,  —  but  we  confess  that  we 
cannot  understand  how  a  states- 
man who  has  pleaded  for  all  these 
measures,  and  supported  them, 
could  be  regarded  at  the  moment, 
from  the  Churchman's  point  of 
view,  or  can  be  regarded  now,  as  a 
fit  person  to  represent  in  Parlia- 
ment the  University  of  Oxford. 

During  the  remainder  of  the 
session  Mr  Gladstone  continued  to 
occupy  his  seat  below  the  gang- 
way. He  was  still  a  member  of 
Parliament  unattached  when  the 
prorogation  took  place,  and  was 
not  therefore  mixed  up,  at  least 
officially,  with  the  Ministerial  dis- 
cussions which  arose  out  of  the 
potato -blight  and  the  threatened 
famine  in  Ireland.  Whether  his 
friends  in  the  Cabinet  consulted 
him  on  these  occasions,  and  what 
advice,  if  any,  he  gave,  it  is  not 
for  us  to  say ;  but  the  general 
results  are  too  well  known.  Earl 
Derby,  then  Lord  Stanley,  retired 
from  the  Administration.  The 
seals  of  the  Foreign  Ollice  were 
tendered  to  Mr  Gladstone.  "With 
a  promptitude  which  surprised 
only  those  who  knew  him  im- 
perfectly, he  grasped  at  the  offer, 
and  was  forthwith  gazetted  one  of 
Her  Majesty's  Principal  Secretar- 
ies of  State. 

Mr  Gladstone  took  office,  nothing 
doubting  that  his  seat  for  the  bor- 
ough of  Newark  was  safe.  So  com- 
pletely had  self-love  blinded  him 
in  reference  to  that  matter,  that 
lie  counted  on  receiving  from  the 
tenantry  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle 
the  same  measure  of  support  which 
they  had  rendered  him  before. 
His  indignation  equalled  his  sur- 


prise when  made  aware  that  their 
support  was  withdrawn  from  him. 
That  he  should  have  contested  the 
borough  after  this  shows  that  his 
ideas  of  delicacy  and  propriety 
were,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  pecu- 
liar. He  fought  his  first  political 
patron  at  the  hustings,  and  was 
defeated.  Hence,  though  a  mem- 
ber of  that  Cabinet  which  adopted 
the  policy  of  the  Corn- Law  League, 
he  was  debarred  from  rendering  to 
it  any  assistance  in  debate  ;  and 
when  Peel  and  his  adherents  were 
driven  from  office,  Gladstone  sank 
at  once  into  the  condition  of  an 
amateur  statesman. 

In  this  state  he  remained  till  the 
dissolution  in  1847,  when  the  Uni- 
versity of  Oxford,  more  mindful,  as 
it  would  seem,  of  his  brilliant  career 
at  college  than  of  his  conduct  in 
public  life,  made  choice  of  him  to 
replace,  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
her  old  and  faithful  representative, 
Mr  Kstcourt.  Mr  Gladstone  took 
his  seat  at  the  early  meeting  in  No- 
vember, and  on  the  IGth  of  Decem- 
ber signalised  his  zeal  as  a  Church- 
man by  speaking  and  voting  in  fa- 
vour of  Lord  John  Russell's  bill  for 
the  admission  of  Jews  into  Parlia- 
ment. What  though,  in  1841,  he 
had  demonstrated  that  every  act  on 
a  nation's  part  which  has  a  tendency 
to  disunite  Church  and  State  is 
prima  facie  an  outrage  on  moral 
right }  What  though,  in  order  to 
meet  the  case  of  nations  composed, 
like  the  British  empire,  of  discord- 
ant materials,  he  had  qualified  this 
assumption  so  far  as  to  save  the 
principle  while  yielding  points  of 
exceptional  practice,  and  no  more  \ 
These  considerations  had  no  weight 
with  him  now.  Ceasing  to  be  guid- 
ed by  the  light  of  abstract  truth, 
he  had  become  the  mere  slave  of 
expediency — the  follower,  not  the 
guide,  of  popular  opinion.  His  rea- 
soning, accordingly,  amounted  to 
this:  However  strong  my  convic- 
tions may  be  that  the  course  we 
are  pursuing  is  an  evil  course,  I  feel 
that  escape  from  it  is  neither  pos- 
sible nor  desirable.  You  contended 
first  for  a  Parliament  which  should 


258 


The  Right  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  I.          [Feb. 


consist  exclusively  of  professed 
members  of  the  Church  of  England. 
You  were  successful  for  a  while  ; 
but  in  time  you  were  driven  from 
your  position.  You  next  strove  to 
make  your  Parliament  a  Parliament 
of  Protestants  only,  and  in  that 
you  failed.  You  are  now  asked  to 
abandon  the  theory  that  only  Chris- 
tians ought  to  legislate  for  this 
Christian  country.  Can  you  main- 
tain that  theory?  I  think  not,  and 
therefore  I  give  my  vote  for  the 
measure  which  the  noble  Lord  at 
the  head  of  her  Majesty's  Govern- 
ment has  proposed. 

That  a  statesman  so  versatile — so 
hopelessly  impulsive  and  unreason- 
ing— should  have  assisted  next  year 
in  trying  to  get  rid  of  the  securities 
to  Protestantism,  such  as  they  were, 
which  the  bill  of  1829  had  provided, 
is  not  much  to  be  wondered  at. 
Mr  Gladstone  could  see  nothing 
hostile  to  the  Church  of  England 
in  allowing  Romanists  to  re-estab- 
lish, in  all  parts  of  the  empire,  their 
religious  societies  and  orders.  And 
when  Lord  John  Russell  went  still 
further,  by  proposing  to  enter  into 
direct  political  relations  with  the 
Court  of  Rome,  Mr  Gladstone  voted 
with  him.  Lord  John's  bill  was 
probably  never  intended  to  be  more 
than  a  sop  in  the  pan  to  the  Ultra- 
montanists  of  Ireland.  It  failed  of 
course,  and  Mr  Gladstone's  vote 
did  no  damage  either  to  Church  or 
State.  But  his  readiness  to  treat 
once  more  with  the  Bishop  of  Rome, 
as  with  one  having  a  right  to  exer- 
cise spiritual  authority  within  these 
realms,  could  scarcely,  it  is  presum- 
ed, be  approved  by  that  large  por- 
tion of  his  constituents  who  have, 
on  various  occasions,  deliberately, 
and  upon  oath,  declared  their  ab- 
horrence of  a  doctrine  so  dangerous 
and  unconstitutional. 

As  long  as  Peel  lived,  Gladstone 
in  opposition  followed  pretty  faith- 
fully in  the  footsteps  of  his  chief. 
He  sat  on  the  Opposition  side  of 
the  House ;  but  on  all  great,  and 
on  very  many  minor  questions,  he, 
like  Peel,  gave  his  support  to  the 
Whig  Government.  That  this  was 


the  result,  in  both  instances,  rather 
of  personal  than  of  political  feeling, 
cannot  in  our  opinion  admit  of  a 
doubt.  Peel,  abhorred  by  the  great 
party  which  he  had  twice  betrayed, 
abhorred  them  in  return ;  and  the 
sympathies  of  his  pupils,  Gladstone 
among  the  rest,  were  entirely  with 
him.  Both  sections  of  the  divided 
party  felt,  moreover,  that  reconcilia- 
tion was  impossible  on  any  terms, 
at  least  to  which  Peel  would  sub- 
mit;  for  Peel  could  not  act  with 
them,  or  with  any  other  body  of 
men,  except  as  their  leader ;  and  as 
their  leader  the  Conservatives  were 
determined  never  again  to  acknow- 
ledge him.  They  entertained  no 
such  bitter  feeling  towards  Mr  Glad- 
stone, to  whom  it  is  proper  that  we 
should  do  justice  in  this  juncture  of 
affairs.  He  admired  and  loved  Sir 
Robert  Peel,  whom  he  would  gladly 
have  followed  again  to  the  Treasury 
benches ;  but  the  breezes  which 
blew  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
House  were  not  congenial  to  his 
feelings.  To  be  in  office,  to  exer- 
cise political  power,  had  already 
become  with  him  a  passion.  He 
fretted  at  the  curb  which  he  could 
not  get  rid  of,  and  on  more  than 
one  occasion  showed  himself  cap- 
tious and  unruly.  Thus,  when  Lord 
John  Russell  introduced  his  bill  for 
the  repeal  of  the  Navigation  Laws, 
Mr  Gladstone,  though  he  both  spoke 
and  voted  in  support  of  the  meas- 
ure, could  not  abstain  from  having 
a  fling  at  the  Government,  because 
Mr  Baines,  the  head  of  the  Poor- 
Law  Commission,  was  allowed  to 
speak  and  vote  against  his  col- 
leagues. On  the  other  hand,  Mr 
Disraeli's  motion  for  a  committee 
to  inquire  into  the  state  of  agricul- 
ture, though  resisted  by  Peel,  ob- 
tained Mr  Gladstone's  silent  vote. 
But  the  point  to  which,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  the  attention  of  the  Oxford 
constituency  ought  mainly  to  be 
directed,  is  the  ambiguity  of  Mr 
Gladstone's  mode  of  dealing  with 
the  proposal  made  last  year  to  re- 
lieve clergymen  of  the  Church  of 
England  by  Act  of  Parliament  from 
the  obligations  under  which  they 


1865.1 


liirjht  Hun.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—l'art  I. 


had  come  when  admitted  into  lioly 
orders.  For  ourselves,  we  confess 
that,  as  we  could  not  understand 
Mr  Gladstone's  reasons  at  the  time, 
so  a  reference  to  Hansard,  seventeen 
years  after  the  event,  throws  very 
little  additional  light  upon  the  mys- 
tery. All  that  we  can  make  out  is 
this,  that  he  spoke  with  the  painful 
consciousness  upon  him,  that  what 
he  said,  and  was  prepared  to  do, 
would  scarcely  be  approved  by 
Churchmen.  "  He  had  consented 
to  the  clause,  because,  in  his  anxiety 
to  give  full  effect  to  what  he  be- 
lieved to  be  the  civil  rights  of  his 
countrymen,  he  had  not  hesitated  to 
run  the  risk  of  offending  some  per- 
sons, and  of  forfeiting  the  confidence 
of  many  among  his  constituency."* 

Such,  however,  was  not  the  only 
way  in  which  Mr  Gladstone  exhi- 
bited at  that  time  a  more  than 
common  disposition  to  finesse  even 
with  his  own  convictions.  Our 
readers  will  recollect  that,  in  Ib4i), 
the  affairs  of  Canada  attracted  a 
large  share  of  attention  in  Parlia- 
ment. It  happened  that,  while  Sir 
Robert  Peel  adopted  the  views  of 
the  Government,  Mr  Gladstone 
ranged  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
Opposition,  and  spoke  at  consider- 
able length  in  support  of  Mr  Her- 
ries's  motion.  Had  a  division  taken 
place  that  night,  as  the  leaders  of 
the  Opposition  desired,  the  Govern- 
ment would  have  been  left  in  a 
considerable  minority.  To  avert 
that  evil  an  adjournment  of  the 
debate  was  proposed ;  and  Mr  Glad- 
stone voted  for  the  adjournment. 
The  consequence  was,  that,  by  dint 
of  an  urgent  whip,  the  House  was 
so  packed  a  few  nights  afterwards, 
that  the  Government  saved  their 
policy  and  themselves  by  a  very 
small  majority.  MrGladstone  voted 
on  that  occasion  with  the  Opposi- 
tion, Sir  Robert  Peel  with  the  Gov- 
ernment. 

His  next  noticeable  exhibition 
was  in  March  1850,  when  Mr  Dis- 
raeli renewed  his  attempt  to  inquire 


into  the  condition  of  agriculture, 
with  a  view  to  relieve  the  land  from 
some  of  the  burdens  which  pressed 
exclusively  upon  it.  Mr  Gladstone 
not  only  voted  on  that  occasion  with 
the  Conservative  leader,  but  spoke 
in  support  of  his  views,  coming 
down  heavily  upon  Sir  James 
Graham,  a  free-trader  like  himself, 
and,  as  he  well  knew,  on  that  par- 
ticular question,  the  alter  ijise  of  Sir 
Robert  Peel.  Whether  his  speech 
was  dictated  by  an  honest  change 
of  opinion,  or  sprang  from  that  im- 
patience of  exclusion  from  official 
life  which  was  becoming  day  by  day 
more  perceptible  to  others  than  the 
domestic  circle,  we  cannot  pretend 
to  say,  but  it  had  the  effect  of  creat- 
ing on  the  minds  of  the  Conserva- 
tives an  impression  that  Mr  Glad- 
stone was  at  heart  more  with  them 
than  with  the  Whigs,  and  that, 
should  an  opportunity  offer  of  form- 
ing an  Administration  on  Liberal- 
Conservative  principles,  he  might 
with  confidence  be  reckoned  upon 
as  prepared  to  join  it.  At  last  came 
the  great  Pacifico  debate,  which  ran 
Lord  John  Russell's  Cabinet  so 
hard,  and  in  which  both  Peel  and 
Gladstone  took  prominent  parts 
against  the  Government.  With  the 
speech  of  the  former — the  last  which 
he  was  ever  to  utter — we  have  here 
no  concern  ;  but  Mr  Gladstone's, 
considering  the  relation  in  which 
he  now  stands  towards  the  object 
of  it,  deserves  to  be  held  in  ever- 
lasting remembrance.  Lord  Pal- 
merston,  it  will  be  recollected,  was 
at  that  time  Secretary  of  State  for 
Foreign  Affairs.  "  Sir,"  said  Mr 
Gladstone,  referring  to  the  noble 
Lord  who  is  now  chief  of  the  Cabinet 
in  which  he  himself  holds  an  in- 
iluential  position,  "  I  say  that  the 
policy  of  the  noble  Lord  tends  to 
encourage  and  confirm  in  us  that 
which  is  our  besetting  fault  and 
weakness,  both  as  a  nation  and  as 
individuals.  If  he  can,  lie  will 
quarrel  with  an  absolute  monarchy ; 
if  he  cannot  find  an  absolute  mon- 


*  Sec  Hunsanl  (New  Series),  vol.  104. 
VOF-.  XCV1I. — NO.  DXril. 


260       Tlw  Eight  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  I.      [Feb.  1865. 


archy  for  the  purpose,  lie  will  quar- 
rel with  one  that  is  limited  ;  if  he 
cannot  find  even  that,  he  will  quar- 
rel with  a  republic.  He  adopts,  in 
fact,  that  vain  conception,  that  we, 
forsooth,  have  a  mission  to  be  the 
censors  of  vice  and  folly,  of  abuse 
and  imperfection,  among  the  other 
countries  of  the  world, — that  we  are 
to  be  the  universal  schoolmasters, 
and  that  all  those  who  hesitate  to 
recognise  our  office  can  be  governed 
only  by  prejudice  and  personal  ani- 
mosity, and  should  have  the  blind 
war  of  diplomacy  forthwith  declared 
against  them." 

So  much  for  the  deliberate  judg- 
ment passed  a  few  years  ago  upon 
the  head  of  the  present  Administra- 
tion, by  the  gentleman  who  now  acts 
under  him  as  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer. Now  for  the  estimate  in 
which  the  present  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  was  then  held  by  the  noble 
Lord  who  now  sits  in  Cabinet  with 
him  as  Secretary  of  State  for  For- 
eign Affairs.  "  The  course  which 
the  right  honourable  gentleman  has 
taken,"  observed  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell, "  is  not  the  fair  course,  and  I 
think  that,  if  the  right  honourable 
gentleman  is  in  future  to  conduct 
the  debates  in  this  House  on 
behalf  of  the  great  party  opposite, 
I  am  afraid  that  we  must  not  expect 
the  same  justice  and  fairness  from 
him  as  we  have  experienced  from 
the  honourable  member  for  Berk- 
shire during  the  time  he  has  been 
their  leader." 

The  death  of  Peel  under  very 
melancholy  circumstances  followed 
almost  immediately  upon  this  de- 
bate. It  was  felt  in  all  circles  to 
be  a  great  national  calamity.  Its 
effect  upon  Mr  Gladstone  was 
strikingly  characteristic.  It  seemed 


to    deliver  him  from  a    bondage 
which  for  some  time  back  had  been 
almost  intolerable.     Nothing  now, 
except  such  an  opportunity  as  he 
was  free  to  make,  stood  between 
him  and  office  ;    and  to  the  mak- 
ing or  finding  of  that  opportunity 
he  immediately  addressed  himself. 
He  began  by  coquetting  with  the 
Tories,    and   he   absented    himself 
from  divisions  which,  had  he  taken 
part  in  them,  would    have  forced 
him,  because  of  recent  pledges,  into 
the  same  lobby  with  the  Govern- 
ment.    He  spoke  in  favour  of  mo- 
tions made  by  the  Opposition,  and 
applauded  the  speech  on  the  Uni- 
versity Commission  question  of  the 
gentleman,  Mr  John   Stuart,  who 
had  turned  him  out  of  Newark ;  he 
even  called  him  his  learned  friend. 
Still,  as  the  event  proved,  he  found 
it  as  difficult  to  throw  in  his  lot  for 
good  and   all    with    those  among 
whom  Colonel  Peel,  Mr  Corrie,  and 
many  more  of  the  original  Peelites, 
were  now  numbered,  as  for  good 
and  all  to  turn  from  them.     Thus, 
while   they   contributed    by   their 
votes  to  carry  Lord  John  Russell's 
Papal  Aggression  Bill,    Mr    Glad- 
stone absented  himself  from  every 
division.     He   would  neither  sup- 
port   nor  oppose    the   Ministerial 
policy ;   and,  as    if  to    make  the 
balance  even,  he  played  the  same 
not  very  dignified  game  in  reference 
to  Mr  Disraeli's  renewed  demand 
for  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  agri- 
cultural distress.     Having  spoken 
and  voted   for  the  Committee  in 
1850,    in    1851    he   took   no   part 
either  in  the  debate  or  in  the  divi- 
sion ;  in  fact,  he  was  at  that  time 
absent  from  England. 

(To  be  continued. 


Printed  ly  William  Elachvood  &  Sonj,  Edinburgh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH     MAGAZINE, 


Xo.  DXCIII. 


MARCH  1865. 


VOL.  XCVIL 


THE    Rir.HT    HONOURABLE    WILLIAM    GLADSTONE,    M.P. 


WE  must  decline,  in  this  sketch, 
to  accompany  Mr  Gladstone  in  his 
Continental  tour,  as  well  as  to  criti- 
cise the  literary  effort  in  which  it 
resulted.  His  letters  to  Lord  Aber- 
deen made  some  frightful  disclo- 
sures of  the  state  of  things  in  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  and 
went  a  great  way  to  stimulate,  if 
they  did  not  immediately  provoke, 
the  revolution  in  Italy,  of  which 
Europe  is  now  reaping  the  fruits. 
To  Mr  Gladstone  and  his  friends, 
especially  his  new  friends  of  the 
Manchester  School,  this  may  be 
a  source  of  much  self-satisfaction. 
More  sober-minded  politicians  are 
not,  we  suspect,  inclined  to  look  at 
the  matter  through  the  same  medi- 
um. But  the  point  which  immedi- 
ately concerns  us  is  this,  that  during 
Mr  Gladstone's  absence  Lord  John 
Russell's  Government  broke  down, 
and  that  Lord  Derby  was  called 
xipon  by  the  Queen  to  form  an  Ad- 
ministration. Now  it  stands  upon 
record  that,  in  1846,  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  committed  to  Lord 
Derby  the  task  of  reuniting  the 
great  Conservative  party;  and  Lord 
Derby,  mindful  of  that  charge,  and 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIII. 


encouraged  to  take  the  step  by  a 
retrospect  of  Mr  Gladstone's  recent 
votes  and  speeches,  determined  to 
make  advances  to  the  Peelites 
through  him,  whom  he  regarded 
as  the  ablest  member  of  the  little 
clique.  Lord  Derby's  estimate  of 
Mr  Gladstone's  ability  was  doubt- 
less correct,  but  he  had  not  so  accu- 
rately gauged  Mr  Gladstone's  firm- 
ness of  purpose.  The  real  leader 
of  the  clique  was  Sir  James 
Graham  ;  and  Mr  Gladstone,  yield- 
ing, as  the  weaker  mind  yields  to 
the  stronger,  consented,  though  not 
without  a  struggle,  "  to  close  their 
ranks  against  the  Conservatives." 
He  rejected  Lord  Derby's  proposal 
on  the  ground  that,  in  expressing 
a  determination  to  do  something 
for  the  relief  of  agricultural  distress, 
Lord  Derby  threatened,  in  point  of 
fact,  to  reverse  the  commercial  pol- 
icy of  the  last  four  years.  Nothing 
could  be  more  unfair  than  this. 
Lord  Derby  never  uttered  any 
threat  of  the  kind.  He  preferred, 
as  all  reasonable  men  prefer,  a  judi- 
cious admixture  of  indirect  with 
direct  taxation  to  direct  taxation 
alone  ;  and  expressed  an  opinion 
T 


262  The  Right  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


that  corn  exported  from  abroad  is 
just  as  legitimate  an  object  of  taxa- 
tion as  sugar,  tea,  spices,  oranges, 
•eggs,  or  any  other  natural  produc- 
tion. But  neither  now  nor  at  any 
other  time  was  he  so  imprudent  as 
to  speak  about  returning  to  a  policy 
of  protection.  In  this  sense,  how- 
ever, Mr  Gladstone  chose  to  accept 
Lord  Derby's  statements ;  and  so 
understanding,  he  refused  to  co- 
operate with  him  in  forming  a  Con- 
servative Administration. 

We  thought  it  unfortunate  at  the 
moment,  and  we  think  so  still,  that 
Lord  Derby  should  have  put  so 
much  store  upon  the  co-operation 
of  the  Peelites  at  that  time.  Had 
he  accepted  the  responsibility  of 
office  at  once,  and  formed  his  Gov- 
ernment as  in  the  end  he  was  con- 
strained to  form  it,  the  chances  are 
that  Mr  Gladstone  would  have  ren- 
dered him  an  independent  support ; 
and  by-and-by,  if  the  Administra- 
tion stood,  ways  and  means  might 
have  been  found  to  bring  him  into 
it,  assuming  that  the  arrangement 
was  judged  advisable.  But  finding 
that  he  was  actually  waited  for, 
that  no  steps  could  be  taken  till  he 
had  returned  home,  and  that  on  his 
declining  to  accept  office  the  leader 
of  the  Conservative  party  threw  up 
Ids  cards,  Mr  Gladstone  not  un- 
naturally arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  of  one  great  party  in  the 
House,  at  all  events,  he  was  the 
master,  and  that  it  rested  mainly 
with  himself  to  establish  a  like 
ascendancy  over  the  other. 

Lord  Derby  relinquishing  the 
attempt  to  form  an  Administration, 
the  Queen,  advised  by  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  commanded  her  Min- 
isters to  resume  office.  They  did 
so,  and  got  through  the  remainder 
of  the  session  as  well  as  they  could. 
They  were  alternately  opposed  and 
assisted  by  Mr  Gladstone  as  the 
humour  seemed  to  take  him.  He 
aided  them,  for  example,  in  de- 
feating Mr  Disraeli's  renewed  de- 
mand to  give  relief  to  the  suffering 
agriculturists  ;  he  resisted  their 
proposal  to  continue  the  income- 


tax  for  three  years,  giving  his  vote 
for  one  year  only.  Again,  when 
they  made  a  move  to  repeal  the 
window -tax,  and  Mr  Disraeli  op- 
posed the  arrangement  as  prema- 
ture, Mr  Gladstone  spoke  in  favour 
of  the  amendment,  and  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  occasion  to  censure 
severely,  though  not  more  severely 
than  they  deserved,  the  whole  finan- 
cial arrangements  of  the  Cabinet. 
Thus  blowing  alternately  hot  and 
cold,  he  kept,  as  he  believed,  both 
parties  on  the  tenter-hooks,  and 
more  and  more  established  his  own 
right  to  be  esteemed  the  statesman, 
without  whom  no  stable  Govern- 
ment could  be  formed. 

The  recess  came,  and  with  it  the 
astounding  intelligence  that  Lord 
Palmerston  had  been  summarily 
dismissed  from  office.  A  more 
offensive  letter  than  that  which 
conveyed  to  the  Foreign  Secretary 
his  conge  has  seldom  been  written. 
It  carried  within  it  the  seeds  of  a 
severe  and  speedy  retribution. 

Parliament  met  again  in  Febru- 
ary 1852.  Lord  Palmerston  moved 
an  amendment  to  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell's Militia  Bill.  The  amendment 
was  carried  by  a  majority  of  11,  and 
the  Ministers  resigned.  There  was 
no  shilly-shallying  now.  Though 
Mr  Gladstone  had  voted  with  the 
majority,  it  was  not  considered  ex- 
pedient to  apply  again  for  his  co- 
operation. Lord  Palmerston,  in- 
deed, was  sounded,  but  made  no 
response ;  and  others,  who  ought 
to  have  acted  differently,  holding 
back,  Lord  Derby  found  himself 
thrown,  so  to  speak,  on  his  own 
resources.  He  made  up  an  Admin- 
istration out  of  men,  not  one  of 
whom,  in  the  House  of  Commons 
at  least,  had  ever  before  been  spo- 
ken of  as  a  possible  candidate  for 
a  seat  in  any  Cabinet.  Has  the 
country  suffered  from  this  bold  ex- 
periment 1  Quite  otherwise.  The 
new  men  did  their  work  with  an 
amount  of  diligence  and  skill,  which 
surprised  their  friends  almost  as 
much  as  it  disappointed  their  ene- 
mies; and  the  public  has  learned 


1865.]  Thf  Iti'jltt  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.l\—l>art  II. 


2(53 


at  last  to  believe  that  statesmen 
may  be  found,  on  either  side  of  the 
House,  rejoicing  in  other  names 
than  Temple,  Russell,  Grenville, 
Peel,  Goulbum,  or  Herries. 

Lord  Derby's  first  Administration 
lasted  but  a  few  months.  It  got 
nothing  like  fair-play  from  an  Op- 
position made  up,  indeed,  of  the 
most  discordant  elements,  but 
united  for  one  purpose — vi/.,  to 
break  down  the  Government.  Tid- 
ing through  the  remainder  of  the 
session,  it  sustained  with  courage 
some  sharp  conflicts,  and  then  dis- 
solved. The  part  played  by  Mr 
Gladstone  in  these  preliminary 
skirmishes,  though  not  very  promi- 
nent, was  always  characteristic. 
He  resisted  Mr  Cowan's  motion 
for  the  repeal  of  the  excise  duty  on 
paper,  and  lost  his  temper  while 
discussing  the  affairs  of  the  Church 
in  the  colonies.  It  is  not  our  pro- 
vince to  say  whether  Mr  Gladstone 
was  right  or  wrong  in  desiring  to 
confer  by  Act  of  Parliament  self- 
government  on  each  of  the  colonial 
Churches.  The  time  must  doubt- 
less come  when  most  of  them  will 
assert  that  right  for  themselves. 
But  looking  at  the  question  from  a 
Churchman's  point  of  view,  as  it 
would  obviously  be  desirable,  if  it 
were  possible,  "  to  maintain  for 
ever  the  unity  of  the  faith  in  the 
bond  of  peace,"  so  there  seems  to 
be  no  need  for  precipitating  a  crisis 
which  national  rivalries,  as  soon  as 
colonies  grow  into  separate  nations, 
are  sure  to  bring  on.  Such  was  the 
view  taken  of  this  important  sub- 
ject by  Sir  John  Pakington,  the 
Colonial  Secretary.  Mr  Gladstone 
saw  things  in  a  different  light,  be- 
came irritated  by  opposition,  and 
spoke  of  being  grossly  misrepre- 
sented. So  offensive,  indeed,  were 
both  his  language  and  manner,  that 
his  best  friends  took  it  to  heart, 
and  he  was  obliged,  on  their  re- 
monstrance, to  apologise. 

The  Conservatives  went  to  the 
country,  as  they  had  pledged  them- 
selves to  do,  on  the  question,  whe- 
ther Sir  Robert  Peel's  commercial 


policy  was  to  be  maintained  in  its  in- 
tegrity, or  modified  so  far  as  to  give 
some  relief  to  the  agricultural  inte- 
rests. The  verdict  of  the  hustings 
went  against  them,  and  they  submit- 
ted to  it.  They  acted  wisely  as  well 
as  honourably  in  so  doing,  but  they 
failed  thereby  to  win  a  fair  hearing 
from  the  Opposition.  A  clause  in 
the  Queen's  Speech,  while  it  recog- 
nised the  general  prosperity  of  the 
country,  recommended  an  inquiry 
into  the  condition  of  certain  ex- 
ceptional industries  which  had  suf- 
fered, or  were  supposed  to  have 
suffered,  from  recent  legislation. 
That  clause  being  immediately  seized 
upon,  a  resolution  was  proposed  by 
Mr  Villiers  involving  a  direct  vote 
of  want  of  confidence  in  the  Gov- 
ernment. "We  cannot  doubt  that 
the  order  of  the  debate  which  fol- 
lowed still  keeps  its  place  in  the 
recollection  of  our  readers.  Mr 
Disraeli  moved  one  amendment, 
Lord  Palmerston  moved  another. 
There  was  nothing  hostile  in  Lord 
Palmerston's amendment, though  Sir 
James  Graham,  with  his  usual  bad 
taste,  endeavoured  to  give  to  it  a 
tone  of  bitter  hostility.  Mr  Glad- 
stone, who  on  former  occasions 
had  supported  the  measures  now  re- 
commended by  Mr  Disraeli,  spoke 
against  them,  and  received  from 
Mr  Cobden  the  castigation  which 
such  glaring  inconsistency  deserved. 
The  results  were,  that  Mr  Glad- 
stone again  lost  his  temper,  and 
the  Government  got  rid  of  the  vote 
of  want  of  confidence  by  adopt- 
ing Lord  Palmerston's  motion.  But 
the  reprieve,  for  such  in  fact  it  was, 
soon  came  to  an  end.  The  Budget, 
not  perhaps  in  all  respects  perfect, 
yet  containing  some  excellent  and 
many  improvable  points,  was  fierce- 
ly assailed.  The  Radicals,  support- 
ed by  the  "Whigs,  fell  upon  the 
proposed  house-tax.  Sir  James 
Graham  stood  up  for  passing  tolls 
and  Trinity  House  dues.  Mr  Sidney 
Herbert  objected  to  the  modifica- 
tion of  the  income-tax,  and  Mr 
Gladstone  was  violent  and  sarcas- 
tic upon  the  estimated  surplus  of 


264  The  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


barely  £400,000.  After  a  debate 
extending  by  adjournment  over 
many  days,  the  House  divided, 
and  Ministers,  being  left  in  a  mi- 
nority of  nineteen,  immediately  re- 
signed. 

The  two  great  historical  parties, 
the  Whigs  and  the  Tories,  had 
thus  been  separately  tried,  and  both 
failed.  It  was  clear  that  for  the 
present  at  least  neither  of  them 
could  stand  alone;  and  the  Radicals 
being  as  yet  of  comparatively  small 
account,  except  as  allies,  the  Peelites 
conceived  that  their  turn  was  come. 
They  were  perfectly  right ;  the 
game  was  really  in  their  hands. 
Had  they  opened  a  negotiation  with 
the  Tories,  stating  plainly  how  far 
they  were  prepared  to  go,  not  in 
reversing  recent  legislation,  but  in 
adjusting  the  inequalities  produced 
by  it,  there  is  nothing  to  show  that, 
in  spite  of  recent  skirmishes,  they 
might  not  have  found  themselves 
once  more  among  the  trusted  leaders 
of  their  own  proper  party.  A  course 
of  action  so  magnanimous  did  not, 
however,  suit  them.  They  preferred 
coalescing  with  the  Whigs,  confident, 
in  their  self-conceit,  that  Whiggery 
under  their  manipulation  would 
change  its  character,  and  counting 
on  that  honourable  forbearance  from 
the  Tories  in  opposition  which  they, 
when  in  opposition,  had  not  ren- 
dered to  the  Tories.  Theirs  was 
the  conduct  of  men  whom  personal 
feeling,  not  honest  love  of  country, 
moves,  and  they  reaped  their  re- 
ward. The  Coalition  Ministry,  with 
Lord  Aberdeen  at  its  head,  carried 
within  itself  the  seeds  of  early  dis- 
solution. It  was  a  Government  of 
all  the  talents  over  again,  in  which 
scarcely  two  men  could  be  said  to 
entertain  the  same  opinions  on  any 
question  either  of  foreign  or  do- 
mestic policy. 

In  this  heterogeneous  body  Mr 
Gladstone  became  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer.  It  was  the  post  at 
which,  above  all  others,  his  ambi- 
tion then  aimed ;  and  in  April  1853 
he  inaugurated  his  accession  to 
office  by  a  financial  statement  which 


he  has  since  corrected  and  publish- 
ed. It  is  as  curious  a  document  in 
many  ways  as  statesman  ever  com- 
piled. He  had  been  severe  on  Mr 
Disraeli  in  the  previous  December 
for  announcing  a  probable  sur- 
plus of  only  £400,000.  His  own 
budget,  grandiloquence  and  mysti- 
fication set  aside,  promised  a  sur- 
plus of  only  £493,000.  Mr  Disraeli, 
as  a  measure  of  partial  relief  to  the 
colonial  interests,  had  proposed 
that  sugar -growers  should  be  al- 
lowed to  refine  their  own  produce 
in  bond  for  the  home  market ;  Mr 
Gladstone  adopted  the  idea  against 
which  he  and  his  friends  had  pro- 
tested, without  making  the  slight- 
est acknowledgment  of  the  source 
whence  it  came.  Mr  Disraeli  had 
grappled  with  the  question  of  the 
income-tax,  to  which  he  was  desir- 
ous of  giving  the  character  of  a 
property-tax,  and  the  modified  ope- 
ration of  which  he  would  have 
extended  to  incomes  of  £100,  and 
even  of  £50  a-year.  Mr  Gladstone 
scouted  the  idea  of  distinguishing 
between  certain  and  uncertain  in- 
comes, held  it  to  be  impolitic  and 
unjust  to  depart  from  the  precedent 
established  by  Mr  Pitt  during  the 
height  of  the  great  French  war; 
yet  he  adopted  his  rival's  principle 
by  extending  the  tax  to  incomes  of 
£100  a-year,  and  fixing  for  these  a 
reduced  scale  of  payment.  At  the 
same  time  he  extended  the  tax 
to  Ireland,  which  had  heretofore 
been  exempt  from  it,  as  a  set-off 
against  the  cancelling  of  a  debt  of 
£4,500,000,  to  recover  which,  or 
even  the  interest  due  upon  it,  had 
long  been  felt  to  be  an  impossibility. 
The  noticeable  point  in  Mr  Glad- 
stone's scheme  was,  however,  the 
assurance  which  he  gave  that  the 
income-tax  should  certainly  expire 
in  1860, — not  suddenly,  but  by  a 
process  of  gradual  exhaustion,  sink- 
ing at  intervals  from  7d.  to  5d.  in 
the  pound,  and  then  dying  out. 
This  done,  he  proceeded  to  throw 
fresh  burdens  on  the  land,  by  equal- 
ising the  legacy-duties  in  the  cases 
of  real  and  personal  property.  He 


1865.]          The  Hu/ht  Hun.  William  Gladstone,  .\f.P.—Part  //. 


fissured  the  House  that  such  a 
change  would  add  immediately 
.l'f>00,0(>0  to  the  public  revenue, 
and  that  in  1856-57  the  clear  gain 
would  be  at  least  £2,000,000. 
Then  came  an  additional  duty  of 
Is.  on  Scotch  and  of  8d.  on  Irish 
spirits,  and  such  a  change  in  the 
tax  upon  the  licences  of  brewers, 
maltsters,  ttc.,  "  as  should  raise 
them  at  the  upper  end  of  the  scale 
to  a  rate  bearing  some  proportion 
to  the  value  of  the  premises  or  the 
amount  of  business." 

The  increased  revenue  arising 
from  these  various  sources  he  pro- 
posed to  apply  to  the  following 
purposes:  —  The  abolition  of  the 
duties  on  soap,  the  reduction 
of  the  stamp  duties,  and  of  the 
duties  on  advertisements,  attorneys' 
licences  and  articles  of  clerkship, 
and  hackney  carriages.  Receipt 
stamps  were  henceforth  to  cost  a 
penny,  and  no  more ;  and  the 
'Times'  newspaper  was  to  be  pro- 
pitiated by  abolishing  the  tax  on 
supplements.  At  the  same  time 
the  assessed  taxes  were  to  be  re- 
modelled, and  Mr  Disraeli's  pro- 
posal to  lower  the  duty  on  tea 
adopted.  With  wine,  on  the  con- 
trary, which  had  been  pressed  upon 
his  notice,  he  refused  to  meddle  ; 
but  he  reduced  the  duties  on  foreign 
apples,  oranges,  lemons,  butter, 
eggs,  cheese,  itc.,  at  rates  varying 
from  one-fourth  to  one-half,  and 
even  more.  The  grand  result  was 
such  an  exposition  of  financial  policy 
as  took  captive  the  imaginations 
of  all  who  listened  to  it; — of  all, 
that  is  to  say,  who  failed  to  per- 
ceive that  whatever  was  really  sound 
in  it  he  had  borrowed  without  ac- 
knowledgment from  his  predeces- 
sor in  office,  and  that  the  rest  was 
either  a  clever  shuffling  of  the  cards, 
so  as  to  relieve  commerce  at  the 
expense  of  agriculture,  or  a  clap- 
trap promise  of  benefits  to  come, 
which  have  certainly  not  arrived, 
though  we  are  now  standing  at  a 
distance  of  not  less  than  fourteen 
years  from  the  day  when  their  com- 
ing was  promised. 


It  is  not  our  purpose  to  follow 
the  fortunes  of  Lord  Aberdeen's 
Administration.  For  the  policy  or 
no-policy  which  drifted  the  country 
into  war,  Mr  Gladstone  is  just  as 
responsible  as  the  rest  of  his  col- 
leagues, and  not  one  whit  more  so. 
.But  when  Churchmen  claim  him  as 
peculiarly  their  own,  and  set  up  his 
merits  in  that  respect  as  a  counter- 
poise to  shortcomings  in  others,  we 
are  bound  to  remind  them  that  in 
March  1853  he  spoke  and  voted 
for  the  secularisation  of  the  clergy 
grants  in  Canada  ;  that  in  the  same 
month  he  voted  twice  for  the  ad- 
mission of  Jews  into  Parliament  ; 
that  in  February  1854  he  voted 
against  Government  inquiry  into 
the  management  of  conventual  in- 
stitutions in  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land ;  that  in  March  he  supported 
Mr  Heywood's  very  equivocal  ap- 
plication for  a  copy  of  the  MS. 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  as  it  was 
proposed  to  be  amended  in  1G89  ; 
that  in  the  same  month  he  spoke 
and  voted  in  favour  of  Lord  John 
lliisscH's  Oxford  University  Jiill, 
which,  indeed,  he  had  previously 
assisted  in  preparing  ;  that  he  re- 
sisted Mr  Walpole's  wise  amend- 
ments, though  happily  they  were 
carried  in  spite  of  him  ;  and  that 
when,  in  May,  Sir  William  Clay 
proposed  to  legislate  for  the  uncon- 
ditional abolition  of  church-rates, 
Mr  Gladstone  gave  his  vote  for  leave 
to  bring  in  the  bill.  It  thus  ap- 
pears that  within  the  short  space  of 
fifteen  months  he  manifested  his 
zeal  as  a  Churchman  by  giving,  on 
seven  separate  occasions,  all  the 
weight  of  his  influence  as  a  parlia- 
mentary orator  and  a  Minister  of 
the  Crown  to  measures,  every  one 
of  which  was  hostile  to  the  Church's 
best  interests. 

If  it  were  worth  while  to  pursue 
this  course  of  minute  analysis  fur- 
ther, we  might  remind  our  readers 
that  in  May  1854  Lord  John  Russell 
brought  in  a  bill  for  dispensing  with 
the  oath  of  abjuration,  and  that  Mr 
Gladstone  supported  him.  One 
simple  oath  of  allegiance  was  to 


206  T/ie  Kitjht  Ho».  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


supplant  all  other  oaths,  such  as 
Churchmen,  Dissenters,  Romanists, 
and  Jews,  might  equally  take  with 
a  safe  conscience ;  and  the  intimate 
connection  heretofore  subsisting  be- 
tween Church  and  State,  which  the 
very  forms  of  Parliament  had  recog- 
nised, was,  so  far  as  Parliament  is 
concerned,  to  be  disavowed,  or  os- 
tentatiously ignored.  The  bill  did 
not  pass,  because  the  vigilance  of  a 
Conservative  Opposition  saw  where 
the  mischief  lay  and  turned  it  aside 
— just  as  in  the  June  following  the 
same  vigilance  averted  from  Oxford 
the  discredit,  not  merely  of  confer- 
ring degrees  upon  persons  hostile  to 
the  doctrine  and  discipline  of  the 
Established  Church,  but  of  admit- 
ting them  to  a  share  in  the  general 
management  of  the  affairs  of  the 
University,  for  which  arrangements 
Mr  Gladstone  voted.  Now  it  really 
appears  to  us  that  if  a  gentleman  so 
eccentric  in  his  habits  deserves  to 
be  spoken  of  as  Mr  Keble  and  other 
writers  in  the  '  Guardian '  speak  of 
Mr  Gladstone,  Churchmanship  must 
bear  a  closer  affinity  to  Jesuitism 
than  we  have  heretofore  supposed 
it  to  do,  and  that  a  Churchman  is 
the  very  last  person  whom  it  would 
become  the  constituency  of  either 
of  our  great  Universities  to  make 
choice  of  as  their  representative  in 
Parliament. 

For  some  time  after  this  there 
occurred  little  in  Mr  Gladstone's 
career  of  which,  for  the  purposes  of 
the  present  sketch,  it  is  necessary 
to  take  notice.  That  terrible  mis- 
management of  the  Crimean  war, 
which  filled  the  heart  of  England 
with  indignation  and  sorrow,  is  no 
more  to  be  attributed  to  him  than 
to  Lord  Palmerston,  Lord  John 
Kussell,  or  the  late  Lord  Aberdeen. 
His  boast  that  the  income  of  each 
year  should  meet  the  expenditure, 
came  indeed  to  nothing ;  and  the 
loans  which  he  contracted  were  not, 
it  is  alleged,  raised  on  the  most  ad- 
vantageous terms.  But  the  blame 
of  first  drifting  into  hostilities,  and 
then  conducting  them  as  we  trust 
England  will  never  conduct  a  war 


again,  must  be  shared  by  the  whole 
Cabinet  collectively,  as  well  as  by 
the  individuals  composing  it.  In 
December  1854  it  became  evident, 
however,  that  one  of  these  indivi- 
duals, Lord  John  Russell,  was  dis- 
satisfied with  his  colleagues  and 
their  policy.  He  suddenly  with- 
drew from  the  Cabinet,  and  not 
long  afterwards  Mr  lloebuck  de- 
manded a  parliamentary  inquiry, 
which  the  Ministers  resisted,  but 
in  vain.  A  large  majority  of  the 
House  of  Commons  voted  with  Mr 
Roebuck,  whereupon  the  Cabinet 
resigned  in  a  body.  Then  followed 
negotiations,  into  the  details  of 
which  it  would  be  painful  for  us 
to  enter  were  the  occasion  such  as 
to  require  this  self-sacrifice,  which, 
happily,  it  is  not.  But  the  general 
results  are  soon  stated.  Once  more 
Lord  Derby  committed  the  mistake 
of  trying  to  conciliate  the  Peelites. 
Once  more  the  attempt  failed,  and 
under  circumstances  which  have 
never  been  satisfactorily  explained. 
Lord  Palmerston  placed  himself  at 
the  head  of  a  patched-up  Adminis- 
tration. Mr  Gladstone,  Mr  Sidney 
Herbert,  and  Sir  James  Graham  all 
consented  to  hold  office  under  him, 
and  all  resigned  again  when  they 
discovered,  as  they  very  soon  did, 
that  he  was  playing  the  same  double 
game  with  them  which  he  had  play- 
ed with  Lord  Derby.  It  will  not 
soon  be  forgotten  how  unscrupulous 
these  three  gentlemen  were  in  de- 
nouncing, both  publicly  and  pri- 
vately, the  duplicity  of  their  late 
colleague.  That  any  one  of  them, 
and  most  of  all  Mr  Gladstone,  with 
that  chivalrous  sense  of  honour  for 
which  his  friends  give  him  credit, 
could  have  stooped  so  low  as  to 
take  office  again  under  the  "politi- 
cal mountebank,"  is  a  problem  which 
they  and  not  we  must  solve. 

Between  January  1855  and  Feb- 
ruary 1857  Mr  Gladstone  took  little 
or  no  part  in  the  business  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  Out  of  office, 
his  spirit  seemed  to  prey  upon 
itself;  indeed,  he  hardly  spoke  or 
voted  at  all,  except  once,  when  in 


1865.]          The  /tight  If  on.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  II.  2G7 


1S5G  he  opposed  the  County  Courts 
Hill,  not  because  the  measure  was 
objectionable  in  itself,  but  because 
Lord  Palmerston's  (Jovernnient  pro- 
posed it.  In  February  1857,  how- 
ever, the  fire  kindled,  "and  he  spake 
with  his  tongue."  The  late  Sir 
George  Lewis  was  then  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer ;  and,  in  a  speech 
distinguished  not  less  for  its  mo- 
desty than  for  its  incoherence,  he 
showed  that  the  Aberdeen  policy 
had  plunged  the  country  into  debts 
and  difficulties,  and  that  in  order  to 
sustain  public  credit  it  was  neces- 
sary to  continue  for  a  while  some 
of  the  taxes  which  had  been  im- 
posed during  the  war.  The  income- 
tax,  for  example,  which  then  stood 
at  !)d.  in  the  pound,  he  proposed  to 
reduce  only  to  7d.,  lowering  at  the 
same  time,  in  something  like  the 
same  proportion,  the  war  duties  on 
tea  and  sugar.  It  is  impossible  to 
say  that  a  budget  so  prepared  and 
so  explained  was  either  very  intel- 
ligible or  very  satisfactory ;  and 
Mr  Disraeli,  upon  grounds  which, 
looking  to  the  relative  positions  of 
parties  in  the  House,  were  perfectly 
legitimate,  criticised  it  severely. 
But  Mr  Disraeli's  criticisms  were 
mild  in  comparison  with  the  on- 
slaught made  by  Mr  Gladstone  on 
the  budget  and  its  author.  "  Every- 
thing," he  observed,  "for which  we 
have  been  labouring  during  the  last 
fifteen  years  is — I  do  not  say  de- 
stroyed, because  the  destruction  of 
the  results  of  fifteen  years'  labour 
is  not  the  work  of  a  single  day — 
but  everything  in  regard  to  finance 
for  which  we  have  been  labouring 
for  the  last  fifteen  years  is  in 
principle  condemned,  alike  by  the 
speech  as  by  the  plans  of  the  right 
honourable  gentleman,  the  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer."  Now, 
this  was  not  only  most  uncandid 
on  the  part  of  one  who  had  created 
the  confusion  with  which  the  budget 
undertook  to  deal,  but  the  allega- 
tions brought  forward  to  justify  the 
proceeding  were  substantially  un- 
true. If  Sir  George  Lewis  violated 
the  compact  of  1853  by  proposing 


in  1857  to  keep  the  income-tax  at  7d. 

in  the  pound,  what  had  M  r  Gladstone 
done,  when,  a  year  or  two  previous- 
ly, he  had  raised  it  to  lod.  f  And  in 
regard  to  the  tea  and  sugar  duties, 
though  the  proposed  reductions 
stopped  short  of  an  immediate  re- 
turn to  the  scale  of  peaceable  times, 
they  were  a  decided  improvement 
upon  the  state  of  things  which  Mr 
Gladstone  had  established.  Hut 
considerations  of  this  sort  weigh 
little  with  angry  men,  and  Mr  Glad- 
stone was  i- fry  angry.  He  struck 
out  right  and  left,  delivering  him- 
self with  great  eloquence,  great 
cleverness,  great  ingenuity,  but  ex- 
hibiting not  one  spark  of  generosity 
towards  either  friend  or  foe.  Gen- 
tlemen who  had  been  his  colleagues 
formerly,  and  were  soon  to  become 
his  colleagues  again,  answered  him 
in  a  tone  as  sharp  as  his  own  ;  and 
after  as  pretty  a  wrangle  as  need  be, 
a  division  took  place  which  gave 
to  Ministers  a  majority  of  twenty- 
five. 

If  Mr  Gladstone  seemed  to  be 
angry  during  the  progress  of  the 
debate,  he  became  furious  when  the 
results  of  the  division  became 
known.  He  gave  immediate  notice 
of  a  motion  to  reduce  at  once  the 
duty  upon  tea.  Hut  before  the  day 
arrived  for  debating  this  point,  the 
question  of  the  Arrow  and  of  the 
Chinese  war  came  on,  and  with  all 
the  eagerness  of  a  wounded  spirit 
bent  upon  mischief  he  threw  him- 
self into  that.  He  had  a  better 
excuse  for  a  display  of  temper  on 
this  than  on  many  other  occasions. 
Sir  George  Grey,  speaking  in  de- 
fence of  the  Ministerial  policy, 
charged  Mr  Gladstone  with  placing 
Sir  John  Bowring  in  the  position 
which  he  then  held  as  Governor 
of  Hong-Kong.  The  insult  to  his 
understanding  was  greater  than 
Mr  Gladstone  could  endure,  and, 
casting  back  the  imputation  on  the 
heads  of  those  to  whom  it  applied, 
he  showed  that  Sir  John  Bowring' s 
appointment  was  the  work  of  Lord 
Palmerston  himself.  This  done,  he 
went  into  the  same  lobby  with  Mr 


268  The  Right  Hon.   William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  II.       [March, 


Cobden  and  Mr  Disraeli,  helping 
thereby  to  place  the  Government 
in  a  minority  of  sixteen.  Nor  did 
this  content  him.  The  policy  of 
forbearance  which  the  leader  of  the 
Opposition  recommended  was  not 
to  his  mind.  He  insisted  upon  re- 
ceiving from  the  head  of  the  Gov- 
ernment an  immediate  explanation 
of  the  course  which  it  was  intended 
to  pursue  ;  and  when  Lord  Palmer- 
ston  replied  that  the  question  at 
issue  between  him  and  the  House 
was  one  which  the  country  ought 
to  decide,  asking  leave,  at  the  same 
time,  to  proceed  with  the  more 
pressing  business  of  the  session,  Mr 
Gladstone  spoke  out.  "  Sir,"  said 
he,  "  most  anxious  as  I  am,  in  com- 
mon with  the  right  honourable 
gentleman  the  member  for  Buck- 
inghamshire, to  afford  every  just 
and  reasonable  facility  for  putting 
forward  public  business,  I  frankly 
own  that  I  am  not  prepared  to  abro- 
gate the  essential  duties  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  The  House 
of  Commons  has  been  wronged. 
Its  privileges  have  already  been 
disparaged  by  the  Government. 
The  destinies  of  this  great  empire 
are  at  the  disposal  of  men  whom 
no  considerations  of  justice  or  sound 
policy  restrain.  .  .  .  What  I  wish 
to  state  is  this,  that  while  I  shall 
listen  respectfully  to  the  statement 
which  my  noble  friend  has  not 
made,  but  which  perhaps  he  will 
presently  make,  I  hope  it  will  be 
understood  that  there  is  no  pledge 
or  understanding  whatever  which 
in  any  way  fetters  the  free  action 
and  judgment  of  this  House,  or  im- 
plies that  we  are  to  play  a  minis- 
terial part  in  regard  to  the  taxation 
of  the  country,  every  essential 
office  remaining  in  the  hands  of 
the  executive  advisers  of  the 
Crown." 

Lord  Palmerston  had  resolved 
upon  a  dissolution,  and  it  took 
place  immediately.  To  an  extent  far 
exceeding  anticipation,  the  elections 
went  in  his  favour.  A  strange  delu- 
sion seems  to  have  taken  possession 
of  the  minds  of  the  constituencies, 


that  in  supporting  Lord  Palmerston 
they  were  vindicating  the  honour  of 
the  country.  Mr  Gladstone  resumed 
his  seat  in  the  new  House  of  Com- 
mons, a  disappointed  and  indignant 
man.  Public  business  seemed  to 
have  for  him  no  further  interest. 
He  neither  supported  nor  opposed 
Lord  Palmerston' s  Parliamentary 
Oaths  Bill,  though  it  agreed — in  all 
essentials  at  least — with  the  one 
which  he  had  himself  proposed. 
But  when,  later  in  the  session,  the 
policy  of  the  Persian  war  came  to 
be  discussed,  the  wrath  which  for 
months  had  been  fermenting  with- 
in him  burst  forth.  He  attacked 
the  Government  fiercely,  and  was 
fiercely  and  jeeringly  replied  to  by 
the  Prime  Minister.  We  find  no 
more  complimentary  figures  of  rhe- 
toric passing  now  between  the  two 
men.  They  had  ceased  to  be  to 
each  other  "  my  noble  and  my 
right  honourable  friend."  It  was 
the  "  noble  Lord  at  the  head  of  the 
Administration"  who  had  plunged 
the  country  in  an  unjust  war  •  and 
it  was  the  "  right  honourable  mem- 
ber for  the  University  of  Oxford 
whose  temper  obscured  his  judg- 
ment." Indeed,  so  entirely  were 
they  estranged,  that  neither  the 
verdict  of  the  constituencies,  just 
delivered,  nor  the  example  of  for- 
bearance set  him  by  a  Tory  Oppo- 
sition, could  prevent  Mr  Gladstone 
from  following  the  lead  of  Mr  Roe- 
buck and  the  O'Donoghue.  Finally, 
when  the  House  went  into  com- 
mittee of  supply,  he  spoke  again 
upon  the  subject  of  the  war,  insist- 
ing that,  being  unjust  in  itself,  it 
ought  to  come  to  an  immediate 
close.  That  Mr  Gladstone  had 
arrived  at  sound  conclusions  re- 
specting both  the  Persian  and 
Chinese  wars,  no  sane  man  now  pre- 
tends to  doubt.  But  what  sane 
men  find  it  difficult  to  account  for 
is  this,  that  within  a  few  months 
from  the  date  of  this  discussion, 
Mr  Gladstone  had  begun  again  to 
coquette  with  the  object  of  his 
vituperations,  and  that  in  a  year 
and  a  half,  or  thereabouts,  he  was 


18C5.]          The  lliyht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.l\—Part  II. 


again  a  leading  member  of   Lord 
Palmerston's  Administration. 

Tlie  bitter  estrangement  between 
Mr  Gladstone  and  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  of  which  we  have  just  spoken, 
continued  for  some  time.  It  was 
aggravated  by  that  extraordinary 
change  of  manner,  on  the  Premier's 
part,  which  astonished,  as  much  as 
it  offended,  members  on  botli  sides 
of  the  House.  Lord  Palmerston 
was  no  longer  what  he  used  to  be, 
the  jaunty  and  adroit  cajoler  of  the 
great  Council  of  the  nation.  The 
importance  attached  to  his  name  in 
the  late  election  seemed  to  have 
turned  his  head,  and,  believing  him- 
self to  be  master  of  the  situation, 
he  began  to  treat  the  House  of 
Commons  dc  haul  en  las.  Mr  Glad- 
stone, on  the  other  hand,  out  of 
humour  with  himself  and  every- 
body else,  seldom  rose  to  speak — 
never,  indeed,  except  when  pro- 
voked to  do  so  by  some  impertin- 
ence on  the  part  of  the  Prime 
Minister.  But  this  state  of  things 
came  to  an  end  at  last.  In  February 
Ib58  Lord  Palmerston  asked  leave 
to  bring  in  his  famous  "  Conspiracy 
to  Murder1'  Bill.  The  leave  was 
not  refused,  and  the  bill  was  read 
a  first  time ;  but  at  the  second 
reading  Mr  Milner  Gibson  moved 
an  amendment,  which  censured  more 
the  haste  of  Government  in  appeal- 
ing to  legislation  than  it  condemned 
the  principle  which  the  bill  before 
the  House  sought  to  establish.  Mi- 
Gladstone,  as  was  to  be  expected, 
spoke  in  favour  of  the  amendment, 
showing  little  mercy  either  to  the 
bill  or  its  author.  "  I  claim,  sir," 
he  said,  "  the  power  of  discussing 
English  law  upon  English  grounds. 
But  how  am  I  to  do  this  when  a 
bill  is  introduced  to  us,  not  with  an 
intelligible  statement  of  the  condi- 
tion of  the  law — not  with  an  ex- 
position of  its  legal,  civil,  and  social 
bearings,  but  proposed  by  the  Prime 
Minister  of  the  Crown,  of  course 
not  himself  a  lawyer,  and  recom- 
mended upon  grounds  and  with  re- 
ference to  conditions  that  are  not 
legal,  that  are  not  social,  that  are 


not  even    English,   but    that    are 
purely  political  /" 

An  adverse  majority  of  nineteen, 
in  a  House  of  Commons  ostenta- 
tiously elected  to  keep  Lord  Pal- 
merston in  power,  drove  him  out  of 
ollice;  and  once  more  Lord  Derby 
was  called  upon  to  form  an  Ad- 
ministration. Once  more  he  made 
advances  to  Mr  Gladstone,  desiring 
on  this  occasion  to  associate  with 
him  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  and 
Earl  Grey,  and  once  more  Mr  Glad- 
stone rejected  the  overture.  No 
charge  of  unfair  dealing  was,  how- 
ever, on  this  occasion  brought 
against  either  party,  and  the  con- 
sequence was  a  more  sustained  for- 
bearance on  Mr  Gladstone's  part 
than  he  had  formerly  exhibited  to- 
wards a  Tory  Government.  For 
example,  he  disapproved  Mr  Card- 
well's  tricky  motion  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Lord  Ellenborough's  de- 
spatch to  India.  He  helped  in- 
deed to  get  the  Opposition  out  of 
the  difficulty  in  which  their  haste 
to  strike  had  entangled  them  ;  but 
if  the  question  had  come  to  a  vote, 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he 
would  have  swelled  the  majority  of 
which  the  Government  was  pretty 
certain.  On  the  other  hand,  while 
restraining  Lord  Palmerston's  eager- 
ness, he  began  again  to  speak  of 
him  as  "  his  noble  friend."  In  this 
he  only  followed  the  impulses  of 
his  nature.  Mr  Gladstone  could 
never,  as  a  private  member  of  Par- 
liament, give  support  to  any  Gov- 
ernment without  coquetting  in 
word  or  deed,  or  both,  with  the 
Opposition.  Hence  he  refused  to 
mix  himself  up  in  the  ungenerous 
uses  to  which  Mr  Disraeli's  address 
to  the  farmers  at  Slough  was 
turned ;  and  when  the  Tory  Re- 
form Bill  came  to  be  discussed,  he 
both  spoke  and  voted  for  the  second 
reading.  At  the  same  time  he  so 
bore  himself  as  to  create  the  im- 
pression that  his  sympathies  were 
all  the  while  with  the  party  out  of 
power.  We  are  not  alluding  now 
particularly  to  his  vote  for  going 
into  committee  on  Sir  John  Tre- 


270  Tlie  Jtir/ht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


lawney's  Church-rate  Abolition  Bill. 
He  was  supported  on  that  occasion 
by  Mr  Disraeli,  and  we  are  very 
willing  to  believe  that,  equally  with 
Mr  Disraeli,  he  had  determined  to 
recast  the  measure  when  he  got  it 
there.  But  what  will  the  clerical 
electors  for  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford say  to  the  line  which  he  took 
on  the  question  of  marriage  with  a 
wife's  sister  I  It  may  or  may  not 
be  consonant  with  the  spirit  of 
Christianity  that  a  man,  when  his 
wife  dies,  shall  marry  her  sister  if 
both  be  willing ;  but  such  marriages 
are  undoubtedly  forbidden  by  the 
canon  law,  and  we  have  yet  to 
learn  that  the  clergy,  or  a  majority 
of  them,  desire  to  see  the  canon 
law  altered  in  this  respect. 

And  here  we  must  stop  for  a 
moment  to  notice  his  acceptance, 
under  Lord  Derby's  Administration, 
of  that  mission  to  Corfu,  the  fruits 
of  which  came  to  maturity  a  year 
or  two  later.  Do  we  blame  him 
for  consenting  to  undertake  a  charge 
of  considerable  delicacy,  not  being 
a  member,  or  even  a  supporter,  of 
Lord  Derby's  Government  ?  Far 
from  it.  He  had  just  published 
his  book  upon  Homer — the  most 
extraordinary  medley,  by  the  by, 
which  has  appeared  in  modern 
times ; — wherein  learning  of  a  high 
order  runs  side  by  side  with  drivels 
which  would  have  better  become  a 
second  Stackhouse,  had  it  been  pos- 
sible for  a  second  Stackhouse  to 
obtain  a  hearing  in  these  days. 
His  mind  was  thus  full  of  Greece 
and  its  ancient  glories ;  and  the  idea 
of  contributing,  be  it  in  ever  so 
small  a  degree,  to  restore  these 
glories,  ran  away  with  him  as  com- 
pletely as  leading  ideas  invariably 
do.  We  cannot  therefore  blame 
him  for  doing  that  which  he  had 
no  power  to  avoid ;  but  this  remark 
we  may  venture  to  make,  that  he 
was  undoubtedly  not  in  his  proper 
place  as  the  employe  of  a  Cabinet 
which  he  refused  to  support;  and 
that  a  temperament  so  impulsive, 
and  a  judgment  so  entirely  under 
the  guidance  of  imagination  or 


fancy,  or  what  you  will,  are  not  for 
the  most  part  found  predominant 
in  men  qualified  to  guide  the 
councils  of  a  great  empire  like 
this.  Let  that  pass,  however,  for 
the  present. 

Beaten  on  their  Heform  Bill  in  a 
House  over  which  they  had  no  con- 
trol, the  Government  determined 
to  dissolve,  and  on  the  19th  of 
April  they  carried  their  determina- 
tion into  effect.  There  occurred, 
however,  in  the  interval  between 
their  defeat  and  the  dissolution,  a 
debate  upon  the  affairs  of  Italy, 
which  deserves  at  least  passing  no- 
tice at  our  hands,  as  throwing  con- 
siderable light  upon  the  state  of 
Mr  Gladstone's  feelings  at  the  mo- 
ment. On  such  an  occasion  he 
could  not  fail  to  speak,  and  he  took 
a  line  of  his  own,  which  agreed 
neither  with  Mr  Disraeli's  views 
nor  with  the  views  of  Lord  Palmer- 
ston.  He  was,  however,  remark- 
ably civil  to  both  statesmen ;  they 
were  equally  "  his  right  honourable 
and  his  noble  friend;"  in  fact,  it 
was  a  new  edition  of  the  '  Beggars' 
O  pera/  Mr  Gladstone  taking  the  part 
of  Macheath,  and  singing — 

"  How  happy  could  I  bo  with  either, 
Wore  t'other  dear  charmer  away  !  " 

The  new  Parliament  met,  and 
the  leaders  of  a  mixed  Opposition 
lost  no  time  in  bringing  on  such  a 
trial  of  strength  as  should  be  de- 
cisive of  the  fate  of  the  Administra- 
tion. An  amendment  on  the  Ad- 
dress was  moved,  and  at  the  close 
of  a  debate  which  extended  over 
many  days,  Ministers  were  defeated 
by  a  majority  of  thirteen.  In  that 
debate  Mr  Gladstone  took  no  part. 
He  even  divided  with  the  Govern- 
ment, yet  he  accepted  immediately 
Lord  Palmerston's  proposal  to  take 
a  seat  in  the  Cabinet  which  the  latter 
was  commissioned  to  form.  What 
though,  but  a  few  months  previ- 
ously, he  had  avowed  his  distrust 
and  contempt  for  one  "  who  would 
quarrel  with  an  absolute  monarchy, 
or  a  constitutional  monarchy,  or  a 
republic,  as  the  case  might  be"  1 


18G5.]         The  H'ujht  lion.  William  Gladstone, M. P. —Fart  II. 


What  though  lie  had  helped  to 
drive  out  of  office  the  Minister  who 
would  IKIVC  draped  the  nation 
through  the  dirt  by  getting  Parlia- 
ment to  pass  a  bill  "  recommended 
upon  grounds,  and  with  reference  to 
conditions,  that  were  not  legal,  that 
were  not  social,  that  were  not  even 
English,  but  that  were  purely  poli- 
tical" J  These  acts  and  professions 
were  things  of  the  past.  They 
could  not  be  allowed  to  interfere 
with  present  arrangements  —  with 
arrangements  which  those  who 
knew  him  best  made  little  scruple 
in  asserting  were  not  more  desir- 
able for  the  sake  of  the  country 
than  for  his  own  sake.  For  by 
this  time  Mr  Gladstone's  impati- 
ence of  non  -  official  life  had  be- 
come a  burthen  to  himself  and 
to  others.  Hence  the  determina- 
tion to  throw  in  his  lot  with  "  the 
least  trustworthy  statesman  of  mo- 
dern times,"  received  from  the  cir- 
cle which  enjoyed  the  largest  share 
of  his  confidence  a  hearty  approval. 
Once  again  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, he  seemed  to  breathe  a 
more  healthy  atmosphere.  His 
constitutional  irritability  subsided, 
and  out  of  the  House,  as  well  as  in 
it,  he  appeared  anxious  to  create 
the  impression  that,  so  far  as  he 
could  control  the  course  of  events, 
the  session  should  pass  over  quiet- 
ly. At  the  same  time  he  took  oc- 
casion to  show,  when  a  fitting  op- 
portunity offered,  that  though  a 
member  of  a  Liberal  Ad  ministration, 
he  was  not  in  all  respects  committed 
to  its  policy.  For  example,  when 
a  bill  for  the  unconditional  sur- 
render of  church-rates  was  brought 
in,  the  very  counterpart  of  that 
which  he  had  formerly  supported, 
he  voted  against  it  on  the  second 
reading  ;  but  having  done  so,  he 
forthwith  balanced  his  account  with 
the  Church,  by  advocating  the  re- 
peal of  that  clause  in  the  Eman- 
cipation Act  which  prevents  a  Ro- 
man Catholic  barrister  from  be- 
coming Lord  High  Chancellor  of 
Ireland. 

So  passed  the  remainder  of  the 


session,  in  perfect  good -humour 
with  all  men  ;  and  when,  in  1  «;">!.», 
the  time  came  for  making  a  finan- 
cial statement,  it  was  made  with 
the  best  possible  grace.  Mr 
Disraeli  received  many  compli- 
ments on  the  wisdom  of  his  ar- 
rangements, and  their  success  was 
fully  admitted.  At  last,  however, 
18(50  arrived,  and  with  it  the  ne- 
cessity of  looking  in  the  face  the 
old  pledges  of  l>sr>:i,  as  well  as  cer- 
tain new  arrangements  into  which, 
during  the  recess,  the  Government 
had  entered.  For  during  the  recess 
Mr  Cobden,  a  private  member  of 
Parliament,  had  opened  personal 
communications  with  the  Emperor 
of  the  French,  and,  first  on  his  own 
account,  and  by -and  -by  with  the 
connivance  of  the  Government, 
negotiated  a  commercial  treaty 
which  the  Government  adopted  as 
its  own.  We  are  not  able  to  say 
whether  Mr  Gladstone  was  or  was 
not  a  party  to  this  most  undignified 
proceeding.  It  would  be  satisfac- 
tory to  be  assured  that  he  was  not, 
because  we  cannot  forget  that  there 
was  a  time  when  he  would  have 
been  the  first  to  expose  and  de- 
nounce a  course  of  action  at  once  so 
mean  and  so  unconstitutional,  had 
it  been  pursued  by  statesmen  with 
whom  he  was  not  officially  con- 
nected. Be  this,  however,  as  it 
may,  the  treaty  was  prepared,  and 
in  the  end  negotiated,  under  a  joint 
commission  granted  to  the  British 
Minister  at  Paris  and  to  Mr  Cobden. 
The  date  of  this  commission  is,  if 
we  recollect  right,  the  18th  Janu- 
ary 18GO.  The  treaty  was  arranged, 
revised,  corrected,  and  ratified  on 
the  23cl. 

Parliament  met,  and  on  the  10th 
of  February  Mr  Gladstone  made  his 
anxiously-expected  financial  state- 
ment. It  now  lies  before  us,  being 
a  component  part  of  a  volume,  into 
which,  after  revising  and  correcting 
them,  Mr  Gladstone  has  thrown 
the  whole  of  his  budgets  and  finan- 
cial statements  between  1853  and 
1864,  both  years  inclusive.  Budgets 
and  financial  statements  are  not,  it 


272  The  Rigid  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  II.       [March, 


must  be  confessed,  either  light,  or, 
for  the  most  part,  very  attractive 
reading  ;  but  this  for  1860  stands 
by  itself.  It  is  perhaps  the  most 
audacious  as  well  as  adroit  docu- 
ment that  ever  passed  through  the 
ordeal  of  public  criticism.  It  opens 
with  a  statement,  the  very  utter- 
ance of  which  would  have  plunged 
any  other  man  than  Mr  Gladstone 
into  despair,  bound  as  he  was  by 
pledges  which  he  saw  himself  un- 
able to  redeem.  But  what  were 
pledges  to  Mr  Gladstone  then  1 
what  are  they  now  1  Of  no  more 
Avorth  than  abstract  principles, 
which,  though  useful  at  one  time 
to  justify  a  policy,  having  nothing 
more  substantial  to  rest  upon,  are 
easily  set  aside  when  the  point  un- 
der discussion  touches  the  give-and- 
take  operations  of  everyday  life. 
Here  is  Mr  Gladstone's  pleasant 
announcement  of  the  state  present, 
and  prospective,  of  the  public  re- 
venue at  the  opening  of  the  year 
1860  :— 

"  Public  expectation  has  long  marked 
out  the  year  1860  as  an  important  epoch 
in  British  finance.  It  has  long  been 
well  known  that  in  this  year,  for  the 
first  time,  we  were  to  receive  from  a 
process,  not  of  our  own  creation,  a  very 
great  relief  in  respect  of  our  annual 
payment  of  interest  upon  the  national 
debt — a  relief  amounting  to  no  less  a 
sum  than  £2,146,000— a  relief  such  as 
we  never  have  known  in  time  past,  and 
such  as,  I  am  afraid,  we  never  shall 
know  in  time  to  come.  Besides  that 
relief,  other  and  more  recent  arrange- 
ments have  added  to  the  importance  of 
this  juncture.  A  revenue  of  nearly 
twelve  millions  a-year,  levied  by  duties 
on  tea  and  sugar,  which  still  retain  a 
portion  of  the  additions  made  to  them 
on  account  of  the  Russian  war,  is  about 
to  lapse  absolutely  on  the  31st  of 
March,  unless  it  should  be  renewed  by 
Parliament.  The  Income -Tax  Act, 
from  which,  during  the  financial  year, 
we  shall  have  derived  a  sum  of  between 
nine  and  ten  millions,  is  likewise  to 
lapse  at  the  very  same  time,  although 
an  amount,  not  inconsiderable,  will  still 
remain  to  be  collected,  in  virtue  of  the 
law  about  to  expire.  And,  lastly,  an 
event  of  not  less  interest  than  any  of 
these,  which  has  caused  public  feeling 


to  thrill  from  one  end  of  the  country  to 
the  other — I  mean  the  treaty  of  com- 
merce with  France,  which  my  noble 
friend,  the  Foreign  Minister,  has  just 
laid  on  the  table — has  rendered  it  a 
matter  of  propriety,  nay,  almost  of  ab- 
solute necessity,  for  the  G  overnment  to 
request  the  House  to  deviate,  under  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  from 
its  usual,  its  salutary,  its  constitutional 
practice  of  voting  the  principal  charges 
of  the  year  before  they  proceed  to  con- 
sider the  means  of  defraying  them  ;  and 
has  induced  the  Government  to  think 
they  would  best  fulfil  their  duty  by  in- 
viting attention  on  the  earliest  possible 
day  to  those  financial  arrangements  for 
the  coming  year  which  are  materially 
affected  by  the  treaty  with  France  ; 
and  which,  though  they  reach  consider- 
ably beyond  the  limits  of  that  treaty, 
yet,  notwithstanding,  can  only  be  exa- 
mined by  the  House  in  a  satisfactory 
manner  when  examined  as  a  whole. " 

We  beg  our  readers  to  observe 
the  cleverness  with  which  Mr  Glad- 
stone here  mixes  up  matters  hav- 
ing no  natural  connection  one 
with  another  —  the  state  of  the 
finances,  incident  to  the  operation 
of  Acts  of  Parliament  passed,  and 
the  effect  of  a  treaty  which  was 
expressly  guarded  from  coming  into 
force  till  Parliament  should  have 
examined  and  approved  it.  Had 
the  common  and  legitimate  course 
of  things  been  pursued,  the  treaty 
and  the  budget  must  have  been 
taken  apart.  Each  would  have 
thus  stood  upon  its  own  merits, 
and  the  treaty  coming  first,  the 
budget  would  have  been  framed 
in  accordance  with  the  judgment 
passed  upon  it  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Such  a  course  was, 
however,  too  simple  and  too  straight- 
forward to  commend  itself  to  the 
genius  of  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer.  He  preferred  rolling 
the  two  into  one,  without  doing 
which,  indeed,  he  could  not  hope 
to  command  the  support  of  any 
other  section  of  the  House  than 
that  to  gratify  which  the  French 
treaty  had  been  concluded. 

And  here  let  us  stop  for  a  mo- 
ment to  point  out  that,  assuming 
the  mixed  budget  to  be  accepted,  Mr 


18G5.]          The  Kitjht  ll»n.  William  Gladstone,  M. P.— Part  If.  273 


Gladstone's  dodge  would  make  the 
House  of  Commons  ;i  consenting 
party  to  an  arrangement  not  only 
impolitic  and  embarrassing  in  it- 
self, but  fatal  to  the  national 
honour.  No  doubt,  according  to 
the  theory  of  the  constitution,  it 
rests  with  the  Crown  to  make  and 
unmake  treaties  as  well  commer- 
cial as  political.  But  though  the 
Crown  may,  if  need  be,  reduce  in 
such  cases  the  customs  duties 
granted  to  it  by  Parliament,  it  can- 
not, without  doing  outrage  to  the 
principles  of  the  constitution,  tam- 
per with  any  arrangements  which 
Parliament  may  have  made  for  the 
management  of  the  internal  affairs 
of  the  realm.  Now,  the  French 
treaty  bound  the  British  Covern- 
ment  not  only  to  modify  its  cus- 
toms, but  to  lower  its  excise  duties, 
and  to  keep  them  so  lowered  for 
:v  given  number  of  years.  Here, 
then,  was  such  an  outrage  offered 
to  national  honour,  and  to  consti- 
tutional law,  as  had  not  been 
heard  of  in  this  country  since  the 
days  of  Charles  II.  Nor,  when  we 
look  to  the  policy  of  some  of  the 
arrangements,  can  we  find  much 
that  was  likely  to  commend  them 
to  the  favourable  consideration  of 
British  statesmen.  The  increased 
facility  given  to  the  importation  of 
French  silks  was  pretty  sure,  as  the 
member  for  Coventry  showed,  to 
destroy  the  trade  of  that  town  and 
of  Spitalfields,  and  it  has  done  so. 
The  article  authorising  the  free 
passage  of  coal  from  England  to 
France,  and  from  France  to  Kng- 
land,  was  a  mere  sunendcr  of  a 
royal  prerogative,  and  the  throwing 
away  of  a  sure  source  of  revenue, 
for  the  French  have  no  coals  to 
export.  And  the  question  of  the  Na- 
vigation Laws  was  so  settled  as  to 
recognise  and  permanently  sanction 
the  differential  duties  favourable  to 
the  French,  which  up  to  that  mo- 
ment had  been  ignored.  But  we 
are  not  going  to  review  the  French 
treaty.  It  certainly  gave  us  for 
awhile  wine  cheaper,  if  not  better, 
than  we  used  to  get  before  :  we 


can  state  from  experience  that  our 
good  wine  is  now  much  dearer,  and 
our  cheap  bad  wine  simply  un- 
drinkable.  We  know  likewise  that 
French  gloves,  French  shoes,  and 
French  bijouterie  cost  a  great  deal 
more  now  than  they  did  in  18")!)  ; 
and  that  French  ribbons,  besides 
driving  those  of  Coventry  out  of 
the  market,  are  considerably  dearer 
than  they  once  were.  But  let  all 
that  pass.  It  is  rather  with  his 
manner  of  forcing  the  treaty  down 
the  throats  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, than  with  the  treaty  itself, 
that  we  are  here  concerned.  For 
we  are  discussing,  not  the  commer- 
cial policy  of  the  Whig  Govern- 
ment,  but  the  fitness  of  Mr  Glad- 
stone to  represent  the  University 
of  Oxford  in  Parliament,  and  to 
become,  as  he  aspires  sooner  or 
later  to  be,  the  head  of  an  Admin- 
istration. 

Having  exposed,  in  the  words 
which  we  have  just  quoted,  the 
melancholy  prospects  of  the  com- 
ing financial  year,  Mr  Gladstone 
proceeded  to  add  to  the  difficulties 
of  the  situation,  by  so  readjusting 
a  variety  of  minor  duties  as  to 
produce  a  further  deficiency  of 
.£4,000,0000.  This  he  afterwards 
reduced  to  £2.000,000,  and  ended 
by  showing,  that  if  the  law  were 
left  to  take  its  course,  the  estimated 
revenue  for  the  next  twelve  months 
would  fall  short  of  the  estimat- 
ed expenditure  by  £11,500,000. 
What  does  he  do  to  balance  the 
account  ?  He  not  only  retains  the 
income-tax,  but  raises  it  again  to 
lod.  in  the  pound  ;  while  the  tea 
and  sugar  duties,  instead  of  being 
allowed  to  lapse,  are  restored  to  the 
state  in  which  they  were  during 
the  height  of  the  Crimean  war. 
And  then,  rejoicing  in  the  wisdom 
of  his  scheme,  he  calls  upon  Parlia- 
ment to  remit  entirely  the  excise 
duty  upon  paper. 

The  history  of  Mr  Gladstone's 
connection  with  the  paper  and 
wine  duties  would  be  most  in- 
structive if  it  were  written  at 
length.  It  is  not  our  present  pur- 


274  TJie  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


pose  to  attempt  that  task,  but  we 
may  observe  in  passing,  that  up  to 
I860  he  had  opposed  every  effort 
to  tamper  with  either.  So  lately 
indeed  as  1858  he  had  resisted  Mr 
Milner  Gibson's  very  innocent  de- 
claration— which,  however,  a  thin 
House  affirmed,  in  spite  of  him — 
that  it  was  not  desirable  to  con- 
sider an  excise  duty  on  paper  as  a 
permanent  source  of  revenue  for 
the  country.  The  fact  is,  that  the 
excise  duty  on  paper  was  particu- 
larly obnoxious  to  statesmen  of  the 
Manchester  School.  They  had 
embarked  considerable  capital  in 
penny  newspapers,  which  reflected, 
of  course,  their  own  views,  and 
which  they  found  it  impossible  to 
push  into  the  circulation  at  which 
they  aimed,  so  long  as  the  weight 
of  the  tax  lay  upon  them.  Hence 
their  ceaseless  agitation  to  get  the 
duty  repealed.  Now,  we  are  be- 
traying no  confidence  when  we  say 
that  Mr  Gladstone's  steadiest  sup- 
porters in  Lord  Palmerston's  Ad- 
ministration had  for  some  time 
back  been  the  representatives  of 
that  School.  There  has  been  little 
attempt  to  conceal  the  fact,  that 
his  budget,  distasteful  to  the  rest 
of  the  Cabinet,  was  forced  through 
by  Mr  Milner  Gibson  and  Mr 
Villiers  ;  and  that,  to  gratify  them, 
he  constrained  Lord  Palmerston, 
Lord  Grenville,  and  the  Whigs  to 
swallow  with  it  the  corollary — for 
such  it  was — of  a  total  repeal  of 
the  paper- duties.  But  though 
they  consented  to  speak  and  vote 
as  he  required,  neither  Lord  Pal- 
merston, nor  Lord  John  Russell, 
nor  any  other  Whig  Cabinet  Min- 
ister, could  disguise  the  chagrin  and 
reluctance  with  which  he  yielded 
to  a  plain  necessity.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  when  the  question 
came  to  be  debated  in  the  House, 
their  utterance  was  less  clear  and 
resolute  than  it  used  to  be,  and 
that  Mr  Gladstone  carried  his  bill 
on  the  third  reading  by  a  meagre 
majority  of  nine.  Now  a  majority 
of  nine  in  the  House  of  Commons 
was  not  such  as  to  intimidate  the 


House  of  Lords  ;  and  the  House 
of  Lords,  acting  on  the  advice 
of  Lord  Lyndhurst,  threw  out 
the  bill  by  a  majority  of  eighty- 
nine.  From  that  hour  Mr  Glad- 
stone sold  himself,  body  and 
soul,  to  the  Radicals.  He  had 
promised,  when  pleading  for  his 
measure,  that  if  the  House  re- 
jected it  he  would  apply  the  sur- 
plus thereby  secured  to  the  reduc- 
tion of  the  duties  on  tea  and  sugar. 
He  was  reminded  of  this  promise 
when  the  Lords  did  what  the 
Commons  had  desired  to  do,  but 
shrank  from  doing ;  and  the  ad- 
vantage to  the  people  of  bringing 
cheaper  tea  and  sugar  within  their 
reach  was  pressed  upon  him.  He 
rejected  the  proposal  with  disdain. 
His  promise  had  been  to  the  House 
of  Commons — he  had  no  connec- 
tion with  any  other  place  ;  indeed, 
his  conviction  was  that  the  Lords 
had  exceeded  their  powers,  and 
that  a  mere  resolution  of  the  House 
of  Commons  would  abolish  the  tax 
in  spite  of  them.  Let  the  Masters 
of  Oxford  turn  to  their  Hansards, 
if  by  chance  they  have  forgotten 
the  temper  which  their  represen- 
tative exhibited  on  that  occasion. 
That  he  abstained  from  voting  for 
Sir  William  Clay's  wild  proposal, 
is  to  be  accounted  for  only  by  the 
fact  that  a  different  course  would 
have  broken  up  the  Government 
and  given  to  Lord  Derby  an  un- 
limited lease  of  power.  He  did, 
however,  what  he  could,  apart  from 
that  climax,  to  bring  on  a  collision 
between  the  two  Houses ;  and  no 
collision  occurring,  he  subsided 
into  what  he  now  is — the  sworn 
ally,  it  may  be  the  accepted,  though 
as  yet  unavowed,  leader  of  the 
Radical  party  in  and  out  of  Par- 
liament. 

The  division  which  gave  to  Mr 
Gladstone  his  majority  of  nine,  fol- 
lowed *  a  long  debate  upon  an 
amendment  by  Mr  Du  Cane  to 
this  effect :  —  "  That  this  House, 
recognising  the  necessity  of  pro- 
viding for  the  increased  expendi- 
ture of  the  coming  financial  year, 


1865.]          The  Hight  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.I\—l\trt  II. 


is  of  opinion  that  it  is  not  expe- 
dient to  add  to  the  existing  defici- 
ency by  diminishing  the  ordinary 
revenue  ;  and  is  not  prepared  to 
disappoint  the  just  expectations 
of  the  country,  by  reim posing  the 
income  tax  at  an  unnecessary  high 
rate."  An  amendment  more  moder- 
ately worded,  more  capable  of  being 
met  and  dealt  with  in  a  conciliatory 
spirit,  was  surely  never  brought 
forward  on  a  ministerial  scheme  ; 
but  it  drove  Mr  Gladstone  wild. 
"  Is  it  possible,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to 
hold  that  a  motion  which  denounces 
any  addition  to  an  existing  defici- 
ency by  parting  with  revenue,  can 
be  thought  compatible  with  the 
treaty  which  does  add  to  the  defi- 
ciency by  parting  with  considerable 
revenue  ?  It  is  a  motion  in  terms, 
and  I  interpret  its  spirit  solely  from 
its  terms — it  is  aimed  in  its  terms 
and  spirit  at  the  life  and  substance 
of  the  treaty.  But  more  than  that, 
1  will  endeavour  to  point  out  why 
I  also  say — this  motion  repudiates 
and  condemns,  in  mass,  the  com- 
mercial legislation  of  the  last 
eighteen  years." 

Well,  Mr  Gladstone  carried  his 
treaty,  carried  his  war-tax  on  tea 
and  sugar  duties,  carried  his  income- 
tax  at  l()d.  in  the  pound  —  car- 
ried everything,  in  short,  except  his 
repeal  of  the  paper-duties,  which 
thus  remained  available  for  the 
public  service.  What  was  the  re- 
sult /  In  April  IhGl,  when  he 
came  to  account  for  the  past  and 
prepare  for  the  future,  he  was  com- 
pelled, paper-duties  notwithstand- 
ing, to  admit  an  excess  of  expen- 
diture over  revenue  to  the  amount 
of  £500,000,  and,  a  few  months 
later,  to  acknowledge  that  the  ad- 
mission was  inadequate,  because 
the  real  deficiency  amounted  to  not 
less  than  £2,559,01)0. 

In  commenting  upon  the  defeat 
of  his  paper  scheme,  while  the 
wound  was  still  fresh  and  the  sting 
bitter,  Mr  Gladstone  described  the 
vote  of  the  House  of  Lords  as  an 
"  innovation  the  most  gigantic  and 
the  most  dangerous  that  had  been 


attempted  in  our  time."  This  was 
followed  by  something  like  a  threat 
that  nothing  of  the  kind  should 
ever  occur  again  ;  and  having  with 
difficulty  been  restrained  from  push- 
ing the  quarrel  to  an  issue,  he 
adopted  the  alternative  of  includ- 
ing the  repeal  of  the  paper-duties 
in  the  general  financial  statement 
which  in  1M51  he  submitted  to  the 
House  of  Commons.  It  became 
thus  an  integral  portion  of  the  bud- 
get, and  could  be  stopped  in  the 
House  of  Lords  only  by  stopping 
the  supplies.  He  had  the  bad 
taste  to  boast  of  his  skill  in  this 
arrangement  ;  but  he  had  calcu- 
lated too  much  upon  the  subser- 
viency of  the  assemblage  to  which 
the  boast  was  addressed.  He  felt, 
as  the  discussion  went  on,  that 
public  opinion  was  not  with  him, 
and  surpassed  himself  in  the  adroit- 
ness with  which  he  tried  to  parry 
the  thrusts  of  more  honest  but  less 
skilful  dialecticians.  A  demand 
was  made,  that  instead  of  remitting 
a  tax  which  the  paper-makers  them- 
selves pronounced  to  be  no  griev- 
ance, he  would  apply  the  amount, 
£1,300,000,  to  the  reduction  of  the 
war-duties  on  tea  and  sugar.  He 
refused  on  two  pleas  :  first,  that 
the  paper  tax  could  not  be  put  into 
the  balance  against  the  taxes  on 
tea  and  sugar  ;  and  next,  that  the 
tea  and  sugar  duties,  having  been 
reimposed  in  lt>5f),  neither  were 
nor  ought  to  be  considered  as  war- 
duties.  Xow,  how  stood  the  facts 
of  the  case  ]  The  tea  and  sugar 
duties  had  been  imposed  to  meet 
the  demands  of  the  Russian  war 
— one  consequence  of  which  un- 
doubtedly was  to  expose  the  utter 
inadequacy  of  our  military  resources, 
and  the  rottenness  of  our  system  of 
military  administration.  To  enlarge 
the  one  and  to  improve  the  other, 
extraordinary  sources  of  revenue 
were  required,  and  the  continuance 
of  the  war-duties  on  tea  and  sugar 
supplied  that  requirement.  To  af- 
firm that  these  duties,  originating  in 
war,and  continued  because  of  the  dis- 
closures which  war  had  forced  upon 


276  The  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


us,  ought  not  to  be  treated  as  war- 
duties,  was  worthy  of  the  casuist 
who  held  that,  because  the  amount 
produced  by  the  excise  duties  on 
paper  did  not  equal  the  amount 
realised  by  the  tax  on  tea  and 
sugar,  sound  policy  required  that 
the  latter  should  be  exacted  to  the 
full,  while  the  former  were  entire- 
ly abolished.  And  now,_  again,  a 
tyrant  majority  carried  its  leader 
through.  Eighteen  voices  in  a  full 
House  determined  the  fact  that  the 
money  produced  by  the  paper-duties 
should  not  be  applied  to  the  re- 
duction of  the  war-duty  on  tea  and 
sugar. 

It  was  not,  however,  towards  the 
House  and  the  country  alone  that 
Mr  Gladstone  bore  himself  at  this 
time  in  a  somewhat  ambiguous 
manner.  His  colleagues  in  the 
Cabinet  had  little  room  to  be  grate- 
ful for  the  tone  which  he  assumed 
in  asking  the  supplies  necessary 
to  carry  on  the  Government.  He 
spoke  on  that  occasion  as  a  man 
might  be  expected  to  speak  who 
believed  the  public  expenditure  to 
be  profligate  and  excessive.  It  was 
his  duty  as  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer to  provide  the  means  of 
keeping  the  army  and  the  navy  ef- 
fective, and  of  placing  the  national 
dockyards  and  arsenals  in  a  state 
of  safety.  This  he  did  ;  but  in 
doing  so  he  scarcely  affected  to 
disguise  the  fact  that  he  disap- 
proved of  the  views  which  his  col- 
leagues had  taken ;  and  that  if  he 
had  been  allowed  to  have  his  own 
way,  army,  navy,  and  fortifications 
would  have  figured  in  the  estimates 
on  a  scale  far  below  that  which 
they  actually  presented. 

While  on  questions  purely  poli- 
tical Mr  Gladstone  fell  off  more 
and  more  towards  Eadicalism,  his 
churchmanship,  as  indicated  by  his 
votes  and  speeches,  continued  to  be 
pretty  much  what  for  some  time 
back  it  had  been.  In  February  of 
this  year,  for  example,  he  spoke  and 
voted  against  the  second  reading  of 
the  Abolition  of  Church-rates  Bill ; 
but  in  April,  when  Sir  Morton  Peto 


brought  in  his  Burials  Bill,  Mr  Glad- 
stone offered  to  it  no  opposition 
whatever.  He  absented  himself 
from  every  division,  and  the  bill 
was  thrown  out  at  the  second  read- 
ing by  a  majority  in  which  his  name 
does  not  appear. 

Having  brought  Mr  Gladstone 
down  as  a  financier  to  the  two  cri- 
tical eras  of  1860-61  and  1861-62, 
it  is  not  our  intention  to  travel  far- 
ther with  him  step  by  step  in  this 
direction.  His  financial  statements, 
including  that  for  1864,  are  acces- 
sible to  all  who  will  take  the  trouble 
to  refer  to  his  collected  volume  ; 
and  for  his  budgets,  and  his  man- 
ner of  defending  them,  Hansard 
may  be  consulted  passim.  We  con- 
tent ourselves  with  saying  that  nei- 
ther matter  nor  manner  underwent, 
from  year  to  year,  any  perceptible 
change.  His  statements  are  always 
minute,  complicated,  and  subtle. 
He  invariably  acknowledges  that 
his  calculations  went  wrong,  yet 
invariably  defends  them.  There 
is  always  an  excess  of  expenditure 
over  revenue,  which,  however,  is  not 
an  excess ;  and  he  winds  up  on 
each  occasion  with  expressing  his 
disapproval  of  the  policy  of  extrava- 
gance which  compels  him  to  make 
such  heavy  demands  upon  the  coun- 
try. Sometimes  he  is  comical  in 
his  schemes — as  when,  in  1862,  he 
gravely  proposed  to  inflict  brewers' 
licences  upon  all  persons  brewing 
their  own  beer  at  home.  Some- 
times he  takes  a  high  moral  tone, 
— as  when,  in  1863,  he  insisted  on 
imposing  the  succession -duty  on 
public  charities.  Sometimes  he 
exhibits  wonderful  skill  in  the  jug- 
gling line — as  when  he  manages  to 
get  five  quarters  out  of  the  year, 
and  to  explain  away  deficiencies  by 
referring  to  the  occurrence  of  leap- 
year.  But  whatever  direction  his 
gyrations  take,  they  never  fail  to 
be  as  startling  as  they  are  charac- 
teristic. We  do  not  pretend  in  this 
article  to  bring  his  financial  policy 
to  the  bar  of  public  opinion  ;  but 
it  would  be  affectation  to  pretend 
ignorance  of  the  fact  that  a  general 


1865.1          The  Ilit/ht  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.  P. —Part  II.  277 


suspicion  begins  to  prevail  that  all 
is  not  gold  that  glitters. 

We  turn  now  to  look  a  little  into 
the  tenor  of  his  career  as  a  cham- 
pion for  or  against  Reform  in  Par- 
liament ;  and  we  begin  by  observ- 
ing that  a  retrospect  of  the  years 
during  which  he  has  sat  in  the 
House  of  Commons  proves  plainly 
enough  that,  whatever  he  may  think 
on  the  subject  now,  a  conviction 
of  the  necessity  of  enlarging  the 
constituency  in  this  country  has 
certainly  not  come  to  him  by  intui- 
tion. While  yet  the  pupil  of  Peel, 
he  reflected  Peel's  views  on  that 
subject  with  perfect  fidelity.  II  is 
language,  when  he  spoke  at  all,  was 
like  that  of  his  master  :  "We  have 
made  one  great  change  in  the  re- 
presentative system  of  the  country. 
Till  the  failure  of  the  new  order  of 
things  has  been  demonstrated,  don't 
let  us  plunge  into  another.  So 
long  as  Parliaments  elected  under 
the  Reform  Act  do  their  duty,  I 
deprecate  interfering  with  them. 
The  country  cannot  afford  to  pass 
through  a  revolution  once  in  every 
quarter  of  a  century." 

In  conformity  with  these  views, 
Mr  Gladstone  resisted,  during  Peel's 
Administration,  every  move  towards 
a  change  in  the  electoral  system  of 
the  country.  So  likewise,  while 
sitting  near  Peel  under  the  gang- 
way on  the  Opposition  benches,  he 
either  took  no  part  at  all  in  the  Re- 
form skirmishes  which  from  time 
to  time  occurred,  or  he  voted  against 
the  Reformers.  While  Lord  Aber- 
deen's Administration  lasted,  he 
kept  personally  clear  of  the  whole 
matter,  and  began  to  handle  it  only 
after  that  heterogeneous  compound 
of  pretension  and  imbecility  fell 
to  pieces.  His  first  serious  advo- 
cacy of  the  measure,  if  indeed  seri- 
ous it  deserve  to  be  called,  dates 
no  farther  back  than  18GO,  when 
he  spoke  in  favour  of  the  scheme 
which  Lord  Palmerston's  Cabinet 
had  sanctioned,  and  which  Lord 
Palmerston  abandoned  without  even 
the  pretence  of  regret.  But  this 
same  year  circumstances  occurred 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIII. 


which  placed  the  subject  before 
him  in  a  new  light.  His  Budget, 
ill  received  by  the  majority  of  his 
colleagues,  the  determined  support 
of  the  extreme  Liberal  section  in 
the  Cabinet  alone  enabled  him  to 
carry  through.  Then  came  that 
struggle  with  the  House  of  Lords, 
the  issues  of  which  the  more  aris- 
tocratic members  of  the  Administra- 
tion hardly  pretended  to  deplore  ; 
and  with  it  the  conviction,  that  if 
he  was  to  maintain  his  influence — 
first  in  the  Cabinet,  and  next  in  the 
House — he  must  lean  more  than 
ever  upon  the  advocates  of  extreme 
opinions.  We  entertain  no  doubt 
whatever  that  this  alliance  was 
cemented  at  the  outset  under  the 
pressure  of  excited  feeling.  Smart- 
ing under  the  wound  which  his 
self-love  had  received,  he  took  the 
readiest  means  of  obtaining  aspeedy 
vengeance.  But  we  believe  also 
that  other  considerations  had  their 
weight  with  him  even  then,  and 
they  are  now  more  weighty  with 
him  than  ever.  Mr  Gladstone  will 
never  again  play  second  fiddle  in 
any  Administration.  He  rates  his 
own  abilities  at  their  highest  value, 
and  is  persuaded  that  they  are  so 
rated  by  others.  He  will  contend, 
therefore,  for  a  prize  which  every 
year,  every  month,  brings  more 
and  more  within  his  reach.  He  is 
determined  to  succeed  Lord  Pal- 
merston as  Prime  Minister,  or  to 
be  nothing.  What  door  is  open  to 
him'?  None,  except  that  which 
must  be  approached  by  assuming 
the  leadership  of  the  great  party, 
of  which  Mr  Baines,  Mr  Bright.  Mr 
Hadlield,  and  Mr  Cobden  are  the 
representative  men.  Observe  now 
the  measure  of  his  advances  to- 
wards that  consummation. 

Time  was  when,  of  all  her  sons, 
Mr  Gladstone  appeared  to  be  the 
most  devoted  to  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land as  by  law  established.  A 
sounder  Churchman  than  Mr  Keble, 
in  Mr  Keble's  sense  of  the  term,  he 
never  perhaps  pretended  to  be  ;  but 
he  went  far  beyond  Mr  Keble  and 
others,  who  now  write  him  up  in 
u 


278          The  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  II.      [March, 

the  '  Guardian,'  in  asserting  that 
Church  and  State  ought  to  be  in- 
separably united,  and  that  only 
through  the  Church  is  it  lawful  for 
the  State  to  aim  at  educating  the 
people  in  the  principles  of  morality 
and  religion.  It  is  neither  easy  nor 
becoming  to  throw  off  such  convic- 
tions as  these  all  at  once  ;  and  we 
accordingly  find  that  advances  to- 
wards the  converse  of  them  are 
made  painfully — that  office  itself  is 
sacrificed  when  these  advances  fair- 
ly begin,  in  order  that  it  may  be 
impossible  to  charge  the  apostate 
with  preferring  personal  interest  to 
principle.  In  like  manner  his  pro- 
ceedings, as  often  as  questions  af- 
fecting the  direct  rights  of  the 
Church  come  to  be  considered,  in- 
dicate for  a  while  an  unsettled  state 
of  mind — either  a  reluctance  to 
abandon  the  principles  of  his  youth, 
or  an  anxious  desire  to  reconcile 
them  if  possible  with  views  towards 
which  they  stand  in  absolute  anta- 
gonism. Hence  his  wavering  and 
often  contradictory  votes  on  the 
subject  of  church-rates,  of  popular 
education,  of  the  claims  of  Dissen- 
ters to  share  in  the  honours,  emolu- 
ments, and  government  of  the  uni- 
versities, of  Dissenters'  burials,  and 
other  points  too  numerous  to  men- 
tion here.  So  it  was  till  1860, 
but  in  1861  his  scruples  appear  to 
have  passed  away.  Why  he  should 
have  voted  then,  at  the  third  read- 
ing, against  the  unconditional  abo- 
lition of  church-rates,  it  is  hard  to 
say.  His  speech,  if  fairly  analysed, 
will  be  found  to  contradict  that 
vote,  for  it  describes  the  impost  as 
discreditable  to  the  Church,  and 
expresses  an  earnest  desire  to  get 
rid  of  it.  Perhaps  Mr  Gladstone 
cannot  entirely  forget  that  he  still 
sits  in  Parliament  as  the  represen- 
tative of  a  body  of  Churchmen,  and 
possibly  he  counts  on  being  able  to 
convert  some  of  his  constituents  by 
his  logic,  while  he  conciliates  others 
by  his  vote.  Be  that,  however,  as 
it  may,  we  find  him  in  1862,  and 
still  more  decidedly  in  1863,  far  in 
advance  of  what  he  had  ever  been 


before.  In  1862  the  Clergy  Relief 
Bill  came  on  for  the  second  time. 
He  had  been  remonstrated  with  on 
account  of  the  tone  which  he  judged 
it  expedient  to  take  on  a  former 
occasion ;  he  now  absented  him- 
self from  the  discussion  altogether. 
He  could  not  venture  to  give  to  the 
measure  his  support ;  he  would  not 
oppose  it.  In  1863,  however,  the 
Rubicon  is  fairly  passed.  When  the 
Qualifications  Abolition  Bill  was 
brought  in,  he  gave  a  tacit  assent 
to  the  first  reading.  At  the  second 
reading  he  was  not  present,  but 
when  the  third  came  on  he  frank- 
ly and  without  compromise  made 
the  measure  his  own.  Nor  was  he 
satisfied  with  this.  In  pleading  for 
the  measure  immediately  before  the 
House,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to 
pronounce  sentence  of  hearty  ap- 
proval upon  everything  which  had 
been  done  during  the  thirty  previ- 
ous years  to  bring  down  the  Estab- 
lished Church  to  the  same  level 
with  Dissenters.  "  For  the  last 
thirty  years  I  have  not  been  able 
to  trace  any  danger  to  the  Church 
of  England  arising  from  the  poli- 
tical acts  of  Dissenters."  Not  any 
danger  to  the  Church  as  by  law 
established  !  Is  there  nothing  hos- 
tile to  the  Church  of  England  in 
Sir  John  Trelawny's  Bill,  or  in  Sir 
Morton  Peto's,  or  in  the  more  ho- 
nest demands  of  the  Liberation 
Society  out  of  doors  1  As  to  the 
Clergy  Relief  Bill,  the  only  ten- 
dency of  that  is,  according  to  Mr 
Gladstone's  showing,  to  enlarge  the 
civil  liberties  of  the  people.  Again 
— "  I  cannot  admit  that  the  declara- 
tions required  by  the  Act  of  1828 
partake  at  all  of  the  nature  of  a 
compact  between  Dissenters  and 
the  Legislature."  Now,  what  are 
the  very  words  of  the  declaration 
which  Mr  Gladstone  thus  explains 
away1?  "  And  I  swear  that  I  will 
not  use  any  influence  which  accrues 
to  me  from  my  office  or  from  my 
seat  in  Parliament  to  the  injury  of 
the  Church  as  by  law  established, 
its  rights  or  property."  Well  might 
Mr  Walpole  describe  the  speech  of 


1865.]         The  liijht  Hon.  William  Mathinnr,  M. P. —Part  IT.  279 


the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  as 
ft  remarkable  one  ;  we  shall  be  very 
much  surprised  if,  when  the  oppor- 
tunity offers,  the  electors  of  the 
t'niversity  of  Oxford  forget  to  show 
that  they  are  entirely  of  Mr  Wai- 
pole's  opinion. 

If  announcements  like  these, 
coming  from  a  Minister  of  the 
Crown,  are  not  to  be  interpreted 
as  indications  of  hostility  to  the 
Church,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  con- 
ceive wherein  such  hostility  con- 
sists. They  are  unquestionably  re- 
ceived with  approval  by  all  who 
make  no  disguise  of  their  determi- 
nation sooner  or  later  to  get  rid  of 
the  Establishment.  Let  us  see  next 
how  Mr  Gladstone  deals  with  a 
matter  even  more  grave — the  guar- 
dianship of  the  Church's  doctrine 
and  discipline.  Our  readers  arc 
aware  that,  in  spite  of  recent 
changes,  so  much  of  her  old  con- 
stitution remains  to  the  University 
of  Oxford  that  no  man  can  become 
a  Master  of  Arts,  nor  consequently 
sit  and  vote  in  Convocation,  till 
he  shall  have  signed  the  Thirty- 
nine  Articles  and  certain  of  the 
Church's  canons,  as  well  as  de- 
clared his  assent  to  all  that  is  taught 
in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  A 
sore  grievance  this  to  the  professors 
of  modern  theology,  clerical  not 
less  than  lay;  and  not,  we  regret 
to  say,  entirely  approved  by  some 
of  the  higher  dignitaries  who  owe 
their  advancement  to  successive 
Whig  Governments.  It  has  often 
been  struck  at  in  and  out  of  Parlia- 
ment. But  the  la-st  attempt  to  get 
rid  of  it  was  in  18(!4,  when  Mr 
Dodson  asked  leave  to  bring  in  his 
"Tests  Abolition  Bill."  The  de- 
mand was  resisted  .at  once  by  Sir 
William  Heathcote,  Mr  Gladstone's 
colleague  in  the  representation  of 
Oxford.  Did  Mr  Gladstone  come 
to  Sir  William  Heathcote's  sup- 
port ?  Quite  otherwise.  He  spoke, 
on  the  contrary,  at  great  length  in 
favour  of  the  bill,  of  which  the 
second  reading  was  carried  by  a 
slender  majority  of  two,  which  ma- 
jority ought  to  have  amounted  to 


three  had  Mr  Gladstone  been  true 
to  himself.  Hut  either  he  was  not 
true  to  himself,  or  in  this  particular 
instance  Hansard  is  less  accurate 
than  we  usually  find  him.  Mr 
Gladstone's  name  does  not  appear 
in  the  list  either  of  the  majority  or 
the  minority  at  the  division. 

It  is  probable  enough  that,  having 
spoken,  Mr  Gladstone  shrank,  in 
this  instance,  from  acting  against 
the  well-known  opinions  of  the 
body  which  he  represents.  Indeed, 
there  is  nothing  inconsistent  with 
his  general  character  in  assuming 
that  the  Church  still  retains  some 
hold  upon  his  affections,  and  that  a 
course  of  legislation  tending  direct- 
ly to  her  overthrow  is  a  price  which 
lie  would  rather  not  pay  for  the  at- 
tainment of  the  object  of  his  ambi- 
tion, lofty  as  it  is.  But  that  which 
he  may  hesitate  about  doing  direct- 
ly, he  is  quite  prepared  to  do  indi- 
rectly. On  the  question  of  extend- 
ing the  franchise  he  is  ready  to  go 
all  lengths  with  his  new  allies  :  and 
what  his  new  allies  intend  to  do 
with  the  Church,  when  power  passes 
into  their  hands,  they  have  certainly 
not  affected  to  keep  him  in  ignorance 
of.  Last  year,  be  it  remembered, 
was  a  season  of  strikes  among  the 
working  men,  and  Garibaldi  proces- 
sions. Mr  Gladstone  coquetted  with 
both  as  Minister  of  the  Crown  never 
coquetted  before, — with  the  latter, 
indeed,  so  unguardedly  as  to  bring 
himself  into  something  like  disre- 
pute in  quarters  where  least  of  all 
he  could  have  wished  to  give  offence. 
Meanwhile  Mr  Baines  brought  for- 
ward, in  the  House  of  Commons, 
his  bill  for  extending  the  franchise 
in  boroughs  to  the  occupants  of  six- 
pound  houses.  Mr  Gladstone  not 
only  supported  Mr  Baines' s  views, 
but  went  far  beyond  them.  In  a 
speech  which  he  subsequently  cor- 
rected for  publication,  and  to  which 
he  has  added  a  preface  explana- 
tory of  nothing,  Mr  Gladstone  took 
a  line  from  which  it  is  impossible 
that  he  can  hereafter  withdraw, 
and  which  separates  him  entirely, 
not  from  the  Conservatives  only, 


280          Tlte  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  II.       [March, 


but  from  every  politician,  be  lie 
Whig,  Tory,  or  Liberal,  who  is  not 
prepared  to  assimilate  the  franchise 
in  this  country  to  that  which  placed 
Napoleon  on  the  throne  of  France, 
and  has  made  the  United  States  of 
America  a  warning  to  the  civilised 
world.  It  would  be  impertinent  to 
stop  for  the  purpose  of  arguing  this 
point,  because  Mr  Gladstone's  speech 
is  of  such  recent  delivery  that  few 
of  our  readers  can  have  forgotten  it. 
But  a  few  extracts  from  the  speech 
itself,  as  it  now  stands  in  pamphlet- 
shape,  seem  to  be  necessary  for  this, 
if  for  no  other  reason,  in  order  to 
show  that  there  is  no  disposition  on 
our  part  to  misrepresent  a  public 
man,  whose  declension  from  his 
early  faith  has  been  so  startling 
and  complete. 

After  explaining  why  the  Gov- 
ernment during  the  previous  ses- 
sion considered  it  inexpedient  to 
propose  a  measure  of  their  own, 
and  why  he,  though  a  member  of 
the  Government,  felt  himself  at 
liberty,  notwithstanding,  to  sup- 
port Mr  Baines's  proposal,  Mr  Glad- 
stone goes  on  to  say — 

' '  At  present  we  have,  speaking 
generally,  a  constituency  of  which  be- 
tween one-tenth  and  one-twentieth — 
certainly  less  than  one-tenth — consists 
of  working  men.  And  what  propor- 
tion does  that  fraction  of  the  working 
classes  who  are  in  possession  of  the 
franchise  bear  to  the  whole  body  of  the 
working  classes  ?  I  apprehend  I  am 
correct  in  saying,  that  those  who  pos- 
sess the  franchise  are  less  than  one- 
fiftieth  of  the  whole  number  of  the 
working  classes.  Is  that  a  state  of 
things  which  we  cannot  venture  to 
touch  or  modify?  Is  there  no  choice 
between  excluding  forty-nine  out  of 
every  fifty  working  men  on  the  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  a  domestic  re- 
volution ?  I  contend,  then,  that  it  is 
on  the  honourable  gentleman  that  this 
burthen  of  proof  must  be  held  princi- 
pally to  lie  ;  and  that  it  is  on  those 
who  say  it  is  necessary  to  exclude  forty- 
nine-fiftieths  that  the  burthen  of  proof 
rests  :  that  it  is  for  them  to  show  the 


unworthiness.  the  incapacity,  and  the 
misconduct  of  the  working  classes,  in 
order  to  make  good  their  argument  that 
no  larger  portion  of  them  than  this 
should  be  admitted  to  the  suffrage." 

This  is  tolerably  plain  speaking, 
it  must  be  allowed;  which,  however, 
Mr  Gladstone,  master  as  he  is  of 
casuistry,  might  perhaps  be  able  to 
explain  away.  It  is  quite  within 
the  compass  of  his  dialectics,  for  ex- 
ample, to  show  that  the  Tories,  in 
their  abortive  scheme  of  1858,  went 
as  far  as  he.  But  proceed  a  little, 
and  observing  as  you  proceed 
with  what  consummate  skill,  and 
for  a  purpose,  he  sketches  and  con- 
demns the  Tory  policy  of  1817, 
take  note  of  what  follows,  and  say 
to  what  it  points  : — • 

"  And  what,  let  me  ask,  is  the  state 
of  things  now  ?  With  truth,  sir,  it 
may  be  said  that  the  epoch  I  have 
named,  removed  from  iis  in  a  mere 
chronological  reckoning  by  less  than 
half  a  century,  is,  in  the  political  sphere, 
separated  from  us  by  a  distance  almost 
immeasurable.  For  now  it  may  be 
fearlessly  asserted  that  the  fixed  tra- 
ditional sentiment  of  the  working  man 
has  begun  to  be  confidence  in  the  law, 
in  Parliament,  and  even  in  the  execu- 
tive Government.  Of  this  gratifying 
state  of  things  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  re- 
ceive a  single,  indeed,  but  a  significant 
proof  no  later  than  yesterday.  (Cries 
of  '  No,  no, '  and  laughter. )  The  quick- 
witted character  of  honourable  gentle- 
men opposite  outsteps,  I  am  afraid, 
the  tardy  movement  of  my  observa- 
tions.* Let  them  only  have  a  very 
little  patience,  and  they  will,  I  believe, 
see  cause  to  listen  to  what  I  have  to 
say.  I  was  about  to  proceed  to  say,  in 
illustration  of  my  argument,  that  only 
yesterday  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  re- 
ceiving a  deputation  of  working  men 
from  the  Society  of  Amalgamated  En- 
gineers. That  society  consists  of  very 
large  numbers  of  highly-skilled  work- 
men, and  has  two  hundred  and  sixty 
branches ;  it  is  a  society  representing 
the  very  class  in  which  we  should  most 
be  inclined  to  look  for  a  spirit  of  even 
jealous  independence  of  all  relations 
with  the  Government.  That  depvi- 


*  A  note  as  given  in  Mr  Gladstone's  pamphlet  says,  "The  interruption  was  un- 
derstood to  refer  to  another  deputation  received  on  the  same  day  with  reference 
to  the  subject  of  the  departure  of  General  Garibaldi." 


18G5.]         Tlic  lit<jht  lion.  William  Gladstone,  Af. P.— Part  II. 


tation  came  to  state  to  mo  that  the 
society  ha<l  large  balances  of  money 
open  for  investment,  and  that  many 
of  its  members  could  not  feel  satisfied 
unless  they  wen*  allowed  to  place  their 
funds  in  the  hands  of  the  (iovernnn-nt 
liy  means  of  a  modification  in  the  rules 
of  the  1'ost Ollice  Savings  Hanks.  Now 
that,  I  tliink,  1  may  say  without  being 
liable  to  the  expression  of  any  adverse 
feeling  on  the  part  of  honourable  gen- 
tlemen opposite,  was  a  very  small  but 
yet  significant  indication,  among  thou- 
sands of  others,  of  the  altered  tem- 
per to  which  I  have  referred.  Instead, 
however,  of  uttering  on  the  point  my 
own  opinions,  1  should  like  to  use  the 
words  of  the  working  classes  them- 
selves. In  an  address  which,  in  com- 
pany with  my  right  honourable  friend 
the  member  for  Staffordshire,  I  heard 
read  at  a  meeting  which  was  held  in 
the  Potteries  last  autumn,  they  say,  of 
their  own  spontaneous  motion,  unin- 
Huenced  by  the  action  of  their  cm- 

!>loyers,  in  relation  to  the  legislation  of 
ate  years  :  — 

" '  The  great  measures  that  have  been 
passed  during  the  last  twenty  years  by 
the  British  Legislature  have  conferred 
incalculable  blessings  on  the  whole 
community,  and  particularly  on  the 
working  classes,  by  unfettering  the 
trade  and  commerce  of  the  country, 
cheapening  the  essentials  of  our  daily 
sustenance,  placing  a  large  proportion 
of  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life 
within  our  reach,  and  rendering  the 
obtainment  of  knowledge  comparatively 
easy  among  the  great  mass  of  the  sons 
of  toil.' 

"And  this  is  the  mode  in  which 
they  then  proceed  to  describe  their  view 
of  the  conduct  of  the  upper  classes  to- 
wards them  :  — 

"'Pardon  us  for  alluding  to  the 
kindly  conduct  now  so  commonly 
evinced  by  the  wealthier  portions  of 
the  community  to  assist  in  the  physical 
and  moral  improvement  of  the  work- 
ing classes.  The  wellbeing  of  the  toil- 
ing mass  is  now  generally  admitted  to 
be  an  essential  to  the  national  weal. 
This  forms  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the 
opinions  cherished  half  a  century  ago. 
The  humbler  classes  also  are  duly 
mindful  of  the  happy  change,  and, 
without  any  abatement  of  manly  inde- 
pendence, fully  appreciate  the  benefits 
resulting  therefrom,  contentedly  foster- 
ing a  hopeful  expectation  of  the  fu- 
ture. May  Heaven  favour  and  pro- 
mote this  happy  mutuality  !  as  we  feel 
confident  that  all  such  kindly  inter- 


change materially   contributes  to   the 
general  good  ' 

"  Now,  such  language  does,  in  my 
opinion,  the  greatest  credit  to  the  par- 
ties from  whom  it  proceeds.  This  is  a 
point  on  which  no  ditl'erence  of  opinion 
can  prevail.  I  think  I  may  go  a  step 
further,  and  consider  these  statements 
as  indicating  not  only  the  sentiments 
of  a  particular  body  at  the  particular 
place  from  which  they  proceeded,  but 
ill"  general  sentiments  of  the  best 
conducted  and  most  enlightened  work- 
ing men  of  the  country.  It  may,  how- 
ever, be  said  that  such  statements 
prove  the  existing  state  of  tilings  to  be 
satisfactory.  Hut  surely  this  is  no  suf- 
ficient answer.  Is  it  right,  I  a*k,  that, 
in  the  face  of  such  dispositions,  the 
present  law  of  almost  entire  exclusion 
should  continue  to  prevail?  Again  I 
call  upon  the  adversary  to  show  cause. 
And  I  venture  to  say  that  every  man 
who  is  not  presumably  incapacitated 
by  some  consideration  of  personal  un- 
lit ness  or  of  political  danger  is  morally 
entitled  to  come  within  the  pale  of  the 
constitution." 

It  is  due  to  Mr  Gladstone  that 
this  portion  of  his  memorable  speech 
should  be  read  at  length,  that  no- 
thing should  be  withheld  of  the  plau- 
sibility and  claptrap  with  which  it 
abounds,  that  premises  and  conclu- 
sion should  be  studied  together,  and 
an  honest  estimate  thereby  arrived 
at  of  the  speaker's  object  and  inten- 
tions. The  Society  of  Amalgamated 
Engineers,  with  its  ^60  branches, 
and  large  capital  waiting  for  invest- 
ment, well  deserves  our  attention. 
A  very  formidable  body  this,  as, 
sooner  or  later,  Mr  Gladstone  may 
discover  ;  though,  intoxicated  with 
the  praise  which  it  heaps  upon  him 
and  his  measures,  he  can  see  no- 
thing in  it  at  this  moment  which  he 
is  not  ready  to  approve  and  to  ap- 
plaud. Why  should  amalgamated 
societies  of  any  handicraft  accumu- 
late funds  so  large  as  to  require  safe 
and  profitable  investment  ?  In  our 
simplicity  we  imagined  that  savings 
banks  had  been  instituted  for  the 
purpose  of  inducing  in  individual 
workmen  and  domestic  servants 
habits  of  wise  economy.  If  they 
are  to  be  made  the  recipients — 


282  The  Right  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  II.      [March, 


especially  those  under  Government 
superintendence — of  the  corporate 
savings  of  working  men's  associa- 
tions, what  security  have  we  against 
the  constant  recurrence  of  strikes, 
such  as  shall  keep  masters  and  men 
in  a  state  of  chronic  quarrel,  ruin- 
ous to  both  classes,  and  fatal  to 
other  industries  than  those  on  which 
they  seem  immediately  to  bear]  But 
this  is  not  all. 

Mr  Gladstone  must  know  (no  man 
better)  that  the  assumed  amicable 
feeling  between  rich  and  poor,  of 
which  he  speaks,  is  not  the  growth, 
wherever  it  exists,  of  the  last  thirty 
years,  or  even  of  the  last  century. 
It  was  as  strong  when  Addison 
wrote  his  charming  '  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley'as  itis  now.  It  was  strong- 
er before  the  Revolution  of  1688 
than  it  has  ever  been  since.  The 
immediate  cause  of  its  declension, 
when  it  did  decline,  was  the  growth 
of  manufactures,  which  established 
new  relations  between  employers 
and  employed,  and  threw  the  latter 
in  crowds  together,  without  any 
influence,  moral  or  religious,  being 
brought  to  bear  upon  them  for 
good.  The  party  from  which  Mr 
Gladstone  has  unfortunately  with- 
drawn himself,  always  protested 
against  this  state  of  things,  and 
endeavoured  to  apply  a  remedy  to 
it.  His  new  friends  resisted  these 
efforts,  or  declined  co  -  operating 
with  them.  But  conceding,  for 
argument's  sake,  all  that  Mr  Glad- 
stone and  his  deputation  seem  to 
imply,  does  it  therefore  follow  that 
the  Conservatives  desire,  or  ever 
desired,  to  exclude  the  working 
classes  from  exercising  the  fran- 
chise either  in  town  or  country  ] 
Quite  otherwise.  In  1832  they  did 
their  best  to  preserve  for  borough 
freemen  and  potwallopers  the  he- 
reditary privileges  which  the  law 
had  conferred  upon  them.  They 
were  defeated  then ;  and  now,  if 
they  hesitate  about  descending  to 
a  six-pound  franchise,  it  is  because 
the  advocates  of  that  arrangement 
are  themselves  dissatisfied  with  it, 
and  never  scruple,  as  often  as  the 


opportunity  is  presented,  to  speak 
of  the  descent  to  a  six-pound  fran- 
chise as  a  mere  step  in  the  right 
direction.  Now  the  Conservatives 
hold  that  the  right  direction  lies 
upwards.  They  believe  also  that 
it  is  in  the  power  of  every  intelli- 
gent, sober,  and  industrious  artisan, 
to  proceed  in  that  direction,  if  he 
be  willing ;  and  they  prefer  keeping 
the  franchise  as  it  is,  because  while 
ready,  with  open  arms,  to  welcome 
to  a  voice  in  the  management  of 
public  affairs  those  men  who  have 
shown  that  they  understand  how 
wisely  to  manage  their  own,  they 
are  not  disposed  to  throw  political 
power  into  the  hands  of  an  ignorant 
and  improvident  mob. 

The  oldest  and  best  of  Mr  Glad- 
stone's friends  took  alarm  at  this 
confession  of  political  faith.  They 
remonstrated  with  him  on  the  sub- 
ject, and,  partly  to  reassure  them, 
partly,  perhaps,  with  a  view  to  the 
probable  consequences  to  himself  in 
the  event  of  a  dissolution,  he  wrote 
what  was  intended  for  an  explana- 
tory preface,  and,  as  we  have  just 
stated,  published  the  speech.  Ex- 
planatory the  preface  certainly  is 
not.  Whatever  the  speech  may  have 
enunciated,  the  preface  repeats  and 
re -affirms,  in  language  somewhat 
hazy  to  be  sure,  but  of  unmistak- 
able significance. 

"  In  this  speech  "  (so  it  opens)  "will 
be  found  the  expression  of  an  opinion 
that  the  Legislature  shoiild  exclude  from 
the  franchise  on  two  grounds  only.  .  .  . 
Objection  has  been  taken,  and  even 
alarm  expressed,  with  respect  to  the 
breadth  of  the  particular  statement  now 
in  question.  I  cannot  make  any  other 
reply  than  to  publish  it,  as  it  was  de- 
livered, together  with  its  context,  and 
to  leave  it,  subject  only  to  equitable 
allowance  for  faults  of  hasty  expression, 
to  the  discerning  consideration  of  the 
reader. 

"  The  question  is,  whether  the  state- 
ment be  a  gratuitous  and  startling 
novelty,  or  whether  it  is  rather  the 
practical  revival  of  a  strain  which,  five 
years  ago,  was  usual  and  familiar ; 
which  had  then  derived  abundant  coun- 
tenance from  the  very  highest  organs  of 
political  articulation,  and  which  now 


1865.]         Tfc  Jtiyht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M. P. —Part  II.  283 

motion-paper  of  tho  House  of  Coimnong 
the  motion  he  has  already  twice  present- 
ed to  that  assembly  ;  and  we  also  con- 
gratulate that  gentleman  on  the  success 
that  attended  his  efforts  last  session  in 
having  been  the  occasion  of  eliciting 
from  Mr  Gladstone  the  sjK-ech  then  de- 
livered ;  and  we  trust  the  day  is  not  far 
distant  when  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer will  place  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  Liberal  party  on  this  question." 
"  In  the  course  of  an  impassioned 
speech''  (we  still  quote  from  the 
'Times'),  "Mr  Middleton  quoted  a 
passage  from  Mr  Gladstone's  well- 
known  speech  on  reform  in  the  course, 
of  last  session,  which  passage,  he  said, 
meant  neither  more  nor  less  than  uni- 
versal suffrage  ;  and  he  would  never  be 
satislied  with  any  Government  which 
did  not  rest  upon  the  two  great  prin- 
ciples—universal suffrage  and  a  redis- 
tribution of  electoral  seats." 

If  any  remnant  of  old  feeling  still 
linger  about  Mr  Gladstone,  he  must 
be  little  satisfied  with  finding  him- 
self the  object  of  such  a  eulogium 
as  this  ;  but  even  this  is  honour 
and  glory  compared  with  what  fol- 
lows. A  Radical  alderman  of  Leeds 
moves  a  vote  of  confidence,  on  the 
part  of  a  Working  Man's  Reform 
Association,  in  the  member  for  the 
University  of  Oxford,  The  Rev. 
W.  Thomas,  a  Leeds  Congregational 
minister,  rises  to  second  the  resolu- 
tion. We  are  sorry  to  say  that  of 
that  gentleman's  eloquence  the 
'Times'  has  preserved  no  record. 
All  that  we  learn  from  the  very 
brief  summary  given  is,  that  the 
Congregational  minister  was  severe 
upon  the  Leeds  Working  Man's 
Conservative  Association,  and  that 
the  House  of  Commons  was  assured, 
collectively  and  individually,  that* 
his  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  the  country, 
are  upon  it. 

To  return  to  Mr  Gladstone  him- 
self. We  find  little  to  remark 
upon  in  his  manner  of  proceeding 
throughout  the  remainder  of  the  ses- 
sessionof  1864.  He  spoke  and  acted 
pretty  much  as  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  do  since  his  rupture  with 
the  House  of  Lords.  His  sympa- 
thies went  every  day  more  and 
more  manifestly  with  the  ultra 


only  sounds  strange  Ix-cause  within  that 
l>eriod  it  has  fallen  into  desuetude." 

If  Mr  Gladstone  published  with  a 
view  to  reassure  his  Oxford  friends, 
he  h;ts  not  attained  his  object.  If 
his  object  was  to  pave  the  way  for 
the  establishment  of  new  relations 
elsewhere,  it  seems  probable  that 
he  may  have  partially  succeeded. 
The  'Times'  of  the  1st  of  February 
last  contains  a  long  and  interest- 
ing report  of  a  meeting  of  Parlia- 
mentary reformers  in  Leeds,  where 
every  speaker  went  out  of  his  way 
to  eulogise  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  and,  amid  the  deafen- 
ing shouts  of  an  excited  crowd,  to 
claim  him  as  his  own. 

"If,"'  said  Mr  Baines  on  that  occa- 
sion, "we  could  have  Mr  Gladstone 
(enthusiastic  ami  repeated  cheers,  fol- 
lowed by  a  call  for  three  cheers).  I  am 
glad  you  give  these  three  rounds  of 
cheers;  we  shall  hear  of  it  another  day. 
If  Mr  Gladstone  would  take  up  this 
matter,  and  take  it  up  with  the  same 
spirit,  courage,  and  determination  with 
which  he  proposed  and  advocated  the 
rejxial  of  the  paj Kir-duty  (the  last  of  the 
taxes  on  knowledge),  1  feel  confident 
the  measure  would  be  carried." 

So  also  Mr  Forster  takes  up  his 
parable  and  says, — 

"  We  had  a  hope  given  us  last  year 
that  we  should  have  a  leader-  the  leader 
who,  of  all  others,  would  guide  us  to  a 
safe  but  sincere  and  correct  measure  of 
reform,  Mr  Gladstone.  (Loud  cheers.) 
I  am  right  sure  that  that  great  man 
was  not  trifling  with  the  people  of  Eng- 
land when  he  held  out  that  ho|K\  I 
feel  sure  that  he  will  fulfil  it.  If  the 
Premier  would  not  any  longer  stop  the 
way,  but  would  allow  Mr  Gladstone  to 
go  forward,  1  l>elieve  the  time  would 
not  IK'  long  when  we  should  have  a  good 
measure  of  reform." 

Other  admirers  Mr  Gladstone 
seems  to  have  had  on  that  platform, 
some  of  whom  delivered  themselves 
still  more  decidedly. 

"Alderman  Middleton"  (we  quote 
from  the  'Times'  report)  "  moved  that, 
in  the  event  of  her  Majesty's  Ministers 
failing  to  introduce  a  measure  of  reform 
in  the  forthcoming  session,  this  meeting 
hopes  the  esteemed  Liberal  memWr  for 
this  borough  will  place  at  once  upon  the 


284  TJte  Right  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II. 


Liberals  :  his  votes  were,  of  course, 
Ministerial  throughout.  At  last 
came  the  recess,  and  with  it  leisure 
and  opportunity  to  carry  into  exe- 
cution a  design  not  rashly  matured. 
His  instincts  had  for  some  time 
past  warned  him  that  with  Oxford 
his  political  relations  were  not  so 
satisfactory  as  he  could  wish  them 
to  be.  It  was  necessary,  at  all 
events,  to  provide  against  the  worst 
by  establishing  a  connection  else- 
where. His  eyes  and  affections 
naturally  turned  to  South  Lanca- 
shire, and  into  South  Lancashire  he 
went.  Beginning  at  Bolton — for 
visiting  which  a  plausible  reason 
was  afforded  by  the  opening  of  a 
people's  park — he  passed  thence  to 
Manchester,  and  from  Manchester 
to  Liverpool,  making  political  capi- 
tal, or  trying  to  make  it,  at  every 
stage.  A  few  extracts  from  his 
speeches  will  show  with  what  con- 
summate skill  he  played  his  game ; 
how  adroitly  he  appealed  on  each 
separate  occasion  to  the  prejudices 
and  passions  of  those  who  came  to 
listen;  how  accurately  he  measured 
their  capacity  of  swallow ;  how 
cleverly  he  adapted  his  instruction 
to  their  capacity.  Hear  him  ad- 
dressing a  crowd,  chiefly  of  opera- 
tives, at  Bolton,  in  intellect  probably 
not  below  the  standard  of  their 
class  elsewhere, — men  willing  to  be 
quiet  if  demagogues  would  let  them 
alone,  yet  ready  enough  to  believe 
in  grievances  when  orators  and 
Members  of  Parliament  suggest 
them  : — 

"Gentlemen,"  says  Mr  Gladstone, 
"I  would  beg  youto  observe  that,  what- 
ever be  the  faults  or  whatever  be  the 
virtues  of  the  Legislature  of  this  coun- 
try, they  are  faults  which  they  possess 
and  exhibit  in  common  with  the  mass 
of  the  nation.  (Cheers.)  If  Parliament 
at  a  given  time  shows  extraordinary 
vigour  in  the  work  of  legislative  im- 
provement, it  is  because  there  pervades 
the  public  mind  a  temper  of  determined 
desire  for  improvement,  such  as  sympa- 
thises with  and  sustains  and  even  re- 
quires those  exertions  on  the  part  of 
Parliament ;  but  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  come  a  time  when  Parliament 


shows  less  eagerness  in  the  promotion 
of  useful  reforms,  depend  upon  it  the 
cause  of  any  compai-ative  inaction  is  to 
be  found  not  so  much  within  those  four 
Avails  as  in  the  temper  of  the  nation  it- 
self.     This   is   a  great  consolation  to 
those  who  might  be  inclined  to  a  senti- 
ment of  impatience  when  they  find  that 
efforts  at  improvement   are  canvassed 
with  a  greater  jealousy  than  in  other 
times ;  and  that,    in  point  of  fact,   as 
sometimes  happens,  any  man  who  pro- 
poses an  ameliorating  law  becomes  by 
that  very  fact  itself  a  sort  of  object  of 
suspicion.    (A  laugh. )    Now,  when  that 
happens,  depend  upon  it  that  isduetothe 
state  of  the  country.     What  is  our  state 
with  regard  to  these  things  ?     Our  state 
is  this — that,  notwithstanding  the  vast 
extent  of  our  public  affairs,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  25  years  of  more  effective  or 
beneficial  legislation  are  to  be  found  in 
the  history  of  any  country  than  of  those 
of  the  last  25  years  in  England.     Well, 
after  a  hard  day's  work  men  are  apt  to 
get  tired — (laughter);  and,  depend  upon 
it,  it  is  no  figure  of  speech  when  I  say 
that  just  the  same  thing  occurs  to  Par- 
liament, and  that  they  may  get  tired. 
There  is  a  certain  relaxation,  a  relaxa- 
tion of  what  I  may  call  the  muscles  of 
the  mind  after  hard  work  has  been  done, 
grievances  have  been  removed,  unwise 
laws  have  been  mitigated  or  repealed, 
and    improvements    have    been    sown 
broadcast  through  the  land  ;  but  I  must 
admit  to  you  that  I  shall  be  the  first  to 
affirm  and  contend  that  that  is  no  rea- 
son  at  all    why    other    improvements 
should  not  be  prosecuted  with  similar 
zeal.     (Cheers.)     On  the  contrary,  were 
we  perfect  beings,  that  would  be  a  rea- 
son why  we  should  be  still  more  zealous 
than  ever  in   accomplishing  whatever 
remains  to  be  done.     I  say  that  you  may 
depend  upon  it  that  the  country  itself 
has  been  disposed  to  take  breath  for  a 
little  while,   and  to  exact  a  less  strict 
account  from  the  representatives  of  the 
people  with  regard  to  legislative  labours. 
(Cheers.)     If  there  be  any  who  think 
that  there  is  still  a  pressure  for  great 
improvement — and  I  certainly  am  one 
who  believes  that  much  may  yet  remain 
to  be  done — let  them  also  bear  this  in 
mind,  that  we  live  in  a  state  of  things 
in  which  a  conviction  once  taking  hold 
of  the  minds  of  the  people,  of  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  which  it  is  composed, 
will  be  fairly  answered  in  the  conduct 
of  the  Houses  of  the  Legislature.    When 
I  speak  of  what  remains  to  be  done,  I 
don't  at  all  mean  to  say  that  we  stand 
now  as  we  stood  30  years  ago.     On  the 


1SG5.]          Tlte  Jiiijht  lion.  William  Gladstone,  .I/./'.— Part  II.  2«5 


(•outran',  crying  grievances,  gross  evils 
and  mi.-chiei  have,  with  great  prudence, 
wisdom,  niul  circums|>ection,  Imt,  at 
tin:  same  time,  with  great  firmness  and 
decision,  been  remedied.  The  improve- 
ments that  are  before  us  are,  therefore, 
in  many  respects,  of  a  different  character 
from  the  improvements  now  behind  us 
to  be  made.  There  are  adjustments 
which  our  institutions  will  require  The 
progress  of  education,  the  progress  of 
good  and  sound  habits  in  the  commu- 
nity, the  increasing  eontidences  which 
unite  classes  together  — all  these  things 
point  to  a  gradual  enlargement  of  the 
privileges  possessed  by  the  people  ;  and 
sure  we  may  be  that  as  the  necessity 
and  the  occasion  for  such  changes  are 
felt,  a  liberal  disposition  to  ;uljust  such 
changes  will  likewise  be  felt  among  us. 
(Cheers.)" 

Pretty  plain  speaking  this,  and 
not  out  of  tune  with  what,  in  the 
early  summer,  had  passed  in  Carl- 
ton  Gardens  between  the  deputies 
from  the  Association  of  Amalgamat- 
ed Engineers  and  the  distinguished 
author  of  the  Post-Office  Savings 
Bank  measure.  "If  there  has  been 
any  suspicion  or  disinclination  to 
this  bill  «n  the  part  of  the  working 
classes,"  say  the  former,  "  it  is 
owing  in  a  great  measure  to  their 
dissatisfaction  with  the  conduct  of 
Parliament,  during  recent  years,  in 
reference  to  the  extension  of  the 
franchise."  ''  If  you  complain  of 
the  conduct  of  Parliament,"  replies 
the  latter,  "  depend  upon  it  the 
conduct  of  Parliament  is  connected 
in  no  small  degree  with  the  ap- 
parent inaction  and  alleged  indif- 
ference of  the  working  classes  them- 
selves with  respect  to  the  suffrage." 
Pretty  plain  speaking,  indeed,  yet 
scarcely  so  frank  as  that  which  was 
addressed  not  long  afterwards  to 
the  working  men  of  Manchester: — 

"Gentlemen,  j>emiit  me  to  express  a 
h;>i»e  that  this  great  community  will  be 
ui>on  its  guard  against  what  I  may  call 
the  principle  of  political  lethargy.  That 
is  not  a  sound  or  a  healthy  principle. 
There  are  times  when  I  apprehend  it 
would  be  the  duty  of  any  public  man, 
in  addressing  a  public  assembly,  to  en- 
deavour to  moderate  what  might  seem 
to  him  over- liveliness  and  excessive 
eagerness,  even  in  the  work  of  reform 


and  improvement.  P.ut  the  time  in 
which  we  live  is  not  .a  time  of  that  char- 
acter :  it  is  rather  a  time  in  which  it  is 
becoming  we  should  recall  to  our  recol- 
lection, that  although  so  much  has  been 
done,  and  well  done,  to  the  honour  of 
all  parties  concerned  in  this  country 
(luring  the  last  thirty  years,  yet  that 
it  behoves  us  to  continue  cautiously, 
steadily,  and  justly,  but  (irmly,  to  con- 
tinue in  the  same  career.  We  cannot 
look  abroad  over  the  face  of  our  country 
without  feeling  that  there  is  much  that 
we  have  yet  to  desire.  We  cannot  look 
acrnss  the  Channel  t»  Ireland,  and  espe- 
cially to  the  state  of  feeling  in  Ireland, 
and  say  that  that  state  of  feeling,  taken 
as  a  whoh',  is  becoming  for  the  honour 
and  for  the  advantage  of  the  United 
Kingdom.  We  cannot  look  upon  our 
brethren  and  our  fellow-subjects  there 
without  heartily  wishing  that  they  were 
more  entirely  united  with  us.  We  can- 
not say  that  there  duty  to  the  people 
has  been  discharged.  1  do  not  say  that 
Parliament  is  to  blame.  I  contend,  in- 
deed, that  Parliament  is  the  faithful 
steward  of  the  powers  which  it  has  re- 
ceived. It  is  governed  by  an  enlightened 
desire  to  promote  the  interests  of  the 
entire  community.  But  that  Parlia- 
ment has  more  than  once  heard  an  ex- 
pression of  the  desire  that  some  exten- 
sion .should  take  place  in  the  direct 
action  of  the  people  in  the  choice  of  its 
representatives.  ^Cheers.)  There  can- 
not, I  think,  be  a  doubt  that,  whenever 
the  state  of  public  feeling  shall  have 
matured  for  the  satisfactory  enter- 
taining of  that  question,  one  of  the 
great  demonstrative  facts  of  the  moral 
claim  of  the  j)eople  to  have  some  ex- 
tension of  the  franchise,  will  rest  with 
the  conduct  of  the  population  of  Lanca- 
shire during  the  distress  of  the  last  few 
years." 

It  would  be  an  insult  to  the 
understanding  of  our  readers  were 
we  to  stop  for  the  purpose  of  ana- 
lysingthese  sentences.  The  country 
is  not  satisfied,  and  ought  not  to 
be  satisfied,  with  the  condition  in 
which  it  is.  In  Ireland  everything 
goes  wrong.  The  land  belongs  to 
an  aristocracy  which  declines  to 
share  its  proprietary  rights  with  the 
tenantry.  The  Established  Church 
is  odious  to  the  great  body  of  the 
people.  People  and  priests  have 
met  to  declare  that  a  great  reform 
is  necessary,  the  prelates  of  the 


286  Tlie  Right  lion.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


Roman  Catholic  Church  pleading 
for  tenant-right,  the  laity  demand- 
ing that  the  Protestant  Church  shall 
be  abolished.  And  these  and  many 
other  excellent  works  might  be  ac- 
complished if  the  operatives  of  Lan- 
cashire could  only  be  roused  to 
demand  a  large  extension  of  the 
suffrage.  Therefore  they  are  prais- 
ed for  doing  that  which  was  the 
readiest  means  of  securing  to  them 
help  from  the  higher  classes  in  their 
time  of  need ;  and  forbearance  from 
outrage  is  assumed  to  establish  a 
just  claim  to  the  exercise  of  import- 
ant political  privileges. 

Having  thus  conciliated  the  non- 
electors,  he  turns  next  to  the  ten- 
pound  householders,  whom  he  asso- 
ciates with  himself  in  his  recent 
triumph  over  the  Lords,  not  with- 
out some  complimentary  allusions 
to  the  daily  press  in  Manchester 
and  elsewhere. 

"I  turn  now  to  a  question  which  was  a 
subject  of  some  portion  of  the  communi- 
cation which  passed  between  us  eleven 
years  ago,  and  an  important  domestic 
question — I  mean  the  repeal  of  the 
excise  duty  iipon  paper.  At  that  time, 
not  only  through  its  very  distinguished 
representative,  Mr  Gibson,  but  also  by 
the  direct  action  of  many  of  its  leading 
citizens,  Manchester  took  a  prominent 
part  in  promoting  that  repeal.  It  was 
surely  a  very  natural  movement.  We 
had  taken  away  the  duties  upon  glass 
and  upon  soap.  We  had  abolished  the 
interference  of  the  excise  with  every 
other  branch  of  trade  which  has  no 
other  purpose  than  the  production  of 
useful  commercial  articles.  The  paper- 
duty  alone  remained,  and  it  was  felb 
that  no  principle  could  be  urged  for 
its  retention.  On  merely  commercial 
grounds  it  was  right  that  it  should  be 
repealed.  The  repeal  of  it,  I  may  be 
permitted  to  say,  was  found  to  be  no 
easy  matter  (laughter)  ;  but  though  it 
was  not  an  easy  matter,  it  has  been  ac- 
complished ;  and  now  that  it  has  been 
accomplished,  I  am  only  going  to  speak 
of  one,  but  a  very  importantf  portion 
of  its  results.  The  simply  economical 
part  of  those  results  I  have  no  doubt 
it  will  take  a  long  time  to  develop  ; 
but  1  adhere  confidently  to  the  opin- 
ion that  it  will  probably  be  found  that 
fibrous  material  which,  by  the  repeal  of 
the  paper-duty,  has  been  completely 


emancipated  from  any  interference  of 
the  excise  in  any  industrial  process, 
will  perhaps,  in  no  very  long  time,  be 
found  to  be  applicable  usefully  to  a 
multitude  of  purposes  which  never 
were  even  so  much  as  dreamt  of,  or,  if 
they  were  dreamt  of,  could  not  be  made 
the  subject  of  practical  prosecution  as 
long  as  the  paper-duty  continued  in  ex- 
istence. But,  standing  before  a  com- 
munity which  entertained  such  decided 
opinions  upon  that  subject,  I  must 
acknowledge  the  debt  of  gratitude 
which  is  due  to  all  the  early  promoters 
of  the  movement  for  the  repeal,  in  con- 
nection with  the  moral  and  political 
consequences  which  that  repeal  has  had 
in  respect  to  its  effects  upon  the  public 
press.  I  am  not  going  to  say  one  word 
in  disparagement  of  the  public  press  of 
tHe  country  at  any  period  of  its  exist- 
ence. My  belief  is  that  from  the  very 
first  it  has  been  an  organ  of  good  im- 
mensely preponderating  over  the  mis- 
chief. I  mean  now  as  it  existed  three, 
four,  five  generations  ago  ;  in  our  time, 
as  it  existed  twenty  years  ago,  it  had 
reached  to  a  position  of  remarkable  pro- 
minence and  utility.  The  great  organs 
of  the  press,  as  you  well  know,  are  con- 
ducted by  some  of  the  most  accom- 
plished minds  of  the  country.  Many  of 
the  articles  written  in  those  papers  be- 
fore the  repeal  of  the  paper-duty  were 
worthy  of  taking  a  place  in  the  perma- 
nent literature  of  England.  I  well 
remember  being  in  company  with  Sir 
R,.  Peel,  not  less  than  thirty  years  back, 
when  a  question  was  raised  about  the 
authorship  of  'Junius.'  You  well  re- 
member how  great  a  national  as  well  as 
a  literary  sensation  was  produced  at 
the  time  by  the  publication  of  those 
Letters ;  in  point  of  fact,  the  intense 
controversy  with  respect  to  the  author- 
ship may  enable  us  to  measure  the  im- 
portance of  those  Letters  as  a  political 
phenomenon  of  the  times.  But  when 
that  question  was  in  discussion  in  pri- 
vate conversation,  the  literary  merit  of 
the  Letters  themselves  was  also  brought 
under  view ;  and  I  well  recollect  that 
Sir  Robert  Peel  gave  at  once  his  opin- 
ion that  the  Letters  of  '  Junius '  were 
not  as  well  written  as  '  The  Times. ' 
(Cheers.)  It  was  a  great  thing  to  pos- 
sess a  press  in  which  the  mind  of  the 
country  was  so  ably  and  fully  repre- 
sented,— in  which  public  affairs  and  the 
conduct  of  public  men  were  so  freely 
and  incessantly  canvassed  and  discussed. 
That  discussion  is  of  inestimable  value 
to  the  country,  and  to  none  of  more 
value  than  to  public  men  themselves. 


1865.]        TV*  Iliyht  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.r.—Part  II. 


287 


Certainly,  my  own  view  of  the  working 
of  the  press  is,  that  U|M>M  the  whole,  ami 
for  every  domestic  question,  it  is  nearly 
perfect." 

The  Manchester  people  being 
thus  disposed  of,  Mr  Gladstone 
proceeds  to  Liverpool,  where  public 
opinion  is  a  good  deal  divided  on 
every  one  of  the  points  which  he 
lui-s  heretofore  discussed.  Liver- 
pool i.s,  however,  the  place  of  his 
birth  ;  and  Liverpool  men,  even 
those  who  differ  most  widely  from 
him  in  politics,  are  proud  of  their 
townsman,  and  of  the  reputation 
which  he  has  acquired  as  a  great 
orator  and  an  accomplished  scholar. 
He  is  welcomed  by  all  classes  with 
enthusiasm.  The  Mayor  and  Cor- 
poration meet  him  with  one  address; 
the  Financial  Reform  Association 
present  him  with  another.  The  for- 
mer goes  comparatively  little  into 
political  subjects;  the  latter  applies 
itself  entirely  to  fiscal  questions.  It 
praises  largely  and  censures  gently, 
making  its  great  point  upon  the  re- 
mission of  a  penny  on  the  income- 
tax,  while  the  duty  of  a  shilling 
per  quarter  on  corn  imported  from 
abroad  is  still  retained.  Let  our 
readers  take  note  of  the  character- 
istic manner  in  which  Mr  Glad- 
stone pays  back  the  flattery  which 
the  Association  has  offered,  and 
deals  with  its  reasoning  : — 

"Gentlemen,  it  is  by  these  institu- 
tions that  public  opinion  is  formed  and 
matured.  It  is  among  you,  it  is  by  your 
mutual  communications,  that  the  ideas 
are  gradually  brought  into  being,  under 
the  influence  of  that  light  which  expe- 
rience gives  you,  that  they  from  time  to 
time  acquire  more  and  more  substan- 
tive form  and  power,  until  at  length — 
having  passed  the  test  of  searching  ami 
protracted  examination  by  the  free 
press,  the  free  assemblies,  and  the  free 
conversations  of  this  country  —  they 
reach  to  that  condition  of  maturity  in 
which  a  Legislature  may  safely  and 
wisely  adopt  them.  (Cheers.)  True  it 
is  that  that  process  is  of  necessity  a 
tardy  process  ;  true  it  is  that  the  ex- 
pectations  of  the  more  ardent  supporters 
may  be  doomed  to  receive  many  a  lesson 
of  patience  and  some  of  disappointment; 
but  it  is  also  true  that,  in  consequence 


of  the  tardiness  of  that  process,  tin: 
changes  accepted  here  are  accepted  in 
good  faith,  are  accepted  by  the  entire 
community;  and  when  once;  they  take 
their  place  on  the  statute-book  of  the 
country,  they  become  part  of  the  system 
under  which  we  live.  (Cheers.)  It  may 
still  be  open  to  us  further  to  develop 
that  which  we  have  done,  but  happily 
we  can  say,  with  respect  to  our  legisla- 
tion generally,  ami  especially  with  re- 
gard to  legislation  of  the  class  more 
particularly  under  view,  what  was  said 
by  the  ancients  of  a  place  that  it  is  need- 
less to  name  : — '  There  is  no  backward 
road,  there  are  no  footsteps  turned  in 
the  direction  of  retrogression.'  (Cheers.) 
'  Onwards'  is  the  motto  of  Knglishmen, 
and  by  that  motto  they  abide.  (( 'heers. ) 
Well,  now,  if  I  may  be,  permitted  one 
single  criticism — and  I  think  it  will  not 
be  invidious — it  will  be  in  illustration  of 
that  which  I  have  just  stated.  The 
address  which  has  been  read  by  our 
friend  Mr  .Jeffrey,  docs  me  a  great  deal 
more  than  justice.  It  attributes,  in 
common  with  the  other  addresses,  much 
more  than  their  just  value  to  the  la- 
bours which  I  have  been  enabled  to 
perform,  but  it  over-estimates  the  ]H>wer 
which  is  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
Minister  of  Finance.  The  address 
states,  with  truth,  that  I  have  given 
my  opinion,  in  my  place  in  Parliament, 
that  the  tax  which  still  remains  appli- 
cable to  the  article  of  corn,  is  a  tax  that, 
on  principle,  cannot  be  defended,  and 
that,  as  far  as  1  know,  it  is  not  recom- 
mended by  any  such  imperative  consi- 
derations of  convenience  or  public  ad- 
vantage, apart  from  principles,  as  to 
make -me,  at  least  for  one,  content  to 
recognise  it  as  belonging  to  the  per- 
manent fiscal  system  of  the  country. 
(Cheers.)  It  would  be  absurd  were  1 
to  say  that  1  think  it  burdensome  and 
grievous,  because  these  are  subjects 
which  belong  to  questions  of  a  graver 
and  more  serious  character  ;  but  1 
frankly  own  I  know  no  reason  why, 
when  it  is  practicable,  smaller  evils  as 
well  as  great  ones  should  not  be  remov- 
ed. But  I  am  bound  to  say,  having 
travelled  thus  far  with  my  friend  Mr 
Jeffrey  on  his  road,  that  1  am  not  able 
to  accept  the  doctrine  that  an  error  was 
committed,  as  the  address  says,  by  me, 
and  I  must  of  course  say,  and  in  order 
to  speak  the  truth,  by  the  Administra- 
tion of  the  Queen,  when  we  preferred 
to  ask  the  House  of  Commons  for  the 
remission  of  a  penny  from  the  income- 
tax  rather  than  to  take  off  the  tax  on 
corn.  Now  the  simple  test  to  which  1 


288  The  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P.—Part  II.       [March, 


bring  that  question  is  this  : — Supposing 
we  had  not  proposed  to  take  a  penny  off 
the  income-tax,  but  had  proposed  to  re- 
mit the  Is.  duty  on  corn  during  the  last 
session  of  Parliament,  because  that  is 
the  whole  question,  the  question  of  time 
and  circumstance,  will  Air  Jeffrey  gua- 
rantee to  me  that  such  a  proposal  made 
by  the  Government  would  have  suc- 
ceeded? (Hear,  and  a  laugh.)  Now 
that  is  a  very  fair  question  to  put ;  and 
until  Mr  Jeffrey  comes  forward  and 
makes  himself  fully  and  bodily  respon- 
sible (laughter)  for  a  clear,  distinct, 
and  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question, 
I  will  waive  and  adjourn  the  further 
discussion  of  the  subject." 

Suchlanguage  isagreeable  enough 
to  the  members  of  an  association 
which  exists  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
trying  to  establish  in  the  country  a 
system  of  exclusively  direct  taxa- 
tion. It  is  not  entirely  approved 
by  a  body  of  gentlemen  so  gene- 
rally intelligent  as  the  merchants 
of  Liverpool ;  and  Mr  Gladstone, 
who  is  sharp  enough  in  noticing 
how  the  cat  jumps,  makes  haste  to 
qualify  what  might  have  been  other- 
wise received  as  a  premature  avowal 
of  a  policy  for  which  the  country 
is  scarcely  ripe.  He  first  draws  a 
glowing  picture  of  the  results  which 
have  attended  the  free-trade  legisla- 
tion of  past  years ;  and  then,  hav- 
ing stirred  his  audience  to  at  least 
momentary  enthusiasm,  he  contin- 
ues:— 

"But  now,  Mr  Mayor  and  Gentle- 
men, I  hope  it  was  not  needful  for  me, 
in  addressing  the  Presidents  of  these 
associations,  to  use  strong,  laboured, 
artificial  expressions  in  assuring  you,  on 
behalf  of  her  Majesty's  Government, 
as  well  as  on  my  own  individual  behalf, 
that,  with  this  great  encouragement  in 
our  views  and  recollection,  we,  too, 
shall  be  studious,  according  to  our  means 
and  opportunities,  in  the  search  for  occa- 
sions and  means  for  the  further  appli- 
cation of  those  principles  which  have 
produced  benefits  so  incalculable  to  our 
country.  (Cheers.)  Allow  me,  however, 
to  point  out  that  there  are  certain  gene- 
ral rules  from  which  we  should  be  wrong 
to  depart.  I  see  in  the  able  address 
which  Mr  Jeffrey  presented,  or  I  think 
I  detect,  a  latent  principle,  on  which,  in 
my  own  peculiar  position  as  Minister  of 
Finance,  I  confess  I  look  with  a  certain 


degree  of  suspicion.  He  wants  to  pro- 
mote public  economy  by  making  the 
payment  of  large  taxes  insupportable. 
Direct  taxation,  I  admit,  if  we  were  to 
proceed  upon  abstract  principles,  is  a 
sound  principle ;  but,  gentlemen,  have 
some  compassion  upon  those  whose  first 
necessity,  wdiose  first  duty  it  is  to  pro- 
vide-for  the  maintenance  of  public  credit 
— (hear) — to  provide  for  the  defences 
of  the  country — to  provide  in  every 
department  for  the  full  efficiency  of 
the  public  service.  (Cheers. )  I  wish  I 
could  teach  every  political  philosopher, 
and  every  financial  reformer,  to  extend 
some  indulgence  to  those  who  would 
ascend  along  with  them,  if  they  could, 
into  the  seventh  heaven  of  speculation 
(laughter),  but  who  have  weights  and 
clogs  tied  to  their  feet  which  bind  them 
down  to  earth,  and  render  it  necessary 
for  them  to  infuse  large  dilution,  large 
participation  of  secondary  matter,  into 
that  system  of  abstract  reasoning  by 
which,  if  they  could,  they  would  be 
very  glad  to  be  guided.  That  is  an  im- 
portant reservation  from  me.  Allow 
me  to  say  that  1  trust  that  at  no  time 
will  any  Government  be  induced,  for 
the  sake  of  seeking  favour  with  the  be- 
lief— and  I  am  quite  sure  that  in  seek- 
ing favour  they  would  fail  to  find  it — 
let  no  Government  be  induced,  under 
the  notion  of  abstract,  extensive,  sud- 
den, and  sweeping  reforms,  to  endanger 
the  vital  principle  of  public  credit,  or 
to  risk  throwing  the  finances  of  the 
country  into  confusion — (cheers)  :  but, 
subject  to  these  limitations,  I,  for  one, 
trust  that  progress  will  be  the  law  of 
our  Legislature  in  that  as  well  as  in 
every  other  particular,  and  in  that  par- 
ticular not  less  than  in  any  other." 

With  these  extracts  from  the 
latest  of  his  autumnal  orations,  we 
take,  for  the  present,  our  leave  of 
Mr  Gladstone.  They  are,  in  every 
point  of  view,  worthy  of  the  man. 
Sometimes  meaning  more  than  they 
appear  to  express,  sometimes  mean- 
ing less,  they  are  with  great  skill 
adapted  to  the  tastes  and  humours 
of  the  motley  groups  which  come  to 
listen.  They  stimulate  the  work- 
man, they  soothe  the  master,  they 
tickle  the  palate  of  the  merchant, 
they  aim  at  the  intellectual  gratifica- 
tion of  all.  What  their  effect  upon 
the  mind  of  South  Lancashire  may 
be,  time  will  doubtless  show.  Mean- 
while, not  South  Lancashire  only, 


1865.1          The  lliyht  H»n.  William  Gladstone,  M. P.— Part  II. 


butall  England — every  Englishman, 
that  is  to  say,  who  is  capable  of 
putting  two  and  two  together — 
must  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
that  on  questions  of  finance,  not 
less  than  on  other  questions,  Mr 
Gladstone  is  drifting,  or  has  already 
drifted,  into  pure  lladicalism.  Of 
the  House  of  Lords  he  has  spoken 
words,  directly  and  by  implication, 
which  those  who  appreciate  aright 
the  importance  of  that  Chamber  to 
the  balance  of  power  in  the  consti- 
tution can  never  forget  or  condone. 
The  Church  he  has  long  abandoned 
and  betrayed.  We  say  nothing  of 
his  absence  from  that  great  gathering 
in  the  Sheldonian  Theatre,  where 
the  place  which  he  ought  to  have 
filled  was  filled  by  Mr  Disraeli ;  and 
where  Mr  Cardwell,  more  true  than 
he  to  the  professions  of  his  youth, 
was  not  above  playing  a  secondary 
part.  He  may  have  been  influenced 
on  that  occasion  by  motives  higher 
than  personal  feeling,  or  lower.  It 
is  very  painful  to  a  man  of  Mr 
Gladstone's  temperament  to  be 
overshadowed,  even  temporarily,  by 
a  political  rival.  But  no  such 
excuse  can  be  offered  for  overt 
acts  of  treason  to  the  cause  which 
the  University  elected  him  to  up- 
hold. He  is  the  advocate  now  of 
the  abolition  of  tests,  and  of  the 
admission  of  Dissenters  to  place, 
power,  and  a  share  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  affairs  of  colleges  and 
of  the  University.  He  asserts  the 
right  of  Parliament  to  absolve 
priests  and  deacons,  and  it  may  be 
bishops,  from  the  vows  which  they 
took  when  admitted  into  holy 
orders.  He  was  sent  to  the  House 
of  Commons  by  the  electors  of  the 
University,  in  order,  among  other 
things,  to  oppose  these  changes ; 
and  he  long  opposed  them.  Mean- 
while, that  the  State  may  benefit 
equally  with  the  Church  from  his 
senatorial  labours,  he  enunciates 
the  doctrine,  "that  every  man  who 
is  not  presumably  incapacitated  by 
some  consideration  of  personal  un- 
fitness,  or  of  political  danger,  is 
morally  entitled  to  conic  within  the 


pale  of  the  constitution."  Well 
may  Mr  Baines,  Mr  Forster,  and 
the  Alderman  and  Congregational 
minister  of  Leeds,  congratulate 
themselves  and  the  Liberal  party 
on  having  at  hust  found  a  leader  ! 
Well  may  Mr  Bright,  Mr  Cobden, 
Mr  Locke  King, and  Mr  Milner  Gib- 
son, exchange  with  him  the  endear- 
ing epithets  of  honourable  and 
right  honourable  friend.  And  now, 
to  sum  up  all,  he  has  assured  Mr 
Jeffrey,  and,  through  Mr  Jeffrey, 
every  reader  of  his  Liverpool  .speech, 
that  time  and  opportunity  alone 
are  wanting  to  bring  him  shoulder 
to  shoulder  into  the  same  line  with 
the  Financial  Iteform  Association. 
There  is  no  backward  road  ;  there 
are  no  footsteps  turned  in  the  di- 
rection of  retrogression.  Year  by 
year  "we  have  lightened  the  springs 
of  industry"  by  throwing  public 
burdens  more  and  more  upon  pro- 
fessional incomes  and  realised  pro- 
perty ;  and  "Onwards"  is  still  the 
Englishman's  motto.  Even  the 
paltry  duty  still  levied  on  foreign 
corn  shall  cease  as  soon  as  we  have 
a  constituency  prepared  to  demand 
from  their  representatives  a  sutii- 
cient  rise  in  the  amount  of  the  in- 
come-tax. All  this  is  indeed  most 
ably,  most  cleverly,  most  adroitly 
put ;  for  Mr  Gladstone  wields  other 
weapons  than  those  wielded  by  Mr 
Bright  and  Mr  Jeffrey.  They  assail 
the  constitution  rudely  with  saws 
and  hammers  ;  saws  and  hammers 
fit  but  awkwardly  to  his  hand.  It 
may  be,  indeed,  that  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  he  is  not,  after  all,  an  ad- 
mirer of  pure  democracy.  It  is 
probable  that  he  would  conserve, 
if  he  could,  the  framework  of  the 
constitution  as  it  now  is.  Lords 
Spiritual,  Lords  Temporal,  and  a 
House  of  Commons,  are  good  tools 
with  which  to  work.  But  then 
they  must  work  as  he  bids  them  ; 
they  must  submit  their  own  will 
unreservedly  to  his,  otherwise  he 
will  be  driven  to  discard  them,  as 
others  have  done.  Hence  his  mode 
of  operation  is  that  of  a  master  in 
art,  who  with  a  highly -tempered 


290  The,  Right  Hon.  William  Gladstone,  M.P. — Part  II.       [March, 


chisel  cuts  where  clumsier  sculp- 
tors strike ;  and  cuts  with  such 
consummate  address,  that  the  look- 
er-on receives  no  intelligible  im- 
pression of  what  is  going  on  till 
the  results  appear. 

And  now,  one  word  in  conclu- 
sion, partly  to  justify  ourselves  for 
the  course  which  we  have  taken, 
partly  to  point  the  moral  of  our  tale. 
We  have  spoken  of  Mr  Gladstone 
as  a  public  man,  and  a  public  man 
only.  Few  admired  him  more  than 
we,  when  first  he  took  his  place 
among  rising  statesmen.  Few  have 
felt  more  acutely,  or  mourned  more 
sincerely,  his  declension  from  the 
path  on  which  he  originally  entered. 
But  it  is  not  our  feeling  nor  our 
sorrow  that  demands  consideration 
now.  The  University  of  Oxford 
in  the  first  place,  the  country  at 
large  in  the  second,  must  come 
ere  long  to  a  judgment  concern- 
ing his  future  destiny.  If  they 
who,  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  have 
kept  him  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, approve  the  policy  which  he 


has  adopted,  and  the  logic  with 
which  he  defends  it,  they  will  send 
him  to  the  House  of  Commons  again 
as  their  representative.  If  they 
condemn  the  one  and  dislike  the 
other,  they  will  look  out  for  a  bet- 
ter, if  not  an  abler  man,  to  repre- 
sent them  in  the  next  Parliament. 
That  Mr  Gladstone  will  make  his 
way  into  the  great  Council  of  the 
nation  somehow  or  another  cannot 
be  doubted,  though  neither  Oxford 
nor  South  Lancashire  claim  him  as 
its  own.  Leeds,  Manchester,  pos- 
sibly the  City  of  London  itself,  are 
open  to  him.  But  what  then1?  Is 
he  to  be  Lord  Palmerston's  suc- 
cessor ?  We  should  think  not.  No 
Tory  will  support  him;  not  one 
old  Whig  family  will  follow  him. 
The  House  of  Commons,  if  at  all 
constituted  as  it  now  is,  would  not 
tolerate  his  want  of  temper  for  a 
day.  He  has  nothing  to  look  to 
but  the  extreme  Radicals ;  and  they 
are  not  as  yet  strong  enough  to  give 
either  a  policy  or  a  Prime  Minister 
to  this  great  country. 


1865.] 


William  Blake, 


291 


V,'  I  1. 1. 1  .V  M      I?  L  A  K  K. 


WILLIAM  BLAKE  is  a  curiosity  : 
whether  as  man  or  artist,  lie  is  one 
of  those  exceptional  persons  who 
invite  analysis,  and  of  whom  very 
opposite  estimates  will  lie  formed. 
For  while  some  are  disposed  to 
exaggerate  the  genius  which  is  ac- 
companied by  eccentricity,  others 
are  so  offended  at  the  inordinate 
conceit,  the  ignorance,  the  presump- 
tion, the  wilful  self-deception,  and 
general  want  of  truthfulness  which, 
for  the  most  part,  characterise  the 
eccentric  individual,  that  they  are 
slow  to  recognise  the  real  merits 
that  may  be  found  in  such  disagree- 
able companionship.  We  should 
have  thought,  for  our  part,  that  the 
slight  and  interesting  sketch  given 
by  Allan  Cunningham,  in  his  'Lives 
of  the  Painters,'  of  this  remarkable 
man,  was  all  that  the  subject  re- 
quired. It  seemed  otherwise  to  Mr 
CJilchrist.  He  has  wrought  out  an 
elaborate  biography  in  two  very 
ornate  volumes.  We  must  thank 
him  for  the  many  specimens  he  has 
laid  before  us  of  the  artistic  talent 
or  genius  of  Blake  ;  and  we  ought 
to  thank  him,  we  presume,  for  the 
further  insight  he  has  given  us  into 
the  man  himself.  But  much  of  the 
charm  which  hung  over  Allan  Cun- 
ningham's sketch  (so  far  as  we  can 
recall  that  sketch  to  mind)  is  dissi- 
pated and  lost  in  this  more  full  and 
faithful  portraiture. 

Truth  requires,  it  will  be  said, 
that  we  see  a  man  in  more  than  one 
aspect.  Blake,  the  visionary,  writ- 
ing snatches  of  poetry  which  Words- 
worth might  have  adopted,  and  stri  k- 
ing  out  designs  which  Flaxman  ad- 
mired and  which  Fuseli  pronounced 
as  excellent  "to  steal  from," — living 
throughout  an  earnest,  laborious, 
temperate,retiredlife,intheconstant 
society  of  one  woman,who  most  faith- 
fully kept  her  vow  "to  love, honour, 


and  obey," — forms  a  charming  pic- 
ture for  the  imagination.  But  when 
Mr  Gilehrist  throws  the  full  light  of 
biography  upon  this  picture,  other 
features  are  revealed  by  no  means 
attractive.  The  neglected  artist 
was  angry  at  the  fame  of  those  who 
had  really  won  the  world's  applause, 
and  he  was  utterly  blind  to  the  ex- 
cellence of  any  but  one  school  in 
painting  ;  he  pours  out  insane  dia- 
tribes against  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
and  against  his  successful  rival, 
Stothard.  This  retired  poet,  sing- 
ing of  his  lamb  and  his  tiger,  is  also 
a  dreary  mystic,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing his  naturally  energetic  mind,  is 
so  ignorant  and  uncultivated,  that 
he  does  not  even  perceive  the  gross 
presumption  of  his  haphazard  at- 
tacks, whether  on  great  men  or  on 
great  subjects.  This  earnest  vision- 
ary, whom  we  left  living  amongst 
the  angels,  is  also  a  good  hater,  vain 
and  quarrelsome,  and  very  much 
given  to  that  sort  of  fibbing  which 
is  intended  to  make  people  stare 
and  marvel  at  us. 

We  must  not  let  it  be  supposed 
that  Mr  Gilehrist  deals  severely 
with  his  subject ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  is  very  laudatory.  He  is  very 
indulgent  to  the  man,  Blake,  and 
gives  to  the  artist  a  measure  of 
praise  which  we,  not  being  artists 
ourselves,  can  only  receive  with 
mute  wonder  and  surprise.  The 
painful  and  damaging  impressions 
we  speak  of  are  the  results  of  the 
bare  facts  he  states,  or  of  the  words 
of  Blake  himself  which  he  puts  be- 
fore us.  Mr  (lilchrist  sustains,  for 
his  part,  the  traditional  idolatry  of 
the  biographer — that  is,  be  it  under- 
stood, in  a  certain  offhand,  patron- 
ising style.  For  our  modern  modish 
biographer  is  not  apt  himself  to 
kneel  at  any  shrine,  though  he  is 
well  enough  disposed  to  order  and 


'  Life  of  William  Blake,  "Pietor  Ignotus.'  " 
author  of  the  '  Life  of  William  Etty,  K.A.' 


By  the  late  Alexander  fiilehrist, 


William  filake. 


superintend  the  worship  of  others. 
He  pooh-poohs  the  old  saints  in  the 
calendar,  and,  with  infinite  amuse- 
ment to  himself,  gives  you  one,  for 
your  especial  adoration,  with  the 
glory  quite  new  about  its  head. 

The  author  of  this  book  did  not 
live  to  see  it  through  the  press,  or 
even  entirely  to  complete  it — a 
melancholy  fact  which  in  a  manner 
disarms  criticism.  But  it  would 
be  difficult  to  proceed  with  any  no- 
tice of  the  work  whatever  without 
at  least  noticing  the  class  of  bio- 
graphical compositions  to  which  it 
belongs.  Our  observations  shall  be 
as  impersonal  as  possible.  We  wish, 
indeed,  it  were  in  our  power  at  all 
times  to  discourse  of  books,  to  clas- 
sify and  characterise  them,  without 
wounding  the  susceptibilities  of  the 
author  or  his  friends.  How  plea- 
sant it  would  be  if  one  could  do 
as  the  botanist,  who  classifies  his 
plant,  describes  the  form  of  the 
calix,  the  number  of  the  petals,  the 
soil  in  which  it  grows,  the  length  of 
days  allotted  to  it,  without  being 
accused  of  feeling  the  least  enmity 
or  disrespect  to  any  member  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom.  In  one  respect 
it  may  be  said  that  the  analogy  is 
complete  between  the  critic  and  the 
botanist.  Both  may  classify  and 
describe  to  their  heart's  content  : 
neither  of  them  Avill  have  any  in- 
fluence over  the  form,  or  the  growth, 
of  book  or  vegetable.  The  botanist 
cultivates  his  own  mind  and  the 
minds  of  those  whom  he  addresses 
by  his  observation  of  nature ;  it 
never  entered  into  his  imagination 
to  control  the  course  of  vegetation. 
Whether  the  critic  can  reap  for  him- 
self any  similar  benefit  from  his 
classification  of  books  maybe  doubt- 
ful ;  but  unless  he  can,  we  are  con- 
strained to  confess  that  his  occupa- 
tion is  wellnigh  useless.  He  may 
still  give  a  little  pain  or  a  little 
pleasure  ;  he  may  help  to  gratify 
the  legitimate  love  of  praise,  which 
is  one  of  the  most  respectable  ele- 
ments of  our  human  nature,  or  he 
may  help  to  wound  that  inordin- 
ate vanity  which  may,  indeed,  be 


wounded,  but  never  is  corrected  : 
but  as  to  that  influence  on  the  liv- 
ing literature  of  his  age — on  the 
book  that  will  be  produced  to- 
morrow, which  he  has  flattered 
himself  that  he  possessed — this  in- 
fluence, if  he  ever  possessed  it,  is 
gone  from  him.  The  stream  of 
literature  flows  too  fast  ;  it  sweeps 
by  him,  not  only  too  potent 
for  his  control,  but  too  swift  for 
his  watchfulness.  The  book  that 
he  is  analysing  is  gone  before  his 
analysis  is  complete,  and  another  is 
there  in  its  place.  Nothing  lives 
much  longer  than  the  critic's  own 
ephemeral  production.  Success, 
immediate  success,  is  the  sole  test 
of  merit.  It  has  been  gained,  en- 
joyed, lost,  before  the  critic  has 
had  time  to  speak. 

Here  and  there  a  history  or  a, 
philosophical  work  is  written  for 
duration,  and  appeals  to  the  leisure 
judgment  of  a  critical  reader ;  but 
our  biographies,  poems,  novels, 
almost  all  that  ranks  under  the  old 
title  of  belles  lettns,  are  written  for 
the  day  and  the  hour ;  captivate 
in  some  way — by  some  good  qua- 
lity no  doubt — the  popular  taste, 
and  sufficiently  fulfil  their  destiny  if, 
within  the  year,  they  sweep  rapidly 
and  uproariously  through  all  the 
circulating  libraries  of  the  kingdom. 
Where  now  is  the  function  of  the 
periodical  critic  1  We  are  all  peri- 
odical— we  are  all  but  portions  of 
the  same  mighty  stream. 

This  ephemeral  nature  of  our 
literature  is  not  due  to  want  of 
talent,  but  to  the  very  opposite 
cause,  to  the  redundancy  of  talent. 
One  novel  obliterates  another,  not 
because  the  first  was  unworthy  to 
live,  but  because  the  second  is  as 
worthy  as  the  first.  To  the  second 
comes  a  third  equally  worthy.  The 
public,  hundred-handed  as  it  is,  can- 
not hold  them  all,  and  as  the  new- 
est is  the  most  attractive,  it  must, 
of  force,  drop  the  old  ones  while 
it  stretches  forward  to  the  new. 
Can  you  expect  the  charm  of  style 
to  preserve  a  book  1  The  English 
language  could  not  be  better  written 


1865.] 


William  Blake. 


293 


than  it  often  is  for  a  composition 
confessedly  intended  to  last  for  a 
single  day.  It  is  true,  however,  that 
a  great  audience  is  to  be  spoken  to  in 
that  single  day.  A  '  Times  '  news- 
paper, in  its  short  life,  has  had  more 
readers  than  Milton's  poem  gained 
through  half  a  century.  It  holds 
the  position  of  the  orator  rather 
than  of  the  writer.  We  all,  in  a 
measure,  rather  speak  than  write. 
The  very  advance  of  our  knowledge 
tends  to  abridge  the  life  of  our  best 
books.  Science  can  hardly  be  said 
to  have  any  literature ;  it  has  only  a 
record  of  its  progress.  The  ablest 
text-book  is  superseded  in  a  few 
years.  Our  books  of  science,  like 
our  law-books,  are  worth  nothing 
if  not  of  the  last  edition.  And,  of 
late  years,  history  has  been  much 
in  the  same  predicament  as  science. 
So  many  new  sources  of  informa- 
tion have  been  opened,  and  so  many 
new  points  of  view  revealed  to  in- 
telligent criticism,  that  our  most 
advanced  historians  rather  give  us 
contributions  to  the  history  of  some 
period  than  attempt  the  final  record 
of  that  period. 

But,  Jet  the  fate  of  criticism  be 
what  it  may,  our  concern  at  present 
is  with  the  biography  of  Blake. 
There  has  been  apparently  some  diffi- 
culty in  collecting  materials  for  two 
octavo  volumes,  but  an  ingenious  bio- 
grapher, aware  of  all  the  resources 
which  modern  practice  has  rendered, 
we  presume,  legitimate,  is  not  easily 
to  be  balked.  Can  he  not  glance 
from  time  to  time  at  the  contem- 
poraries of  his  hero  ?  If  that  hero 
— Blake  or  another — did  not  know 
thtm  personally,  he  miylit  have 
known  them.  They  and  Blake 
walked  the  earth  together  at  the 
same  time.  That,  at  all  events,  is  a 
striking  fact.  Then  we  take  care  to 
describe  every  locality  which  our 
hero  has  lived  in  or  visited.  If  it 
is  a  street  in  London,  we  inquire 
whether  anybody  known  to  fame  has 
ever  lived  in  that  street;  whether  any 
great  calamity  has  happened,  or  any 
great  crime  has  been  ever  perpe- 
trated, in  that  street.  Perhaps  we 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIII. 


search  the  Newgate  Calendar,  with 
or  without  success.  If  the  environs 
of  London  are  mentioned,  we  take 
a  ride  down  to  Battersea  or  Cam- 
berwell  and  explore  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  look  at  old  prints,  and 
are  diffusely  topographical.  Always, 
if  any  event  is  to  be  narrated,  we 
note  the  day  of  the  month  and  the 
hour  of  the  day,  and  make  a  guess 
at  the  state  of  the  weather.  It  is 
that  line  May  morning  or  that  bleak 
December  afternoon.  We  then 
glance  round  from  man  to  nature 
and  introduce  some  landscape  into 
our  historical  picture.  If  in  the 
course  of  our  reading  any  anecdote 
turns  up  that  belongs  to  the  period, 
and  is  itself  amusing,  we  seize  upon 
it  as  lawful  prize.  The  reader,  if 
amused,  will  certainly  raise  no  dif- 
ficulties about  its  relevancy.  As  to 
our  general  style,  it  must  be  under- 
stood, once  for  all,  that  we  arc  per- 
fectly at  our  ease,  supremely  con- 
temptuous of  all  conventionalities. 
We  dash  our  sentences  at  you, 
with  or  Avithout  the  usual  verb  or 
noun,  just  as  they  come  to  hand. 
Some  would  say  that  our  ease 
is,  after  all,  the  ease  of  the  post- 
ure-master ;  or  perhaps  would  even 
insinuate  that  there  is  great  effort 
and  contortion  to  appear  at  case 
— ease  itself,  which  has  ever  some 
element  of  grace  in  it,  not  being 
really  attained.  Such  carping  we 
thoroughly  despise.  The  world  em- 
braces us  with  open  arms.  It  laughs 
at  our  impudence  and  extols  our 
talent.  If  the  embrace  is  not  long, 
it  is  longer  than  it  would  have  been 
if,  without  more  of  talent,  \ve  had 
less  of  impudence. 

Blake  was  born  in  London  in 
the  year  1757.  Mark  how  picto- 
rial a  statement  may  be  made,  of 
this  :— 

"William  Blake,  the  most  spiritual 
of  artists,  a  mystic  poet  ami  painter, 
who  lived  to  l>ea  contemporary  of  Colt- 
bet  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  was  born  '28th 
Novemlxr  1757,  the  year  of  Canova'a 
birth,  two  years  after  Stothanl  and 
Flaxman ;  while  Chatterton,  a  boy  of 
live,  was  still  sauntering  about  the 
X 


294 


William  Blake. 


[March, 


winding  streets  of  antique  Bristol.  Born 
amid  the  gloom  of  a  London  Novem- 
ber at  28  Broad  Street,  Carnaby  Market, 
Golden  Square  (market  now  extinct), 
he  was  christened  on  the  llth  Decem- 
ber—one in  a  batch  of  six— from  Grin- 
ling  Gibbon's  ornate  font  in  Wren's 
noble  Palladian  Church  of  St  James's. 
Ho  was  the  son  of  James  and  Catherine 
Blake,  the  second  child  in  a  family  of 
four." 

An  inconvenience  attends  this 
style  of  writing ;  there  is  no  limit 
to  the  curiosity  it  excites,  or  the 
demands  that  a  lively  reader  might 
make  upon  his  aiithor.  "  One  in  a 
batch  of  six  "  —  why  stop  there  1 
The  reader,  awake  to  the  interest 
of  this  fact,  that  six  children  were 
christened  at  the  same  time,  from 
the  same  font,  demands  at  least  a 
brief  sketch  of  the  lives  of  the 
other  five.  Why  is  this  mysterious 
connection  mentioned  at  all,  if  we 
are  to  lose  sight  of  it  so  soon  1 
We  ourselves  are  not  so  exacting, 
but  patiently  follow  the  author  into 
the  topographical  details  which  fill 
the  next  very  lively  paragraph. 
"  Dasliing  Regent  Street  as  yet  was 
not !  "  so  that  our  Golden  Square 
neighbourhood  "  held  then  a  simi- 
lar status  to  the  Cavendish  Square 
district,  say,  now :  an  ex-fashion- 
able, highly  respectable  condition, 
not  yet  sunk  into  the  seedy  cate- 
gory." Here  the  father  of  Blake 
flourished  as  "a  moderately  pros- 
perous hosier."  What  Broad  Street 
is  now,  the  reader  will  find  described 
with  a  minuteness  which  looks  like 
a  rivalry  of  Dickens. 

It  seems  that  the  prosperous 
hosier  gave  his  son  a  very  scanty 
education.  William  Blake  was  left 
to  saunter  about  the  streets,  and, 
when  he  grew  older,  to  rove  out 
alone  into  the  country.  For  "  coun- 
try," we  are  told,  "  was  not,  at  that 
day,  beyond  reach  of  a  Golden 
Square  lad  of  nine  or  ten.  On  his 
own  legs  he  could  find  a  green  field 
without  the  exhaustion  of  body  and 
mind  which  now  separates  such  a 
boy  from  the  alluring  haven  as 
rigorously  as  prison-bars."  It  was 
on  the  occasion  of  one  of  these 


country  rambles  that  we  hear,  for 
the  first  time,  of  that  peculiarity 
which  distinguished  Blake  through 
life,  and  the  nature  of  which  has 
been  the  subject  of  some  discus- 
sion. 

"  On  Peckham  Piye  (by  Dulwich 
Hill),  it  is,  as  he  will  in  after  years  re- 
late, that  while  quite  a  child,  of  eight 
or  ten  perhaps,  he  has  his  '  first  vision. ' 
Sauntering  along,  the  boy  looks  up  and 
sees  a  tree  filled  with  angels,  bright 
angelic  wings  bespangling  every  bough 
like  stars.  Returned  home  he  relates 
the  incident,  and  only  through  his 
mother's  intercession  escapes  a  thrash- 
ing from  his  honest  father  for  telling  a 
lie.  Another  time,  one  summer  morn, 
he  sees  the  haymakers  at  work,  and 
amid  them  angelic  figures  walking.  If 
these  traits  of  childish  years  be  remem- 
bered, they  will  help  to  elucidate  the 
visits  from  the  spiritual  world  of  later 
years,  in  which  the  grown  man  believed 
as  unaffectedly  as  ever  had  the  boy  of 
ten." 

Was  Blake  mad  ?  is  a  question 
which  was  often  asked  during  his 
life,  and  is  sometimes  asked  even 
now.  We  agree  with  the  present 
biographer  in  repudiating  the  idea 
of  insanity.  Did  he,  then,  really 
see  angels  in  the  forms  of  departed 
heroes  '?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  But 
if  he  believed  that  he  saw  them, 
was  not  this  of  the  nature  of  an 
insane  delusion  ? 

We,  for  our  part,  doubt  that 
Blake,  as  man  or  boy,  ever  believed 
that  he  saw  veritable  angels  or  the 
spirits  of  departed  men.  Our  im- 
pression is,  that  although  in  him 
imagination  was  so  vivid  that  the 
thing  imagined  came  before  him 
with  something  of  the  same  dis- 
tinctness as  a  thing  perceived,  yet 
he  never  in  fact  confounded  im- 
agination with  reality.  He  al- 
ways knew  the  difference  between 
the  solid  objects  which  reflected 
light  to  his  eye,  and  the  visionary 
forms  which  his  vivid  fancy  pro- 
jected into  space.  But  as  such 
visionary  forms  did  appear  to  him 
with  an  abnormal  distinctness,  he 
spoke  of  seeing  them.  There  was 
no  absolute  departure  from  truth 
in  this  assertion;  but  if  he  had 


1865.] 


U'ttliam  Blake. 


2<J5 


been  asked  to  examine  himself,  ho 
would  i»roli;il>ly  have  confessed  that 
his  reason  was  sufficiently  awake  to 
draw  the  distinction  between  ap- 
pearances that  were  due  only  to  the 
activity  of  his  brain,  and  the  objects 
of  vision  lit  up  for  him,  and  for 
all  the  world,  by  the  light  of  day. 
There  may  have  been  intervals 
when  he  lost  the  power  to  draw 
this  distinction,  and  when  lie  en- 
tered the  borders  of  insanity,  but 
those  intervals  must  have  been  very 
rare. 

This  abnormal  activity  of  the 
imagination  is  well  worthy  of  the 
attention  of  the  psychologist  or 
physiologist.  Sometimes  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  unusual  vividness  of 
the  thing  imagined  is  rather  the 
result  of  a  weakness  of  our  percep- 
tive faculties  than  of  a  peculiar 
strength  of  the  imaginative.  Hither 
way  the  balance  is  overthrown,  the 
just  equilibrium  is  disturbed  be- 
tween perception  and  imagination. 
Long  fasting  will  bring  on  this 
peculiar  state,  in  which  men's 
thoughts  or  memories  assume  the 
aspect  of  external  realities.  In 
such  cases  the  senses  are  half  asleep, 
and  the  thought  approximates  to 
the  character  of  a  dream. 

We  see,  and  we  remember  what 
we  have  seen,  and  the  remembrance, 
we  say,  is  altogether  a  different 
state  of  consciousness.  It  is  so  to 
the  man  in  full  possession  of  well- 
balanced  faculties.  But  physiolo- 
gists teach  us  that  memory  and 
vision  are  not  so  very  diiFercnt  in 
their  nature  as  they  appear.  The 
memory  is  a  reproduction  of  the 
original  perception.  All  memories 
of  a  visible  object  must  therefore 
have  a  tendency  to  assert  for  them- 
selves a  place  in  the  external  world. 
But  to  the  man  of  vigorous  percep- 
tion that  place  is  already  filled ; 
and  to  the  man  who  remembers 
otfttr  mutters  equally  well,  the 
memory  of  this  object  is  (by  as- 
sociation with  those  other  memories) 
relegated  to  the  past.  The  com- 
parative faintness  of  the  impression, 
together  with  this  place  in  time  past, 


prevents  it  from  assuming  a  given 
space  amongst  present  objective 
realities.  In  sleep,  when  this  ex- 
ternal space  is  left  entirely  unoccu- 
pied, and  mere  individual  memories 
or  imaginations  come  up  before  us 
— (the  connected  series  of  the  past 
being  no  longer  recalled)  —  the 
thought  (lorn  mimic  perception. 
And  in  men  awake,  in  whom  there 
is  some  peculiar  cerebral  exaltation, 
or  some  enfeebling  of  the  senses 
and  of  that  connected  remembrance 
to  which,  in  common  parlance,  we 
give  the  name  of  reason,  there  is 
observed  to  be  the  same  tendency 
for  thought  to  assume  the  form 
of  perception.  It  is  true  that  both 
in  the  dream  and  the  wide  awake 
imagination  there  is  something 
more  than  a  reproduction  of  a 
former  perception.  There  is  a  com- 
bination and  modification  of  the 
perception  which  we  do  not  here 
undertake  to  explain.  But  it  is 
clear  that  those  imaginations  which 
do  assume  to  us  the  character  of 
visible  realities  have  been  in  the 
lirst  place  received  through  the 
organ  of  vision.  He  who  sees 
angels  in  the  air  had  seen  pictures 
of  angels  ;  he  who  dreams  of  drag- 
ons had  seen  a  serpent,  or  the  pic- 
ture of  a  dragon. 

In  some  way  this  balance  be- 
tween imagination  and  perception 
seems  to  have  been  disturbed  in 
the  case  of  William  Blake.  But 
not,  we  think,  to  that  extent  that 
he  was  no  longer  conscious  of  the 
difference  between  them,  or  was 
unable  to  summon  up  his  reason  to 
determine  the  nature  of  the  ap- 
parent object  before  him.  But  he 
loved  the  marvellous,  and  he  loved 
to  astonish  his  friends  with  marvel- 
lous stories.  "When  he  came  home 
from  Peckham  Rye  and  told  his 
parents  that  he  had  seen  angels  up 
a  tree,  he  probably  knew  even  then 
that  there  was  a  wide  difference 
between  the  reality  of  those  angels 
and  the  reality  of  so  many  apples 
that  he  might  have  also  seen  hang- 
ing upon  the  tree.  If  the  "  honest 
hosier''  had  been  a  psychologist  he 


296 


William  Blake. 


[March, 


would  have  endeavoured  to  elicit 
from  his  son  whether  he  was  con- 
scious of  this  difference ;  and  al- 
though we  should  not  certainly 
have  recommended  the  "  thrashing," 
a  timely  admonition  not  to  say 
that  he  had  seen  what  he  was  con- 
scious he  had  only  vividly  imagined, 
might  have  done  the  lad  some  ser- 
vice. The  habit  grew  upon  him  of 
speaking  in  this  startling  and  au- 
dacious manner  ;  nor  did  he  care 
to  examine  himself.  He  liked  to 
indulge  in  his  poetic  visions.  It  is 
plain,  too,  that  in  after  life  he  occa- 
sionally sported  with  the  credulity 
of  others,  or  for  the  mere  sake  of 
effect  described  himself  as  seeing 
what  he  had  only  imagined.  The 
following  passage  shows  him  in 
both  lights.  He  is  the  voluntary 
enthusiast  accompanied  by  his  all- 
believing  wife,  and  he  is  the  con- 
versationalist, exciting  surprise,  and 
giving  a  zest  to  his  inventions  by 
representing  his  fancies  as  actual 
visions.  He  is  at  the  time  here 
spoken  of  living  with  his  wife  in  a 
cottage  near  the  sea-coast  : — 

' '  By  the  sounding  shore,  visionary 
conversations  were  held  with  many  a 
majestic  shadow  from  the  Past — Moses 
and  the  Prophets,  Homer,  Dante,  Mil- 
ton ;  '  all, '  said  Blake,  when  questioned 
011  these  appearances — 'all  majestic 
shadows,  grey  but  luminous,  and  su- 
perior to  the  common  height  of  men  !  ' 
Sometimes  his  wife  accompanied  him, 
seeing  and  hearing  nothing,  but  fully 
believing  in  what  he  saw.  By  the  sea,  or 
pacing  the  pretty  slip  of  garden  in  front 
of  his  house,  many  fanciful  sights  were 
witnessed  by  the  speculative  eyes.  The 
following  highly  imaginative  little  scene 
was  transacted  there.  It  is  related  by 
Allan  Cunningham: — 'Did  you  ever 
see  a  fairy's  funeral,  madam  ? '  he  once 
said  to  a  lady  who  happened  to  sit  by 
him  in  company.  'Never,  sir,'  was  the 
answer.  '  I  have  ! '  said  Blake,  '  but 
not  before  last  night.  I  was  walking 
alone  in  my  garden ;  there  was  great 
stillness  amongst  the  branches  and 
flowers,  and  more  than  common  sweet- 
ness in  the  air;  I  heard  a  low  and 
pleasant  sound,  and  I  knew  not  whence 
it  came.  At  last  I  saw  the  broad  leaf 
of  a  flower  move,  and  underneath  I  saw 
a  procession  of  creatures  of  the  size  and 


colour  of  green  and  grey  grasshoppers, 
bearing  a  body  laid  out  on  a  rose-leaf, 
which  they  buried  with  songs,  and 
then  disappeared.  It  was  a  fairy  fu- 
neral !  '  ' 

It  would  be  too  absurd  to  suppose 
that  Blake,  anymore  than  the  person 
he  addressed,  could  believe  that  this 
"  highly  imaginative  little  scene  " 
Avas  "  transacted  "  anywhere  but  in 
his  own  fancy.  Perhaps  he  created 
it  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
merely  -to  amuse  the  lady  who 
was  listening  to  him.  When  some 
facetious  gentleman,  addressing  us 
across  the  table,  between  the  long 
necks  of  the  wine  bottles,  promises 
to  reveal  to  us  the  last  observation 
which  his  dog  Pickle  had  secretly 
confided  to  him,  we  prepare  our- 
selves for  some  trait  of  humour, 
but  we  certainly  do  not  suspect 
that  we  shall  be  called  upon  to 
believe  in  speaking  dogs.  If  a 
poet  tells  us  he  has  visited  fairy- 
land, he  is  bent  on  amusing,  not  on 
deceiving  us. 

It  is  instructive  to  see  this  ob- 
jective, realising  tendency  of  the 
imagination  apart  from  that  reli- 
gious exaltation  which  so  often 
disguises  its  nature  both  from  its 
possessor  and  from  other  men. 
Blake  was  pre-eminently  the  artist, 
and  the  strongest  motive  he  had 
to  delude  himself  or  others  was 
vanity.  But  suppose  that  Blake 
had  been  pre-eminently  the  reli- 
gious man,  with,  perhaps,  peculiar 
doctrines  to  promulgate,  Blake 
would  have  been  a  Swedenborg. 
He  would  not  have  cared  to  exa- 
mine himself  rigorously  ;  he  would 
have  accepted  his  visions  ;  perhaps 
they  would  have  overawed  him,  and 
prevented  any  candid  self-examina- 
tion ;  perhaps,  in  the  zeal  of  teach- 
ing, and  the  dignity  of  the  founder 
of  a  sect,  he  would  have  been 
tempted  to  exaggerate  their  vivid- 
ness or  their  completeness.  Some- 
thing of  this  was  very  nearly  hap- 
pening at  one  period  of  his  life. 
The  visionary  always  speaks  on  a 
topic  where  no  testimony  can  con- 
tradict his  own ;  he  is  therefore 


1SG5.1 


William  IHake. 


tempted  to  exaggerate.  In  the 
c;ise  of  the  religious  visionary  there 
grows  up  a  strong  desire  to  shape 
the  vision  according  to  some  pre- 
accepted  faith.  There  is  here  nei- 
ther pure  truth  nor  pure  falsehood. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  that  false- 
hood which  is  "  founded  upon 
truth." 

But  we  are  advancing  too  rapidly 
with  our  biography  ;  we  must  go 
back  to  the  hosier's  lad  in  Broad 
Street.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that 
one  of  his  principal  amusements 
was  drawing,  with  such  materials, 
and  after  such  copies,  as  were  at- 
tiinable.  To  earn  a  subsistence 
by  art  was  at  that  time  very  diffi- 
cult; the  prudent  hosier  would 
hardly  make  a  painter  of  his  son, 
but  he  so  far  consulted  his  taste  as 
to  apprentice  him  to  an  engraver. 
Apropos  of  this  apprenticeship  a 
story  is  introduced  of  the  miracu- 
lous order,  introduced  and  tola,  as 
the  fashion  now  is,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  leaving  in  the  reader's  mind 
an  impression  of  the  miraculous  (if 
he  cares  to  receive  it)  without  posi- 
tively committing  the  author  to  the 
same  credulity  he  is  willing  to  fos- 
ter, or  to  play  with,  in  others : — 

"  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  the  drawing- 
school  of  Mr  Pars,  in  the  Strand,  was 
exchanged,  for  the  shop  of  engraver 
Bazire,  in  Great  Queen  Street,  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields.  There  had  been  an  inten- 
tion of  apprenticing  Blake  to  IJyland, 
a  more  famous  man  than  Ba/.ire,  an  ar- 
tist of  genuine  talent  and  even  genius, 
who  had  been  well  educated  in  his  craft, 
had  been  a  pupil  of  Bavenet,  and  after 
that  (among  others)  of  Boucher,  whose 
Ktififih'  manner  he  was  the  lirst  to  intro- 
duce into  Kngland.  With  the  view  of 
securing  the  teaching  and  example  of 
so  skilled  a  hand,  Blake  was  taken  by 
his  father  to  Ryland  ;  but  the  negotia- 
tion failed.  The  boy  himself  raised  an 
unexj>ected  scruple.  The  xnfiit-l  C/IOWM 
it  to  fuive  been  a  singular  inx/ance,  if 
not  of  uttttolutf  prophetic  </ift  or  wcond- 
fiaht,  at  all  event*  of  tint  unit  Intuition 
into  character,  nnd  jtower  of  forecasting 
the  future  from  it,  micJi  as  »'*  oft  fit  the 
endowment  <ft< <  »i/>er<nnrnt#  like  hi*.  In 
after  I  iff  thi-x  involuntary  faculty  of  rend- 
in;/  hidden  writinif  continued  to  be  a  char- 
acteristic. '  Father,'  said  the  strange 


boy,  after  the  two  had  left  Ilyland's 
studio,  '  [  do  not  like  the  man's  fan-  ; 
it  look*  (f.v  if  In-  will  lire  to  !>••  f<tin</<i/.' 
Appearances  were  at  that  time  utterly 
against  the  probability  of  sueh  an  event. 
Kylaml  was  then  at  the  /enith  of  his 
reputation.  He  was  engraver  to  the 
King,  whose  portrait  (alter  Bamsay) 
lie  had  engraved,  receiving  for  his 
work  an  annual  pension  of  i'JOO.  An 
accomplished  and  agreeable  man,  h;- 
was  the  friend  of  poet  Churchill  and 
others  of  distinguished  rank  in  letters 
and  society.  His  manners  and  personal 
appearance  wen'  peculiarly  prepossess- 
ing, winning  the  spontaneous  confidence 
of  those  wlio  knew,  or  even  casually 
saw  him.  But  twelve  years  after  this 
interview,  the  unfortunate  artist  will 
have  got  into  embarrassments,  will 
commit  a  forgery  on  the  Kast  India 
Company—  and  tin  jir»i>/«  <•>/  ti-i'l  be  ful- 
filled." 

This  was  not  even  a  chance-utter- 
ed prophecy.  The  boy  disliked  Mr 
llylnnd's  countenance,  and  express- 
ed his  opinion  in  the  coarse  but 
not  very  unusual  phrase,  that  it 
looked  like  the  face  of  a  man  who 
would  be  hanged.  It  was  only  a 
mode  of  saying  that  he  had  a  sinis- 
ter expression.  Such,  however,  is 
the  taste  or  judgment  of  the  day, 
that  an  anecdote  of  this  simple  kind 
can  be  made  to  wear  a  mysterious 
aspect,  can  be  told  unblushingly, 
by  a  man  of  sense,  with  vague  hints 
of  prophetic  gift  and  natural  in- 
tuition! 

Of  this  apprenticeship  to  Bazire 
there  was  little  to  record.  But  we 
have  an  account  of  Bazire  and  his 
three  brothers,  who  were  also  en- 
gravers, and  a  very  elaborate  de- 
scription of  Great  Queen  Street. 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Blake  one 
day  saw  Goldsmith  enter  Bazire'.s 
shop  or  studio.  He  did  see  Gold- 
smith, and  we  are  told  that  he  miylit 
have  seen  Emmanuel  Swedenborg, 
for  a  comparison  of  dates  shows 
that  the  great  seer  was  in  London 
at  this  period,  walking  the  streets 
with  his  gold-headed  cane. 

Bazire  employed  his  pupil  in 
making  drawings  from  the  monu- 
ments in  Westminster  Abbey :  a 
fact  certainly  worth  mentioning. 


298 


William  Blake. 


[March, 


It  was  a  congenial  task,  and  a  task 
likely  to  have  an  influence  on  the 
future  artist.  But  because  Blake 
made  drawings  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey, was  tins  quite  a  sufficient 
reason  for  introducing  an  anecdote 
about  the  Antiquarian  Society,  and 
how,  "on  a  bright  day  in  May 
1774,  certain  members  of  that 
Society  opened  the  tomb  of  Edward 
I."  ?  The  anecdote  may  be  interest- 
ing, but  its  connection  with  Blake 
is  hardly  made  clear  to  us  by  the 
concluding  sentence  —  "I  cannot 
help  hoping  that  Blake  may  (un- 
seen) have  assisted  at  this  cere- 
mony." 

His  apprenticeship  over,  the  next 
great  event  of  Blake's  life  is  his 
marriage.  His  first  attempt  at  woo- 
ing was  unsuccessful.  We  suppose 
that  the  young  engraver  had  very 
little  to  offer  in  the  way  of  estab- 
lishment. "Are  you  afool'2"  was 
the  curt  ans\ver  of  the  brisk  little 
maiden  to  whom  he  had  proposed. 
He  carried  his  griefs  to  a  kinder 
damsel,  who  listened  to  his  woes 
and  "pitied  him  from  her  heart." 
He  loved  her  for  that  pity,  and  in 
Catherine  Boucher  he  won  as  lov- 
ing, faithful,  devoted,  and  teachable 
a  wife  as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a 
poor  wayward  man  of  genius.  He 
would  have  been  lost  without  his 
Catherine.  She  was  more  to  him 
than  all  the  angels  that  visited  him, 
waking  or  asleep.  She  was  his 
true  angel.  She  had  faith  immeas- 
urable in  his  genius,  in  his  wisdom, 
in  his  marvellous  gifts.  She  came 
to  him  unformed;  she  could  not 
even  write  her  name ;  she  was 
moulded  by  him  and  for  him  ;  she 
caught  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
visionary  ;  she  learnt  to  assist  him 
in  his  art ;  she  gave  him  the  sym- 
pathy for  which  his  soul  craved — 
the  obedience  which  calmed  and 
could  alone  have  subdued  his  excit- 
able temper,  and,  with  housewifely 
skill,  kept  one  who  was  always 
poor  from  the  real  evils  of  poverty. 

We  are  not  tempted  to  follow 
Blake  in  his  movements  from  street 
to  street,  though  at  each  new  domi- 


cile we  have  here  the  most  graphic 
description,  not  only  of  what  the 
house  and  the  street  were  some  nine- 
ty years  ago,  but  what  they  are  to  a 
keen  observer  at  this  very  moment. 
Everywhere  the  artist  and  engraver 
is  carrying  on  the  old  struggle  for 
existence,  but  everywhere  he  seems 
to  have  his  life  kept  just  above  the 
stream,  and  to  have  no  fear  of  sink- 
ing. For  a  short  period  we  hear  of 
him,  through  the  introduction  of 
his  friend  Flaxman,  making  his  ap- 
pearance in  polite  society.  A  lady 
known  in  her  day  as  "the  celebrat- 
ed Mrs  Matthews,"  and  who  opened 
her  rooms  to  artists,  poets,  and  mu- 
sicians, invited  Blake,  and  some 
one  mentions  that  he  heard  him 
singing  there  his  own  songs.  But 
patronage  was  not  likely  to  come  to 
Blake  through  a  lady's  drawing- 
room,  and  we  are  not  surprised  to 
hear  that  he  soon  disappeared  from 
such  a  scene. 

We  have  a  picture  given  us  a  lit- 
tle further  on  which  is  much  more 
in  accordance  with  the  general  no- 
tion entertained  of  our  eccentric 
fancy-ridden  artist.  He  and  his 
wife  are  living,  much  alone,  in 
Hercules  Buildings, Lambeth.  Some- 
thing of  a  garden  is  attached  to 
the  house,  and  in  this  garden  is  a 
summer-house.  To  this  summer- 
house  they  resort  to  recite  certain 
passages  of  Milton's  'Paradise Lost.' 
Blake  is  Adam,  and  Catherine  is 
Eve.  They  feel  transported  in  im- 
agination to  the  age  of  pure  in- 
nocence, and  they  walk  in  their 
little  summer-house  as  Adam  and 
Eve  in  their  bowers  in  Paradise,  and 
they  recite  Milton's  poetry  in  accu- 
rate costume,  which  is  no  costume 
at  all.  A  friend,  Mr  Butts,  who 
has  been  lately  very  kind  to  our 
artist,  knocks  at  the  door  of  the 
summer-house.  "Come  in!"  says 
Blake,  "it's  only  Adam  and  Eve, 
you  know  !" 

Johnson,  a  well-known  booksell- 
er and  publisher  of  the  day,  gave 
what  employment  he  could  to  our 
intractable  man  of  genius.  His 
house,  in  St  Paul's  Churchyard, 


18C5.] 


William  HI nke. 


was  a  place  of  resort  for  literary 
men.  Johnson  published  ( lodwin's 
'  Political  Justice.'  Here  Blake  was 
brought  again  into  connection  with 
living  men.  He  met  Godwin,  he 
met  Paine,  lie  himself  was  an 
ardent  republican.  In  politics  lie 
could  fraternise  with  Paine  ;  in 
theology  he  was  far  as  the  poles 
asunder.  He  walked  about  defiant- 
ly, in  the  open  streets,  with  the  red 
cap  of  liberty  on  his  head.  It  is 
said  that  he  saved  Paine  from  an 
incarceration  in  England.  Paine 
had  been  giving  way  at  Johnson's 
to  some  inflammatory  talk,  and 
Blake,  who  knew  that  spies  and  in- 
formers were  very  busy  at  this  time, 
followed  him  out.  "  You  must  not 
go  home,"  he  said,  "  or  you  are  a 
dead  man  !  "  As  our  beautiful 
demagogue  was  already  bound  for 
Paris,  Blake  had  no  ditliculty  in 
persuading  him  to  start  at  once  for 
Dover.  By  the  time  Paine  reached 
Dover  the  officers  were  ransacking 
his  papers  in  his  house  or  lodging 
in  London.  Blake  himself  was 
exposed  subsequently  to  a  political 
prosecution,  a  danger  which  he  in- 
curred, we  presume,  by  his  well- 
known  republicanism.  He  was 
living  at  the  time  at  his  cottage  at 
Felpham,  to  which  we  shall  have 
next  to  conduct  him.  A  drunken 
soldier  broke  into  his  garden  and 
refused  to  retreat.  Blake  turned 
him  out  by  main  force.  His  blood 
was  up,  and,  little  man  as  he  was. 
he  drove,  or  pushed,  the  hulking 
grenadier  off  his  premises.  The 
soldier  protested  that  he  was  in  the 
King's  service.  ''Damn  the  King 
and  you  too!"  said  Blake,  and 
drjuve  his  adversary,  not  only  from 
his  garden,  but  down  the  lane  that 
led  to  it. 

The  next  morning  the  soldier,  in 
revenge,  charged  Blake  with  sedi- 
tious language.  He  made  his  charge 
on  oath  before  a  magistrate,  and 
Blake  had  to  stand  his  trial  at 
Quarter  Session  for  high  treason. 
He  was  acquitted  ;  and  we  presume 
the  case  would  not  have  assumed 
the  serious  aspect  it  did  if  the  evi- 


dence of  the  soldier  had  not  been 
in  a  measure  corroborated  by  the 
well  known  nature  of  Blake's  poli- 
tics. 

Our  Londoner  had  been  carried 
off  into  the  country,  and  placed  in 
a  cottage  on  the  Sussex  coast,  by 
his  association  with  Hay  ley,  author 
of  the  '  Life  of  Cowper.'  Blake 
was  to  design  and  engrave  the  il- 
lustrations for  that  work,  and  for 
other  works  of  the  same  author. 
They  were  an  ill-assorted  pair. 
"  The  one,"  as  Mr  Gilchrist  very 
aptly  says,  "  with  a  mind  full  of 
literary  conventions,  swiftly  writ- 
ing without  thought  ;  the  other 
with  a  head  just  as  full  of  origin- 
alities, right  or  wrong,  patiently 
busying  his  hands  at  his  irksome 
craft,  while  his  spirit  wandered 
through  the  invisible  world."  For 
some  time,  however,  they  went  on 
very  amicably  together.  Blake  was 
pleased  with  his  rustic  abode,  near 
to  the  sea-shore,  and  with  the  pro- 
spect of  steady  employment.  He 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  Hayley's 
library.  His  good-natured  and  per- 
haps over-zealous  patron,  writing 
to  the  Kev.  John  Johnson  ( Cowper' s 
cousin ),  says,  "  Blake  and  I  read 
every  evening  that  copy  of  the 'Iliad' 
which  your  namesake  (the  book- 
seller) of  St  Paul's  was  so  good  as 
to  send  me  ;  comparing  it  with  the 
first  edition,  and  with  the  (Ireek,  as 
we  proceed."  One  is  curious  to 
know  whether  we  are  to  understand 
by  this  that  Blake  had  taught  him- 
self Greek.  For  our  part,  we  look 
upon  the  passage  merely  as  an  am- 
using instance  of  the  loose  style  so 
prevalent  with  letter-writers.  We 
see  Hayley,  in  imagination,  taking 
down  from  the  shelf  his  Greek 
Homer,  and  sonorously  reading  to 
Blake  some  favourite  lines,  Blake 
nodding  a  silent  approval.  As  let- 
ters are  manufactured  by  half  the 
idlers  who  busy  themselves  with 
letter-writing,  this  would  be  ample 
foundation  for  the  "  Blake  and  I 
comparing  with  the  Greek  as  we 
proceed." 

But  after  a  time  this  close  inter- 


William  Blal-e. 


[March, 


course  with  an  uncongenial  mind,  a 
man  quite  sceptical  as  to  Blake's 
inspirations,  and,  what  was  worse, 
persisting  in  the  kind  attempt  to 
teach  him  common-sense,  ^became 
to  the  irritable'  artist  an  insuffer- 
able thraldom.  After  four  years 
he  returned  again  to  London,  to 
enjoy  the  liberty  of  his  own  spirit, 
cramped  and  fretted  and  confined 
by  the  companionship  of  one  who, 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world,  sat  upon  his  soul  like  an 
incubus.  Blake,  writing  to  an  ear- 
lier friend— that  Mr  Butts  who 
peeped  into  the  summer-house  in 
Hercules  Buildings — gives  full  ex- 
pression to  this  feeling  of  recovered 
liberty,  and  also  to  the  secret 
opinion  he  entertained  of  his  good- 
natured  patron  Hayley.  Some  let- 
ters written  to  Mr  Butts  from 
Felpham  are  collected  together  at 
the  close  of  the  second  volume  of 
this  biography.  They  are  very 
curious.  Here  are  a  few  extracts 
from  them  : — 

"  And  now,  my  dear  sir,  congratu- 
late me  on  my  retxirn  to  London,  with 
the  full  approbation  of  Mr  Hayley,  and 
with  promise.  But,  alas  !  now  I  may 
say  to  you—  what  perhaps  I  should  not 
dare  to  say  to  any  one  else — that  I  can 
alone  carry  on  my  visionary  studies  in 
London  unannoyed,  and  that  I  may  con- 
verse with  my  friends  in  eternity,  see 
visions,  dream  dreams,  and  prophesy 
and  speak  parables  unobserved  and  at 
liberty  from  the  doubts  of  other  mor- 
tals ;  perhaps  doubts  proceeding  from 
kindness ;  but  doubts  are  always  per- 
nicious, especially  when  we  doubt  our 
friends.  .  .  . 

"As  to  Mr  H.,  I  feel  myself  at 
liberty  to  say  as  follows  upon  this 
ticklish  subject.  I  regard  fashion  in 
poetry  as  little  as  I  do  in  painting. 
But  Mr  H.  approves  of  my  designs  as 
little  as  he  does  of  my  poems,  and  I 
have  been  forced  to  insist  upon  his 
leaving  me,  in  both,  to  my  own  self- 
will  ;  for  I  am  determined  to  be  no 
longer  pestered  with  his  genteel  igno- 
rance and  polite  disapprobation.  I 
know  myself  both  poet  and  painter. 
His  imbecile  attempts  to  depress  me 
only  deserve  laughter.  ...  I  shall 
leave  every  one  in  this  country  aston- 
ished at  my  patience  and  forbearance  of 


injuries  upon  injuries  (!),  and  I  do  as- 
sure you  that  if  I  could  have  returned 
to  London  a  month  after  my  arrival 
here,  I  should  have  done  so.  But  I 
was  commanded  by  my  spiritual  friends," 
&c.  &c. 

In  these  letters  to  Mr  Butts, 
there  are  more  evidences  of  a  reli- 
gious exaltation  than  we  meet  with 
elsewhere ;  and,  as  a  consequence, 
his  visions  are  spoken  of  in  a  more 
decisive  and  a  more  ominous  man- 
ner. They  threaten  to  domineer 
entirely  over  him.  It  was  fortu- 
nate, perhaps,  that  the  mortification 
he  felt  as  an  unappreciated  artist, 
and  the  Avar  he  was  prepared  to 
wage  against  his  successful  rivals, 
shared  his  mind  with  these  reli- 
gious feelings.  This  worldly  con- 
test probably  kept  him  sane — if,  at 
all  times,  he  was  really  quite  within 
the  borders  of  sanity.  He  tells  Mr 
Butts  that  the  real  object  for  which 
lie  was  brought  down  to  Felpham 
was  the  composition  of  an  immense 
poem,  in  the  writing  of  which  he 
had  been  divinely  inspired : — 

"  I  have  in  these  years  composed  an 
immense  number  of  verses  on  one  grand 
theme,  similar  to  Homer's  'Iliad'  or 
Milton's  '  Paradise  Lost ; '  the  persons 
and  machinery  entirely  new  to  the  in- 
habitants of  earth.  I  have  written  this 
poem  from  immediate  dictation,  twelve 
or  sometimes  twenty  or  thirty  lines  at 
a  time,  without  premeditation,  and  even 
against  my  will.  The  time  it  has  taken 
in  writing  was  thus  rendered  non-ex- 
istent, and  an  immense  poem  exists 
which  seems  to  be  the  labour  of  a  long 
life,  all  produced  without  labour  or 
study.  I  mention  this  to  show  you 
what  I  think  the  grand  reason  of  my 
being  brought  down  here. 

"  I  may  praise  it,  since  I  dare  not 
pretend  to  be  any  other  than  the  secre- 
tary ;  the  authors  are  in  eternity.  I 
consider  it  the  grandest  poem  that  this 
world  contains.  But  of  this  work  I 
take  care  to  say  little  to  Mr  H. ,  since 
he  is  as  much  averse  to  my  poetry  as  he 
is  to  a  chapter  in  the  Bible.  He  knows 
that  I  have  writ  it,  for  I  have  shown  it 
to  him ;  he  has  read  part  by  his  own 
desire,  and  has  looked  with  sufficient 
contempt  to  enhance  my  opinion  of  it. 
But  I  do  not  wish  to  irritate  by  seem- 
ing too  obstinate  in  poetic  pursuits. 
But  if  all  the  world  should  set  their 


1865.] 


William  Ithtke. 


faces  against  this,  I  have  orders  to  set 
my  faro  like  a  flint  (K/.ekiel  iii.  Si 
ng.iinst  their  faces,  an<l  my  forehead 
against  their  forehead." 

As  we  have  intimated,  his  strife 
with  living  men  alternates  with  his 
celestial  visions,  and  the  next  great 
event  of  his  life  is  his  eonte.^t  with 
Stothard  about  that  artist's  well- 
known  illustration  of  the  'Canter- 
bury Pilgrims.'  It  is  useless  to 
enter  into  the  particulars  of  this 
quarrel,  which  was  apparently  clue 
to  some  mistake  or  ambiguity  of 
conduct  in  a  printseller.  The  quar- 
rel led  to  a  very  spirited  enterprise 
on  the  part  of  Blake — the  public 
exhibition  of  his  own  design  of  the 
'  Canterbury  .Pilgrims,'  together 
with  some  other  drawings  or  pic- 
tures. This  exhibition  he  accom- 
panied with  an  '  Address  to  the 
Public,'  and  also  a  '  Descriptive 
Catalogue,'  in  which  he  gives  ex- 
pression to  his  own  opinion  on  art 
and  artists.  The  only  glimmering 
of  intelligible  criticism  we  can  per- 
ceive in  these  productions  is  that 
he  prefers  a  more  definite  outline, 
and/orwi  more  distinctly  portrayed, 
than  we  find  in  some  of  the  cele- 
brated Italian  and  Flemish  mas- 
ters. In  this  preference  he  may  be 
correct ;  we  leave  to  artists  and 
connoisseurs  to  decide  the  matter  ; 
but  on  this  account  to  class  Rubens, 
Rembrandt,  Titian,  and  Correggio 
together,  and  that  for  simple  repro- 
bation, is  mere  absurdity — a  quite 
ridiculous  instance  of  the  length  to 
which  intolerance  may  be  carried 
even  in  art.  Raphael,  Michael  An- 
gelo,  Albert  Durer,  claim  his  almost 
exclusive  admiration.  His  own 
contemporary,  Reynolds,  meets  with 
unsparing  abuse.  "  The  unor- 
ganised blots  and  blurs  of  Rubens 
and  Titian  are  not  art,"  he  says ; 
"  nor  can  their  method  even  express 
ideas  or  imaginations,  any  more 
than  Pope's  metaphysical  jargon  of 
rhyming." 

Why  Pope's  rhymes  should  be 
accused  of  being  metaphysical  we 
cannot  pretend  to  say ;  and,  in- 
deed, although  we  have  attempted 


to  convey  the  leading  idea  of  Jilake's 
art-criticism,  we  may  have  mis- 
taken his  meaning  or  his  no-mean- 
ing. Here  is  a  passage  which  makes 
us  tremble  lest  we  have  misinter- 
preted him,  anil  which  we  \\ill 
leave  others  to  interpret  for  them- 
selves : — 

''  1  do  nut  condemn  llubens.  Itcin- 
brandt,  nr  Titian  because  they  did  n>'t 
understand  drawing,  lmt  because  they 
did  not  understand  colouring  :  how  long 
shall  we  IK.'  forced  to  heat  this  into  men's 
ears?  I  do  not  condemn  Strange  or 
Woollett  because  they  did  not  under- 
stand drawing,  hut  because  they  did 
not  understand  engraving.  I  do  not 
condemn  1'ojx-  or  Dryden  because  they 
did  not  understand  imagination,  but 
1>  eaus.e  they  did  not  understand  verse. 
Their  colouring,  graving,  and  verse  e;in 
never  be  applied  to  art;  that  is  not 
either  colouring,  graving,  or  verse  which 
is  inappropriate  to  the  subject.  He 
who  makes  a  design  must  know  the 
ell'ect  and  colouring  projK?r  to  be  put  to 
that  design,  and  will  never  take  that 
of  Rubens  Uembrandt,  or  Titian,  to 
turn  that  which  is  smil  and  life  into  a 
mill  or  machine." 

What  is  sadder  than  even  such 
criticisms  as  this  is  to  observe  how 
ill-success  had,  occasionally  at  least, 
disturbed  the  temper  of  the  man, 
and  embittered  him  against  other 
artists.  His  ill-success  was  not 
owing  to  a  want  of  appreciation  of 
genius  in  the  English  public,  any 
more  than  it  was  owing  to  a  want 
of  genius  in  himself.  He  had 
genius,  but  he  lacked  that  com- 
pleteness of  an  artist's  education 
which  is  requisite  to  guard  against 
blunders  of  many  kinds  ;  blunders 
which,  even  if  trivial  in  themselves, 
may  mar  the  effect  of  an  otherwise 
excellent  design.  If  an  attitude  is 
grotesque,  or  a  figure  is  made  gro- 
tesque by  some  disproportion  in  the 
drawing,  a  smile  is  created  or  a 
disagreeable  impression  is  produced. 
It  is  in  vain  that  an  attentive  ex- 
amination may  disclose  singular 
merits  in  such  a  design  ;  the  pic- 
ture, as  a  whole,  has  failed  to  pro- 
duce its  intended  effect.  That  any- 
thing could  be  wanting  in  his  edu- 
cation as  an  artist  is  what  Llake 


William  Elalce. 


[March, 


never  seems  to  dream  of,  and  his 
Avant  of  success  with  the  public 
he,  at  this  time,  attributes  to  the 
envy  and  detraction  of  others.  He 
says  : — 

"  I  know  that  all  those  with  whom  I 
have  contended  in  art  have  striven,  not 
to  excel,  but  to  starve  me  out  by  calumny 
and  the  arts  of  trading  competition. 
The  manner  in  which  my  character  has 
been  blasted  these  thirty  years,  both 
as  an  artist  and  a  man,  may  be  seen, 
particularly  in  a  Sunday  paper,  called 
•  The  Examiner,'  published  in  Beaufort 
Buildings  (we  all  know  that  editors  of 
newspapers  trouble  their  heads  very 
little  about  art  and  science,  and  that 
they  are  always  paid  for  what  they  put 
in  upon  these  ungracious  subjects)  ;  and 
the  manner  in  which  I  have  rooted  out 
the  nest  of  villains  will  be  seen  in  a 
poem  concerning  my  three  years'  her- 
culean labours  at  Felpham,  which  I 
shall  soon  publish.  Secret  calumny 
and  open  professions  of  friendship  are 
common  enough  all  the  world  over,  but 
have  never  been  so  good  an  occasion  of 
poetic  imagery.  When  a  base  man 
means  to  be  your  enemy,  he  always  be- 
gins with  being  your  friend.  Flaxmau 
cannot  deny  that  one  of  the  very  first 
monuments  he  did  I  gratuitously  de- 
signed for  him,  at  the  same  time  he 
was  blasting  my  character  as  an  artist 
to  Macklin,  my  employer,  as  Macklin 
told  me  at  the  time,  and  posterity  will 
know. " 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  as  the  head 
and  leader  of  the  fortunate  in  art,  he 
assails  with  especial  virulence.  His 
pictures  anger  him,  his  '  Discourses ' 
drive  him  wild. 

"  I  consider,"  he  says,  "  Reynolds's 
'  Discourses '  to  the  Royal  Academy  as 
the  simulation  of  the  hypocrite  who 
smiles  particularly  when  he  means  to 
betray.  His  praise  of  Raphael  is  like 
the  hysteric  smile  of  revenge ;  his 
softness  and  candour  the  hidden  trap 
and  the  poisoned  feast.  He  praises 
Michael  Angelo  for  qualities  which 
Michael  Angelo  abhorred ;  and  he 
blames  Raphael  for  the  only  qualities 
which  Raphael  valued.  Whether 
Reynolds  knew  what  he  was  doing 
is  nothing  to  me.  The  mischief  is  the 
same  whether  a  man  does  it  ignorantly 
or  knowingly.  I  always  considered  true 
art  and  true  artists  to  be  particularly 
insulted  and  degraded  by  the  reputa- 
tion of  these  '  Discourses '  as  much  as 
they  were  degraded  by  the  reputation  of 


Reynolds's  paintings  ;  and  that  such  ar- 
tists as  Reynolds  are,  at  all  times,  hired 
by  Satan  for  the  depression  of  art — a 
pretence  of  art  to  destroy  art." 

We  need  hardly  say  that  it  is 
not  only  on  subjects  of  art  that 
Blake  gave  utterance  to  wild  and 
all  but  senseless  opinions.  Self- cul- 
tured, living  much  alone,  or  with 
those  who  humoured  or  believed  in 
him,  he 'came  habitually  to  indulge 
himself  in  the  expression  of  every 
thought,  whatever  it  might  be,  that 
passed  through  his  mind.  The 
more  paradoxical  and  extraordin- 
ary, the  more  calculated  to  excite 
astonishment,  the  more  likely  was 
he  to  insist  upon  it.  Fear  of  others' 
opinion,  or  respect  for  others'  judg- 
ments, he  had  none. 

Mr  Crabb  Robinson,  who  is  in- 
introduced  to  us  here  as  "  a  gentle- 
man still  among  us,  of  singularly 
wide  intercourse  with  the  dis- 
tinguished men  of  two  generations, 
a  friend  of  Wordsworth  and  of 
Lamb/'  paid  our  poet-artist  more 
than  one  visit,  and  jotted  down  in 
his  journal  some  recollections  of  his 
extraordinary  conversations.  It  is 
a  testimony  to  the  reputation  which 
Blake  must  have  possessed,  at  least 
in  certain  circles,  that  an  intelli- 
gent gentleman  like  Mr  Crabb  Ro- 
binson should  have  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  follow  patiently 
and  accurately  to  record  such  fla- 
grant absurdities  as  we  here  en- 
counter. He  kindly  placed  at  the 
disposal  of  the  present  biographer 
such  portions  of  his  journal  as  re- 
ferred to  Blake. 

Mr  Crabb  Robinson  visited  Blake 
when  the  latter  was  an  old  man, 
living  at  the  time  at  Fountain 
Court,  London.  The  impression 
the  artist  personally  made  upon 
him  was  that  of  a  courteous,  calm, 
contented  man,  bearing  his  own  lot 
of  comparative  neglect  and  poverty 
with  philosophic  composure,  unen- 
vious  of  the  more  fortunate  career 
of  others.  Let  us  hope,  therefore, 
that  those  angry  moods  in  which  he 
could  be  unjust  and  uncharitable, 
and  of  which  we  have  such  indis- 


1865.] 


Will  inn 


3<>3 


putable  testimony,  had  ceased  to 
prevail,  and  that  they  were  only 
temporary  or  accidental  gu.st.s  of 
passion.  Mr  Crabb  Robinson  went 
with  the  expectation  of  meeting 
.something  wild  and  extraordinary, 
and  with  a  perfect  readiness  to  ex- 
cuse what  he  deemed  the  "  idio- 
syncrasy "  or  partial  insanity  of  a 
man  of  genius.  But,  apart  from 
some  dim  obscure  faith  in  his  own 
visions,  we  are  unable  to  see  in  the 
conversation  here  recorded  of  Blake 
anything  more  extraordinary  than 
gross  ignorance  and  presumption, 
and  the  activity  of  a  naturally  vig- 
orous but  quite  undisciplined  in- 
tellect. When,  for  instance,  Mr 
Crabb  Robinson  tempts  him  with 
the  spirit  or  genius  of  Socrates,  we 
sec  that  the  visionary  follows  the 
lead,  and  goes  off  into  his  own 
peculiar  nonsense  of  spiritualism. 
Blake  smiles,  gratified  at  the  com- 
parison between  himself  and  Socra- 
tes. "Now  what  affinity  or  resem- 
blance," says  our  accomplished 
conversationalist,  ''do  you  suppose 
was  therebetween  t\\c</enius which 
inspired  Socrates  and  your  spirit??  " 
Blake  is  fired  with  the  idea  of  re- 
sembling Socrates.  Nay,  "  I  was 
Socrates  or  a  sort  of  brother,"  he 
exclaims.  Mr  Crabb  Robinson 
humours  the  idea  ;  and  suggests  to 
him  that  an  eternity  a  parte  post 
is  inconceivable  without  an  eternity 
a  parte  ante.  "  To  be  sure,"  cries 
Blake.  In  an  instance,  we  say,  of 
this  kind  Blake  may  be  described 
as  the  victim  of  some  physiological 
peculiarity;  and  perhaps  it  might 
be  said  that  the  accomplished  man 
of  the  world  trotted  him  o:;t,  if 
such  phrase  is  still  current  in  the 
world,  that  is,  gently  insinuated 
his  favourite  hobby  between  his 
legs,  so  that  he  could  not  choose  but 
mount  and  ride  violently  forth. 
But  in  other  cases  no  excuse  of 
this  kind  can  be  preferred.  We 
simply  see  a  man  who  has  no  fear 
of  folly,  no  respect  for  the  judg- 
ment of  others,  asserting  any  ar- 
rant absurdity  that  may  occur  to  a 
vigorous  untrained  understanding. 


For  there  is  always,  be  it  observed, 
a  certain  energy  in  the  nonsense  of 
Blake  ;  it  has  a  dash  of  originality, 
— it  never  wants  boldness. 

Mr  Crabb  Robinson  pointed  out 
to  him  that  something  he  had  been 
asserting  would  legitimately  lead  to 
the  conclusion  "that  there  is  no 
use  in  education."  Blake  was  not 
posed  at  all  ;  he  immediately  re- 
plied, ''  there  is  no  use  in  education. 
1  hold  it  wrong — it  is  the  great  sin  ; 
it  is  eating  of  the  tree  of  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil.  That  was  the 
fault  of  Plato  :  he  knew  of  nothing 
but  the  virtues  and  vices.  There 
is  nothing  in  all  that.  Everything 
is  good  in  God's  eyes."  If  every- 
thing is  good  one  would  think  that 
education  was  good  amongst  the 
rest. 

Apropos  of  his  visions,  Mr  C. 
Robinson  says  : — 

"His  distinction  between  the  natural 
and  spiritual  worlds  was  very  confused. 
Incidentally  Swedenborg  was  men- 
tioned. He  declared  him  to  be  a  di- 
vine teacher.  He  had  done,  and  would 
do,  much  good  ;  yet  he  did  wrong  in 
endeavouring  to  explain  to  the  Klaxon 
what  it  could  not  comprehend.  He 
seemed  to  consider—  but  that  was  not 
clear — the  visions  of  Swedenborg  and 
Dante  as  of  the  same  kind.  Dante 
was  the  greater  poet.  He,  too,  was 
wrong,  in  occupying  his  mind  about 
political  objects.  Yet  this  did  not  ap- 
I>ear  to  affect  his  estimation  of  Dante's 
genius,  or  his  opinion  of  the  truth  of 
Dante's  visions.  Indeed,  when  he  even 
declared  Dmitc  to  be  an  uthi'ltt,  it  was 
accompanied  by  expressions  of  the  high- 
est admiration." 

On  what  ground  Dante  was  called 
an  atheist  we  do  not  hear  ;  but  he 
was  very  liberal  with  terrible  words 
of  this  kind.  "  Bacon,  Locke,  and 
Newton,"  he  declares,  "  are  the 
three  great  teachers  of  atheism,  or 
Satan's  doctrine."  Wordsworth, 
because  of  his  great  love  of  nature, 
is  also  a  teacher  of  atheism.  ''Who- 
ever believes  in  Nature,"  he  says, 
"  disbelieves  in  God  ;  for  Nature 
is  the  work  of  the  devil."  Mr  C. 
Robinson  quotes  Genesis  to  him  ; 
"  In  the  beginning  d\nl  created  the 
heaven  and  the  earth."  All  in  vain. 


304 


William  Blake. 


[March, 


This  God  was  not  Jehovah,  but  the 
Elohim;  and  "thereupon,"  writes 
the  journalist,  with  a  modesty  curi- 
ously introduced,  the  "  doctrine  of 
the  Gnostics  was  repeated  with  suf- 
ficient consistency  to  silence  one  so 
unlearned  as  myself."  That  Blake 
stumbled  on  something  of  the  same 
nonsense  as  the  Gnostics  was  like 
enough  ;  but  if  there  was  any  con- 
sistent Gnosticism  in  his  talk,  it 
was  due,  we  suspect,  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  his  well-informed  visitor. 

"  I  took  Gotzenberger  to  see 
him,"  says  our  journalist,  "  and  he 
met  the  Masqueriers  in  my  cham- 
bers. Masquerier  was  not  the  man 
to  meet  him.  He  could  not  humour 
B.,  nor  understand  the  peculiar 
sense  in  which  B.  was  to  be  re- 
ceived." We  are  afraid  we  must 
be  put  in  the  same  category  as  Mas- 
querier, for  the  peculiar  sense  of 
terrible  nonsense  is  not  clear  to  us. 
We  will  not,  therefore,  proceed  fur- 
ther with  these  curious  infelicities. 
Let  us  turn  to  an  altogether  differ- 
ent phase  of  the  life  and  character 
of  Blake.  Blake  called  his  own  a 
happy  life  :  and  we  have  the  testi- 
mony of  intimate  friends  that  in 
the  main  he  presented  the  aspect 
of  a  calm  contented  spirit — a  man 
always  occupied,  and  rising  often 
into  the  highest  regions  of  thought. 
Poverty  he  knew,  but  never  debt ; 
and  he  who  knows  not  debt  knows 
not  the  real  sting  of  poverty — knows 
nothing  of  its  degradation.  Hardly 
can  that  be  called  poverty  which 
leaves  a  man  in  possession  of  health 
of  body  and  independence  of  spirit. 
"  Ah,"  cried  Fuseli,  wTho  one  day 
found  Blake  over  a  scrap  of  cold 
mutton.  il  this  is  why  you  can  do 
as  you  like.  Now,  I  can't  do  this." 
That  combination  which  Words- 
worth applauds  of  "  plain  living 
and  high  thinking,"  fell  to  the  lot 
of  this  man.  The  thinking  does 
not  indeed  commend  itself  to  us, 
but  still  it  was  of  that  order  which 
removes  the  thinker  from  sordid 
aims  or  passions.  One  who  knew 
him  well  says  of  him,  "  He  was 
a  man  with  a  mark ;  his  aim 


single,  his  path  straightforward, 
and  his  wants  few  ;  so  he  was  free, 
noble,  and  happy." 

If,  in  the  course  of  his  long 
life,  friends  dropt  off,  or  he  lost 
them  by  his  occasional  irritability, 
some  new  friends  arose  at  the  time 
to  take  their  place.  Not  to  speak 
of  his  ever-constant  wife,  he  was 
fortunate  in  this,  that  poverty  had 
never  shut  him  out  from  friendly 
companionship.  If,  for  some  rea- 
son, Flaxman,  sculptor  and  Sweden- 
borgian,  failed  him,  Varley,  land- 
scape-painter and  astrologer,  took 
his  place.  Varley  believed  in  his 
visions,  sat  patiently  by  while  he 
drew  the  portraits  of  Edward  1. 
and  William  Wallace,  worthies 
who  came  to  sit  for  their  portraits 
in  Fountain  Court.  In  his  turn, 
Blake  believed  in  the  astrology  of 
Varley, — a  reciprocity  of  credulity 
which  is  very  rare  amongst  adepts 
or  illuminati.  If  his  wealthy  patron, 
Mr  Butts,  grows  cold,  a  patron  and 
a  friend,  not  wealthy  but  generous, 
the  painter  Linnell.  takes  charge 
of  the  veteran  artist.  Linnell  lived 
at  Hampstead,  and  a  very  pleasant 
picture  closes  the  biography  of 
Blake.  We  see  him  a  frequent 
guest  at  Lirinell's  country  home, 
where  children  ran  out  to  meet 
him,  and  where  Mrs  Linnell  sang 
Scottish  songs  ;  and  "  he  would  sit 
by  the  pianoforte,  tears  falling  from 
his  eyes." 

Blake  had  more  of  the  freedom 
than  the  pain  of  poverty.  He  lived 
through  two  generations  of  pros- 
perous artists,  earning  little,  ob- 
scurely industrious,  but  industrious 
after  his  own  fashion.  "  They  pity 
me,"  he  would  say  of  Lawrence 
and  other  prosperous  artists  who 
condescended  to  visit  him,  "  but 
'tis  they  who  are  the  just  objects 
of  pity  :  I  possess  my  visions  and 
peace.  They  have  bartered  their 
birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage." 

It  remains  to  say  something  of 
those  works  he  loved  so  much — of 
his  paintings  and  poems — of  that 
genius  which  has  thrown  an  inter- 
est over  so  many  eccentricities.  In 


1865.] 


William  lilitke. 


literary  criticism  no  one  has,  at  all 
events,  ever  accused  us  of  timidity, 
nor  do  we  affect  the  least  hesita- 
tion in  pronouncing  an  opinion 
upon  either  prose  or  verse.  It  is 
otherwise  with  the  art  pictorial. 
Here  those  who  use  the  pencil  and 
the  brush  judge  with  an  authority 
to  which,  if  we  are  not  always  dis- 
posed to  bow,  we  should  be  most 
unwilling  to  put  ourselves  in  oppo- 
sition. Still,  if  any  one  places  be- 
fore us  a  design  and  tells  us  it 
is  sublime,  and  we  feel  that  it  is 
grotesque,  we  must  say  so — though 
only  in  a  whisper.  We  are  here 
presented  with  a  series  of  prints, 
illustrations  from  the  Book  of  Job, 
as  favourable  specimens  of  the 
genius  of  Blake,  and  genius  no 
doubt  is  discoverable  in  them ;  we 
think  we  catch  the  inspiration 
here  and  there— we  see  occasional- 
ly a  sublimity  of  attitude  if  not  of 
t'j-j»-ex$i<>n.  But  the  prevailing  im- 
pression more  nearly  approaches 
the  grotesque  than  the  sublime. 
We  read  the  admiration  expressed 
in  the  text  of  the  biographer  (p. 
2M5),  and  turn  the  page  to  look  at 
the  engraving,  and  either  the  en- 
graving is  at  fault  or  we. 

"The  fifth,"  thus  runs  the  text,  "  is 
a  wonderful  tle*!i/n.  Job  and  his  wife 
still  sit  side  by  side,  the  closer  for  their 
misery,  and  still  out  of  the  little  left  to 
them  give  alms  to  those  poorer  than 
themselves.  The  angels  of  their  love 
and  resignation  are  ever  with  them 
on  either  side;  but  above,  again,  the 
unseen  heaven  lies  ojx-n.  There  sits 
throned  that  Almighty  figure,  filled 
now  with  inexpressible  pity  —  almost 
with  compunction.  Around  him  his 
angels  shrink  away  in  horror,  for  now 
the  tires  which  clothe  them — the  very 
fires  of  CJod — are  compressed  in  the 
hand  of  Satan  into  a  phial  for  the  de- 
voted head  of  Job  himself." 

We  turn  to  this  Almighty  figure, 
we  see  a  human  form  with  a  very 
short  neck,  with  two  very  long 
arms  which  fall  passively  down  at 
each  side,  and  with  a  woe-begone 
helpless  expression,  which,  of  course, 
was  intended  for  compassion,  but 
which  looks  more  like  distress  and 


despondency.  Such  a  representa- 
tion of  the  Deity  might  have  been 
pardoned  in  an  artist  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  but  can  we  be  surprised  that 
the  contemporaries  of  Blake  turned 
displeased  away  ?  Some  hidden 
meaning,  we  presume,  which  we  do 
not  pretend  to  fathom,  is  hidden  in 
this  strange  action  of  Satan,  who 
fills  a  phial  full  of  the  luminous  or 
fiery  atmosphere  that  surrounds  the 
angels  —  a  celestial  flame  which 
when  poured  out  upon  Job  is  to 
turn  to  boils. 

"  The  next  again  is  the  grandest 
of  the  series,"  Kliphaz  the  Teman- 
ite  tells  how  a  spirit  passed  before 
his  face.  We  see  Eliphaz  sitting 
upright  in  bed,  with  hair  standing 
on  end,  but  the  <jran<lenr  of  the 
design  does  not  reveal  itself  to  us. 
There  is  but  one  print  in  the  series 
in  which  the  figure  of  Job  is  really 
impressive  (that  which  illustrates 
the  text,  "  And  my  servant  Job 
shall  pray  for  you");  as  to  the 
friends  or  counsellors  of  Job,  they 
seem  to  be  universally  and  pur- 
posely given  over  to  our  con- 
tempt. 

But,  notwithstanding  that  there 
is  hardly  one  print  in  the  series 
which  pleases  as  a  whole,  there  is 
hardly  one  in  the  series  which  does 
not  speak  in  some  part  or  other  of 
bold  and  original  invention.  In  our 
apprehension  it  is  not  sublimity, 
it  is  grace  and  tenderness,  which 
Blake  was  most  capable  of  express- 
ing. We  are  soon  satisfied  with 
his  'Inventions  to  the  Book  of  Job,' 
but  we  find  ourselves  turning  again 
and  again  to  other  sketches — it 
maybe  an  angelic  figure  or  a  kneel- 
ing child  or  reclining  shepherd. 
Fuseli's  remark,  that  Blake's  de- 
signs were  "good  to  steal  from," 
seems  to  us  to  express  faithfully 
their  kind  of  excellence  ;  here  and 
there  a  grand  conception  or  a  grace- 
ful figure,  which  the  most  accom- 
plished artist  might  have  been 
proud  of,  and  which,  if  too  consci- 
entious to  appropriate,  he  will,  at 
all  events,  study  with  delight. 

Of  his  poetry  something  of  the 


30G 


William  Make. 


[March, 


same  kind  might  be  said.  Here 
and  there  we  find  a  few  verses  of 
.singular  originality,  and  some  short 
poems  which  have  become  general 
favourites.  But  when  these  have 
been  seized  on  and  collected,  there 
is  left  a  large  residue  simply  unin- 
telligible. What  became  of  that 
"  immense  poem  "  we  heard  of,  and 
which  was  composed  without  the 
least  effort,  we  do  not  know.  Such 
specimens  as  we  have  here  of  his 
more  ambitious  efforts,  or  his  more 
mystical  strains,  would  not  prompt 
us  to  make  any  inquiries  after  it. 

'  The  Tiger  and  the  Lamb,'  and 
two  or  three  other  short  poems,  re- 
markable for  their  pathos  and  true 
simplicity,  are  so  well  known  that 
we  have  no  excuse  for  quoting  them 
at  present.  Blake  took  the  sweeper, 
"  a  little  black  thing  among  the 
snow,"  especially  under  his  kindly 
protection,  and  it  would  be  pleas- 
ant to  think  that  his  verse  may 
have  had  some  influence  in  mitigat- 
ing the  lot  of  those  little  unfortu- 
nates. The  '  Songs  of  Innocence/ 
and  the  'Songs  of  Experience,' which 
he  published  early  in  his  career, 
and  in  a  most  curious  and  original 
fashion,  contain  almost  all  that  has 
given  to  Blake  the  title  of  poet. 
And  it  would  bo  still  possible  to 
make  extracts  from  them  which 
would  be  both  new  and  interesting 
to  the  generality  of  readers. 

We  must  not  omit  to  quote  from 
Mr  Gilchrist  the  account  he  gives 
us  of  the  manner  in  which  these 
songs  and  their  illustrations  were 
printed  or  executed  : — 

"  The  method  to  which  Blake  hence- 
forth consistently  adhered  for  multiply- 
ing his  works  was  quite  an  original  one. 
It  consisted  in  a  species  of  engraving  in 
relief  both  words  and  designs.  The 
verse  was  written,  and  the  designs  and 
marginal  embellishments  outlined  on 
the  copper  with  an  impervious  liquid, 
probably  the  ordinary  stopping  -  out 
varnish  of  engravers.  Then  all  the 
white  part  in  lights  —the  remainder  of 
the  plate,  that  is — were  eaten  away 
with  aquafortis  or  other  acid,  so  that 
the  outline  of  letter  and  design  was 
left  prominent  as  in  stereotpye.  From 


these  plates  he  printed  off  in  any  tint — 
yellow,  brown,  blue— required  to  be  the 
prevailing  or  ground  colour  in  his  fac- 
similes ;  red  he  used  for  the  letterpress. 
The  page  was  then  coloured  up  by  hand 
in  imitation  of  the  original  drawing, 
with  more  or  less  variety  of  detail  in 
the  local  hues. 

' '  He  taught  Mrs  Blake  to  take  off  the 
impressions  with  care  and  delicacy, 
which  such  plates  signally  needed,  and 
also  to  help  in  tinting  them  from  his 
drawings  with  right  artistic  feeling ; 
in  all  which  tasks  she,  to  her  honour, 
much  delighted.  The  size  of  the  plate 
was  small,  for  the  sake  of  economising 
copper — something  under  live  inches  by 
three.  The  number  of  engraved  pages 
in  the  '  Songs  of  Innocence  '  alone  was 
twenty-seven.  They  were  done  up  in 
boards  by  Airs  Blake's  hand,  forming  a 
small  octavo  ;  so  that  the  poet  and  his 
wife  did  everything  in  making  the 
book — writing,  designing,  printing,  en- 
graving— everything  except  manufac- 
turing the  paper;  the  very  ink  or  colour 
they  did  make.  Never  before,  surely, 
was  a  man  so  literally  the  author  of 
his  own  book. " 

The  prints  we  have  here  from 
the  '  Songs  of  Innocence  '  and  tine 
'  Songs  of  Experience,'  present  the 
same  appearance  as  Blake's  copy 
before  it  had  been  coloured.  How 
much  of  the  effect  of  expression  was 
left  to  be  given  in  the  colouring  we 
cannot  say,  not  having  seen  the 
original.  Such  as  they  are  here, 
we  find  ourselves  looking  over  them 
with  an  increasing  pleasure. 

The  few  poems  of  Blake  that  are 
well  known  are  not  those  on  which 
any  peculiarity  of  philosophic  or 
religious  thought  is  noticeable.  The 
following  perhaps  is  a  good  speci- 
men of  this  class.  Probably  it 
will  receive  different  interpretations 
from  different  readers.  Some,  per- 
haps, may  find  in  it  a  meaning  more 
profound  than  consolatory  : — 

THE  DIYIXE   IMAGE. 

"  To  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love, 

All  pray  in  their  distress, 

And  to  these  virtues  of  delight 

Return  their  thankfulness. 

For  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love, 

Is  God  our  Father  dear  ; 
And  mercy,  pity,  peace,  and  love 

Is  man,  His  child  and  care . 


18C5.] 


William  Jllake. 


For  mercy  has  a  human  heart, 

Pity  a  human  face, 
Ainl  love  tho  human  form  divine, 

Ami  peace  the  human  dress. 
Then  every  man  of  every  climo, 

That  prays  in  his  distress, 
Prays  to  the  human  form  divine, 

Love,  mercy,  pity,  peace. 

And  all  must  love  the  human  form 
In  Heathen,  Turk,  or  Jew; 

Where  mercy,  love,  and  pity  dwell, 
There  CJod  is  dwelling  too." 

Here    is  another  which   is  of  a 
bold  and  thoughtful  character  : — 

Till:   I.ITTI.E  HOY    LOST. 

'•  '  Nought  loves  another  as  itself, 

Nor  venerates  another  so, 
Nor  is  it  possible  to  thought 
A  greater  than  itself  to  know. 

'  And,  father,  how  can  I  love  you 
Or  any  of  my  brothers  more  ! 

I  love  you  like  tho  little  bird 
That    picks   up    crumbs   around    the 
door.' 

The  priest  sat  by  and  heard  the  child  ; 

In  trembling  zeal  ho  seized  his  hair, 
He  led  him  by  his  little  coat, 

And  all  admired  the  priestly  care. 

And  standing  on  the  altar  high, 

'  Lo  !  what  a  fiend  is  hero,'  said  he  ; 

'  One  who  sets  reason  up  for  judge 
Of  our  most  holy  mystery.' 

The  weeping  child  could  not  bo  heard, 
And  weeping  parents  wept  in  vain  ; 


They  stripped  him  to  his  little  shirt, 
Ami  hound  him  in  an  iron  chain, 

And  burned  him  in  a  holy  place, 

Where  man}-  hail  been  burned  before  ; 

The  weeping  parents  wept  in  vain. 
Aro    such    things  done    on    Albion's 
shore? " 

Many  single  stanzas  might  lie 
collected  from  other  poems-,  which, 
in  their  entirety,  it  would  be 
tedious  to  quote — stanzas  distin- 
guished sometimes  by  a  tender 
feeling,  sometimes  by  a  hardihood 
of  thought.  As  we  have  already 
remarked,  he  is  very  watchful  over 
the  heresy  of  others — barks  with  a 
most  needless  ferocity  at  any  foot- 
step which  he  thinks  is  treading  on 
forbidden  ground,  but  permits  an 
unfettered  licence  to  himself.  On 
this  point,  however,  we  are  not 
about  to  raise  any  quarrel  with 
Blake.  He  was  a  good  man,  and 
had  some  of  the  elements  of  great- 
ness in  him.  He  is  better  deserv- 
ing, perhaps,  of  being  held  in 
memory  than  some  others  of  world- 
wide reputation.  We  have  occu- 
pied all  the  space  we  could  devote 
to  the  subject,  or  we  should  have 
felt  a  pleasure  in  gleaning  still  fur- 
ther amongst  his  poetical  fragments. 


308 


Miss  Marjorihanlcs. — Part  II. 


[March, 


MISS     MAR.JORIBANKS. — PART     II. 


CHAPTER   V. 


Miss  MARJORIBAXKS  did  not 
leave  the  contralto  any  time  to  re- 
cover from  her  surprise  ;  she  went 
up  to  her  direct  where  she  stood, 
with  her  song  arrested  on  her  lips, 
as  she  had  risen  hastily  from  the 
piano.  "  Is  it  Rose  V  said  Lucilla, 
going  forward  with  the  most  eager 
cordiality,  and  holding  out  both 
her  hands ;  though,  to  be  sure,  she 
knew  very  well  it  was  not  Rose, 
who  was  about  half  the  height  of 
the  singer,  and  was  known  to  every- 
body in  Mount  Pleasant  to  be  utterly 
innocent  of  a  voice. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Lake,  who 
was  much  astonished  and  startled 
and  offended,  as  was  unfortunate- 
ly rather  her  custom.  She  was  a 
young  woman  without  any  of  those 
instincts  of  politeness  which  make 
some  people  pleasant  in  spite  of 
themselves ;  and  she  added  nothing 
to  soften  this  abrupt  negative,  but 
drew  her  hands  away  from  the 
stranger  and  stood  bolt  upright, 
looking  at  her,  with  a  burningblush, 
caused  by  temper  much  more  than 
by  embarrassment,  on  her  face. 

"  Then,"  said  Lucilla,  dropping 
lightly  into  the  most  comfortable 
chair  she  could  get  sight  of  in  the 
bare  little  parlour,  "  it  is  Barbara 
— and  that  is  a  great  deal  better  ; 
Rose  is  a  good  little  thing,  but — 
she  is  different,  you  know.  It  is  so 
odd  you  should  not  remember  me; 
I  thought  everybody  knew  me  in 
Carlingford.  You  know  I  have 
been  a  long  time  away,  and  now  I 
have  come  home  for  good.  Your 
voice  is  just  the  very  thing  to  go 
with  mine  :  was  it  not  a  lucky  thing 
that  I  should  have  passed  just  at 
the  right  moment  1  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  somehow  these  lucky 
chances  always  happen  to  me.  I 
am  Lucilla  Marjoribanksj  you 
know." 

"Indeed!"    said   Barbara,   who 


had  not  the  least  intention  of  being 
civil,  "  I  did  not  recognise  you  in 
the  least." 

"  Yes,  I  remember  you  were  al- 
ways shortsighted  a  little,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  calmly.  "  I 
should  so  like  if  we  could  try  a 
duet.  I  have  been  having  les- 
sons in  Italy,  you  know,  and  I  am 
sure  I  could  give  you  a  few  hints. 
I  always  like,  when  I  can,  to  be  of 
use.  Tell  me  what  songs  you  have 
that  we  could  sing  together.  You 
know,  my  dear,  it  is  not  as  if  I  was 
asking  you  for  mere  amusement  to 
myself  ;  my  grand  object  in  life  is 
to  be  a  comfort  to  papa " 

"  Do  you  mean  Dr  Marjori- 
banks 1 "  said  the  uncivil  Barbara. 
"  I  am  sure  he  does  not  care  in  the 
least  for  music.  I  think  you  must 
be  making  a  mistake " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Lucilla,  "  I  never 
make  mistakes.  I  don't  mean  to 
sing  to  him,  you  know ;  but  you  are 
just  the  very  person  I  wanted.  As 
for  the  ridiculous  idea  some  people 
have  that  nobody  can  be  called  on 
who  does  not  live  in  Grange  Lane, 
I  assure  you  I  mean  to  make  an 
end  of  that.  Of  course  I  cannot 
commence  just  all  in  a  moment. 
But  it  would  always  be  an  advan- 
tage to  practise  a  little  together.  I 
like  to  know  exactly  how  far  one 
can  calculate  upon  everybody ;  then 
one  can  tell,  without  fear  of  break- 
ing down,  just  what  one  may  ven- 
ture to  do." 

"  I  don't  understand  in  the  least," 
said  Barbara,  whose  pride  was  up  in 
arms.  "  Perhaps  you  think  I  am  a 
professional  singer  1" 

"  My  dear,  a  professional  singer 
spoils  everything,"  said  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks ;  "  it  changes  the  charac- 
ter of  an  evening  altogether.  There 
are  so  few  people  who  understand 
that.  When  you  have  professional 
singers,  you  have  to  give  yourself  up 


1865.] 


Miss  Ataryoribanks. — Part  II. 


309 


to  music  ;  and  that  is  not  my  view 
in  the  least.  My  great  aim,  as  all 
my  friends  are  aware,  is  to  be  a 
comfort  to  dear  papa." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  in 
riddles,"  said  Lucilla's  amazed  and 
indignant  companion,  in  her  round 
rich  contralto.  "  I  suppose  you 
really  are  Miss  Marjoribanks.  I 
have  always  heard  that  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks was  a  little 

"There!"'  said  Lucilla,  trium- 
phantly ;  ''  really  it  is  almost  like 
a  recitativo  to  hear  you  speak.  I 
am  .so  glad.  What  have  you  got 
there  }  Oh,  to  be  sure,  it's  that 
duet  out  of  the  Trovatore.  Do 
let  us  try  it ;  there  is  nobody  here, 
and  everything  is  so  convenient — 
and  you  know  it  would  never  do  to 
risk  a  breakdown.  Will  you  play 
the  accompaniment,  or  shall  I?" 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  taking  off 
her  gloves.  As  for  the  drawing- 
master's  daughter,  she  stood  aghast, 
lost  in  such  sudden  bewilderment 
and  perplexity  that  she  could  find 
no  words  to  reply.  She  was  not  in 
the  least  amiable  or  yielding  by 
nature  ;  but  Lucilla  took  it  so  much 
as  a  matter  of  course  that  Barbara 
could  not  find  a  word  to  say  ;  and 
before  she  could  be  sure  that  it  was 
real,  Miss  Marjoribanks  had  seated 
herself  at  the  piano.  Barbara  was 
so  obstinate  that  she  would  not  sing 
the  first  part,  which  ought  to  have 
been  hers  ;  but  she  was  not  clever 
enough  for  her  antagonist.  Lucilla 
sang  her  part  by  herself  gallantly; 
and  when  it  came  to  Barbara's  turn 
the  second  time,  Miss  Marjoribanks 
essayed  the  second  in  a  false  voice, 
which  drove  the  contralto  oil'  her 
guard  ;  and  then  the  magnificent 
volume  of  sound  flowed  forth, 
grand  enough  to  have  filled  Lucilla 
with  envy  if  she  had  not  been  sus- 
tained by  that  sublime  confidence 
in  herself  which  is  the  first  neces- 
sity to  a  woman  with  a  mission. 
She  paused  a  moment  in  the  accom- 
paniment to  clap  her  hands  after 
that  strophe  was  accomplished,  and 
then  resumed  with  energy.  For, 
to  be  sure,  she  knew  by  instinct 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXC1II. 


what  sort  of  clay  the  people  were 
made  of  by  whom  she  had  to  work, 
and  gave  them  their  reward  with  that 
liberality  and  discrimination  which 
is  the  glory  of  enlightened  despot- 
ism. Miss  Marjoribanks  was  natu- 
rally elated  when  she  had  performed 
this  important  and  successful  tour. 
She  got  up  from  the  piano,  and 
closed  it  in  her  open,  imperial 
way.  "  I  do  not  want  to  tire  you, 
you  know,"  she  said;  "that  will 
do  for  to-day.  I  told  you  your  voice 
was  the  very  thing  to  go  with  mine. 
Give  my  love  to  Rose  when  she 
comes  in,  but  don't  bring  her  with 
you  when  you  come  to  me.  She 
is  a  good  little  thing — but  then  she 
is  different,  you  know,"  said  the 
bland  Lucilla  ;  and  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  her  captive  graci- 
ously, and  gathered  up  her  parasol, 
which  she  had  left  on  her  chair. 
Barbara  Lake  let  her  visitor  go 
after  this,  with  a  sense  that  she  had 
fallen  asleep,  and  had  dreamt  it  all ; 
but,  after  all,  there  was  something 
in  the  visit  which  was  not  disagree- 
able when  she  came  to  think  it  over. 
The  drawing-master  was  poor,  and 
he  had  a  quantity  of  children,  as 
was  natural,  and  Barbara  had  never 
forgiven  her  mother  for  dying  just 
at  the  moment  when  she  had  a 
chance  of  seeing  a  little  of  what 
she  called  the  world.  At  that  time 
Mr  Lake  and  his  portfolio  of  draw- 
ings were  asked  out  frequently  to 
tea;  and  when  he  had  pupils  in  the 
family,  some  kind  people  asked  him 
to  bring  one  of  his  daughters  with 
him — so  that  Barbara,  who  was  am- 
bitious, had  beheld  herself  for  a 
month  or  two  almost  on  the  thresh- 
old of  Orange  Lane.  And  it  was  at 
this  moment  of  all  others,  just  at 
the  same  time  as  Mrs  Marjoribanks 
finished  her  pale  career,  that  poor 
Mrs  Lake  thought  fit  to  die,  to 
the  injury  of  her  daughter's  pros- 
pects and  the  destruction  of  her 
hopes.  Naturally  Barbara  had 
never  quite  forgiven  that  injury. 
It  was  this  sense  of  having  been 
ill-used  which  made  her  so  reso- 
lute about  sending  Hose  to  Mount 
Y 


310 

Pleasant,  though  the  poor  little  girl 
did  not  in  the  least  want  to  go,  and 
was  very  happy  helping  her  papa 
at  the  School  of  Design.  But  Bar- 
bara saw  no  reason  why  Hose 
should  be  happy,  while  she  herself 
had  to  resign  her  inclinations  and 
look  after  a  set  of  odious  children. 
To  be  sure,  it  was  a  little  hard  upon 
a  young  woman  of  a  proper  ambi- 
tion, who  knew  she  was  handsome, 
to  fall  back  into  housekeeping,  and 
consent  to  remain  unseen  and  un- 
heard ;  for  Barbara  was  also  aware 
that  she  had  a  remarkable  voice. 
In  these  circumstances  it  may  be 
imagined  that,  after  the  first  move- 
ment of  a  passionate  temper  was 
over,  when  she  had  taken  breath, 
and  had  time  to  consider  this  sud- 
den and  extraordinary  visit,  a  glim- 
mer of  hope  and  interest  penetrated 
into  the  bosom  of  the  gloomy  girl. 
She  was  two  years  older  than  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  and  as  different  in 
"  style"  as  she  was  in  voice.  She 
was  not  stout  as  yet,  though  it  is 
the  nature  of  a  contralto  to  be 
stout ;  but  she  was  tall,  with  all 
due  opportunity  for  that  develop- 
ment which  might  come  later.  And 
then  Barbara  possessed  a  kind  of 
beauty,  the  beauty  of  a  passionate 
and  somewhat  sullen  brunette,  dark 
and  glowing,  with  straight  black 
eyebrows,  very  dark  and  very 
straight,  which  gave  oddly  enough 
a  suggestion  of  oblique  vision  to  her 
eyes  ;  but  her  eyes  were  not  in  the 
least  oblique,  and  looked  at  you 
straight  from  under  that  black  line 
of  shadow  with  no  doubtful  ex- 
pression. She  was  shy  in  a  kind 
of  way,  as  was  natural  to  a  young 
woman  who  had  never  seen  any 
society,  and  felt  herself,  on  the 
whole,  injured  and  unappreciated. 
But  no  two  things  could  be  more  dif- 
ferent than  this  shyness  which  made 
Barbara  look  you  straight  in  the 
face  with  a  kind  of  scared  defiance, 
and  the  sweet  shyness  that  pleaded 
for  kind  treatment  in  the  soft 
eyes  of  little  Hose,  who  was  plain, 
and  had  the  oddest  longing  to  make 
people  comfortable,  and  please  them 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


in  her  way,  which,  to  be  sure,  was 
not  always  successful.  Barbara  sat 
down  on  the  stool  before  the  piano, 
which  Miss  Marjoribanks  had  been 
so  obliging  as  to  close,  and  thought 
it  all  over  with  growing  excitement. 
No  doubt  it  was  a  little  puzzling  to 
make  out  how  the  discovery  of  a 
fine  contralto,  and  the  possibility  of 
getting  up  unlimited  duets,  could 
further  Lucilla  in  the  great  aim  of 
her  life,  which  was  to  be  a  comfort 
to  her  dear  papa.  But  Barbara 
was  like  a  young  soldier  of  fortune, 
ready  to  take  a  great  deal  for 
granted,  and  to  swallow  much  that 
was  mysterious  in  the  programme 
of  the  adventurous  general  who 
might  lead  her  on  to  glory.  In 
half  an  hour  her  dreams  had  gone 
so  far  that  she  saw  herself  receiv- 
ing in  Miss  Marjoribanks' s  draw- 
ing-room the  homage,  not  only 
of  Grange  Lane,  but  even  of  the 
county  families  who  would  be  at- 
tracted by  rumours  of  her  wonder- 
ful performance ;  and  Barbara  was, 
to  her  own  consciousness,  walking 
up  the  middle  aisle  of  Carlingford 
Church  in  a  veil  of  real  Brussels, 
before  little  Mr  Lake  came  in, 
hungry  and  good-tempered,  from 
his  round.  To  be  sure,  she  had 
not  concluded  who  was  to  be  the 
bridegroom  ;  but  that  was  one  of 
those  matters  of  detail  which  could 
not  be  precisely  concluded  on  till 
the  time. 

Such  was  the  immediate  result, 
so  far  as  this  secondary  personage 
was  concerned,  of  Lucilla's  masterly 
impromptu  ;  and  it  is  needless  to 
say  that  the  accomplished  warrior, 
who  had  her  wits  always  about  her, 
and  had  made,  while  engaged  in  a 
simple  reconnaissance,  so  brilliant 
and  successful  a  capture,  withdrew 
from  the  scene  still  more  entirely 
satisfied  with  herself.  Nothing, 
indeed,  could  have  come  more  op- 
portunely for  Lucilla,  who  pos- 
sessed in  perfection  that  faculty  of 
throwing  herself  into  the  future, 
and  anticipating  the  difficulties 
of  a  position,  which  is  so  valuable 
to  all  who  aspire  to  be  leaders  of 


1SG5."| 


MarjoriJbank*. — Part  II. 


311 


mankind.  With  a  prudence  which 
1  )rMarjoribanks  himself  would  have 
acknowledged  to  he  remarkable  "in 
a  person  of  her  ago  and  sex,"  Lu- 
cilla  had  already  foreseen  that  to 
amuse  her  guests  entirely  in  her 
own  person,  would  be  at  once  im- 
practicable and  "  bad  style."  The 
iirst  objection  might  have  been  got 
over,  for  Miss  Marjoribanks  had  a 
soul  above  the  ordinary  limits  of 
possibility,  but  the  second  was  un- 
answerable. This  discovery,  how- 
ever, satisfied  all  the  necessities 
of  the  position.  Lucilla,  who  was 
liberal,  as  genius  ouyht  always  to 
be,  was  perfectly  willing  that  all 
the  young  ladies  in  Carlingford 
should  sing  their  little  songs  while 
she  was  entertaining  her  guests  ; 
and  then  at  the  right  moment, 
when  her  ruling  mind  saw  it  was 
necessary,  would  occur  the  duet — 
the  one  duet  Avhich  would  be  the 
great  feature  of  the  evening.  Thus 
it  will  be  seen  that  another 
quality  of  the  highest  order  de- 
veloped itself  during  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  deliberations  ;  for,  to  tell 
the  truth,  she  set  a  good  deal  of 
store  by  her  voice,  and  had  been 
used  to  applause,  and  had  tasted 
the  sweetness  of  individual  suc- 
cess. This,  however,  she  was  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  for  the  enhanced 
and  magnificent  effect  which  she 
felt  could  be  produced  by  the  com- 
bination of  the  two  voices ;  and 
the  sacrifice  was  one  which  a  weaker 
woman  would  have  been  incapable 
of  making.  She  went  home  past 
Salem  Chapel  by  the  little  lane 
which  makes  a  line  of  communica- 
tion between  the  end  of  Grove 
Street  and  the  beginning  of  Grange 
Lane,  with  a  sentiment  of  satisfac- 
tion worthy  the  greatness  of  her 
mission.  Dr  Marjoribanks  never 
came  home  to  lunch,  and  indeed 
had  a  contempt  for  that  feminine 
indulgence  ;  which,  to  be  sure,  might 
be  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  that 
about  that  time  in  the  day  the  Doc- 
tor very  often  found  himself  to  be 
passing  close  by  one  or  other  of  the 
houses  in  the  neighbourhood  which 


had  a  reputation  for  good  sherry  or 
madeira,  such  as  exists  no  more. 
Lucilla,  accordingly,  had  her  lunch 
alone,  served  to  her  with  respect- 
ful care  by  Nancy,  who  wa.s  still 
under  the  impression  of  the  inter- 
view of  the  morning;  and  it  oc- 
curred to  Miss  Marjoribanks,  as  she 
sat  at  table  alone,  that  this  was 
an  opportunity  too  valuable  to  be 
left  unimproved ;  for,  to  be  sure, 
there  are  few  things  more  pleasant 
than  a  little  impromptu  luncheon- 
party,  where  everybody  comes  with- 
out being  expected,  fresh  from  the 
outside  world,  and  ready  to  tell  all 
that  is  going  on ;  though,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  was  a  little  doubtful 
how  it  might  work  in  Carlingford, 
where  the  men  had  generally  some- 
thing to  do,  and  where  the  married 
ladies  took  their  luncheon  when 
the  children  had  their  dinner,  and 
presided  at  the  nursery  meal.  And 
as  for  a  party  of  young  ladies,  even 
supposing  they  had  the  courage  to 
come,  with  no  more  solid  admixture 
of  the  more  important  members  of 
society,  Lucilla,  to  tell  the  truth, 
had  no  particular  taste  for  that. 
Miss  Marjoribanks  reflected  as  she 
ate  —  and  indeed,  thanks  to  her 
perfect  health  and  her  agreeable 
morning  walk,  Lucilla  had  a  very 
pretty  appetite,  and  enjoyed  her 
meal  in  a  way  that  would  have 
been  most  satisfactory  to  her  many 
friends — that  it  must  be  by  way  of 
making  his  visit,  which  was  aggra- 
vating under  all  circumstances,  more 
aggravating  still,  that  Tom  Marjori- 
banks had  decided  to  come  now,  of 
all  times  in  the  world.  "If  he  had 
waited  till  things  were  organised, 
he  might  have  been  of  a  little  use," 
Lucilla  said  to  herself;  "for  at 
least  he  could  have  brought  some 
of  the  men  that  come  on  circuit, 
and  that  would  have  made  a  little 
novelty;  but,  of  coufse,  just  now 
it  would  never  do  to  make  a  rush 
at  people,  and  invite  them  all  at 
once."  After  a  moment's  consider- 
ation, however,  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
with  her  usual  candour,  reflected 
that  it  was  not  in  Tom  Marjori- 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


banks's  power  to  change  the  time 
of  the  Carlingford  assizes,  and  tliat, 
accordingly,  lie  was  not  to  be  blamed 
in  this  particular  at  least.  ^  ''  Of 
course  it  is  not  his  fault,"  she 
added,  to  herself,  "  but  it  is  aston- 
ishing how  things  happen  with 
some  men  always  at  the  wrong 
moment;  and  it  is  so  like  Tom." 
These  reflections  were  interrupted 
by  the  arrival  of  visitors,  whom 
Miss  Marjoribanks  received  with 
her  usual  grace.  The  first  was  old 
Mrs  Chiley,  who  kissed  Lucilla, 
and  wanted  to  know  how  she  had 
enjoyed  herself  on  the  Continent, 
and  if  she  had  brought  many  pretty 
things  home.  "  My  dear,  you  have 
grown  ever  so  much  since  the  last 
time  I  saw  you,"  the  old  lady  said 
in  her  grandmotherly  way,  u  and 
stout  with  it,  which  is  such  a  com- 
fort with  a  tall  girl ;  and  then  your 
poor  dear  mamma  was  so  delicate. 
I  have  always  been  a  little  anxious 
about  you  on  that  account,  Lucilla ; 
and  I  am  so  glad,  my  dear,  to  see 
you  looking  so  strong." 

"  Dear  Mrs  Chiley,"  said  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  who  perhaps  in  her 
heart  was  not  quite  so  gratified  by 
this  compliment  as  the  old  lady 
intended,  "  the  great  aim  of  my 
life  is  to  be  a  comfort  to  dear 
papa," 

Mrs  Chiley  was  very  much  moved 
by  this  filial  piety,  and  she  told 
Lucilla  that  story  about  the  Colo- 
nel's niece,  Susan,  who  was  such  a 
good  daughter,  and  had  refused 
three  excellent  offers,  to  devote  her- 
self to  her  father  and  mother,  with 
which  the  public  in  Grange  Lane 
were  tolerably  acquainted.  "  And 
one  of  them  was  a  baronet,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs  Chiley.  Miss 
Marjoribanks  did  not  make  any 
decided  response,  for  she  felt  that 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  commit 
herself  to  svfch  a  height  of  self- 
abnegation  as  that;  but  the  old 
lady  was  quite  pleased  to  hear  of 
her  travels  and  adventures  instead  ; 
and  stayed  so  long  that  Mrs  Cen- 
tum and  Mrs  Woodburn,  who  hap- 
pened to  arrive  at  the  same  mo- 


ment, found  her  still  there.  Mrs 
Chiley  was  a  little  afraid  of  Mrs 
Woodburn,  and  she  took  her  leave 
hastily,  with  another  kiss;  and 
Lucilla  found  herself  face  to  face 
with,  the  only  two  women  who 
could  attempt  a  rival  enterprise  to 
her  own  in  Carlingford.  As  for 
Mrs  Woodburn,  she  had  settled  her- 
self in  an  easy-chair  by  the  fire, 
and  was  fully  prepared  to  take  notes. 
To  be  sure,  Lucilla  was  the  very 
person  to  fall  victim  to  her  arts  ; 
for  that  confidence  in  herself  which, 
in  one  point  of  view,  gave  grandeur 
to  the  character  of  Miss  Marjori- 
banks, gave  her  also  a  certain 
naivete  and  openness  which  the 
most  simple  rustic  could  not  have 
surpassed. 

"I  am  sure  by  her  face  she  has 
been  telling  you  about  my  niece 
Susan,"  said  the  mimic,  assuming- 
Mrs  Chiley's  tone,  and  almost  her 
appearance,  for  the  moment,  "  and 
that  one  of  them  was  a  baronet,  my 
dear.  I  always  know  from  her 
looks  what  she  has  been  saying  ; 
and  'the  Colonel  was  much  as  usual, 
but  suffering  a  little  from  the  cold, 
as  he  always  does  in  this  climate.' 
She  must  be  a  good  soul,  for  she 
always  has  her  favourite  little 
speeches  written  in  her  face." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  who  felt  it  was 
her  duty  to  make  an  example ; 
"  there  has  always  been  one  thing 
remarked  of  me  all  my  life,  that  I 
never  have  had  a  great  sense  of  hum- 
our. I  know  it  is  singular,  but  when 
one  has  a  defect,  it  is  always  so 
much  better  to  confess  it.  I  always 
get  on  very  well  with  anything  else, 
but  I  never  had  any  sense  of  hum- 
our, you  know ;  and  I  am  very  fond 
of  Mrs  Chiley.  She  has  always 
had  a  fancy  for  me  from  the  time  I 
was  born ;  and  she  has  such  nice 
manners.  But  then,  it  is  so  odd  I 
should  have  no  sense  of  humour," 
said  Lucilla,  addressing  herself  to 
Mrs  Centum,  who  was  sitting  on 
the  sofa  by  her.  "  Don't  you  think 
it  is  very  odd  1  " 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  nice,"  said 


18G3.] 


Mi*s  Marjoriliankt. — Part  II. 


313 


Mrs  Centum.  "  I  hate  people  that 
laugh  at  everything.  1  «lon't  see 
much  to  laugh  at  myself,  I  am  sun-, 
in  this  distracting  worhl ;  any  one 
who  has  a  lot  of  children  and  ser- 
vants like  me  to  look  after,  finds 
very  little  to  laugh  at."  Ami  she 
seized  the  opportunity  to  enter  up- 
on domestic  circumstances.  Mrs 
Woodburn  did  not  answer  a  word. 
She  made  a  most  dashing  murder- 
ous sketch  of  Lucilla,  but  that  did 
the  future  ruler  of  Carlingford  very 
little  harm;  and  then,  by  the  even- 


ing, it  was  known  through  all 
( !  range  Lane  that  Miss  Murjori- 
banks  had  snubbed  the  caricaturist 
who  kept  all  the  good  people  in 
terror  of  their  lives.  Snubbed  her 
absolutely,  and  took  the  words  out 
of  her  very  mouth,  was  the  report 
that  (lew  through  Orange  Lane;  and 
it  may  be  imagined  how  Lucilla's 
prestige  rose  in  consequence,  and 
Low  much  people  began  to  expect 
of  Miss  Marjoribanks,  who  had  per- 
formed such  a  feat  almost  on  the 
first  day  of  her  return  home. 


Tom  Marjoribanks  arrived  that 
night,  according  to  the  Doctor's  ex- 
pectation. He  arrived,  with  that 
curious  want  of  adaptation  to  the 
circumstances  which  characterised 
the  young  man,  at  an  hour  which 
put  Xancy  entirely  out,  and  upset 
the  equanimity  of  the  kitchen  for 
twenty-four  hours  at  least.  He 
came,  if  any  one  can  conceive  of 
such  an  instance  of  carelessness, 
by  the  nine  o'clock  train,  just  as 
they  had  finished  putting  to  rights 
down-stairs.  After  this,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's  conclusion,  that  the  fact 
of  the  Carlingford  assizes  occurring 
a  day  or  two  after  her  arrival,  when 
as  yet  she  was  not  fully  prepared 
to  take  advantage  of  them,  was  so 
like  Tom,  may  be  partially  under- 
stood. And  of  course  he  was  furi- 
ously hungry,  and  could  have  man- 
aged perfectly  to  be  in  time  for  din- 
ner if  he  had  not  missed  the  train 
at  Didcot  Junction,  by  some  won- 
derful blunder  of  the  railway  peo- 
ple, which  never  could  have  occur- 
red but  for  his  unlucky  presence 
among  the  passengers.  Lucilla 
took  Thomas  apart,  and  sent  him 
down-stairs  with  the  most  concili- 
atory message.  "  Tell  Xancy  not 
to  put  herself  about,  but  to  send 
up  something  cold — the  cold  pie, 
or  anything  she  can  find  handy. 
Tell  her  I  am  so  vexed,  but  it  is 
just  like  Mr  Tom ;  and  he  never 
knows  what  he  is  eating,"  said  Miss 


Marjoribanks.  As  for  Xancy,  this 
sweetness  did  not  subdue  her  in 
the  least.  She  said,  "  I'll  thank 
Miss  Lucilla  to  mind  her  own  busi- 
ness. The  cold  pie's  for  master's 
breakfast.  I  ain't  such  a  goose  as 
not  to  know  what  to  send  up-stairs, 
and  that  Tummas  can  tell  her  if 
he  likes."  In  the  mean  time  the 
Doctor  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
much  against  his  will,  with  the  two 
young  people,  spinning  about  the 
room,  and  looking  at  Lucilla's 
books  and  knick-knacks  on  the 
tables  by  way  of  covering  his  im- 
patience. He  wanted  to  carry  off 
Tom,  who  was  rather  a  favourite, 
to  his  own  den  down-stairs,  where 
the  young  man's  supper  was  to  be 
served  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  Dr 
Marjoribanks  could  not  deny  that 
Lucilla  had  a  right  to  the  greetings 
and  homage  of  her  cousin.  He 
could  not  help  thinking,  on  the 
whole,  as  he  looked  at  the  two, 
what  a  much  more  sensible  arrange- 
ment it  would  have  been  if  he  had 
had  the  boy,  instead  of  his  sister, 
who  had  been  a  widow  for  ever  so 
long,  and  no  doubt  had  spoiled  her 
son,  as  women  always  do  ;  and  then 
Lucilla  might  have  passed  under  the 
sway  of  Mrs  Marjoribanks,  who  no 
doubt  would  have  known  how  to 
manage  her.  Thus  the  Doctor 
mused,  with  that  sense  of  mild 
amazement  at  the  blunders  of  Pro- 
vidence, which  so  many  people  ex- 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


perience,  and  without  any  idea  that 
Mrs  Marjoribanks  would  have  found 
a  task  a  great  deal  beyond  her 
powers  in  the  management  of  Lu- 
cilla.  As  for  Tom,  he  was  horribly 
hungry,  having  found,  as  was  to 
be  expected,  no  possible  means  of 
lunching  at  Didcot;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  lie  was  exhilarated  by 
Lucilla's  smile,  and  delighted  to 
think  of  having  a  week  at  least  to 
spend  in  her  society.  "  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  you  looking  so 
well,"  he  was  saying;  "and  you 
know  my  opinion  generally  on  that 
subject."  To  which  Lucilla  re- 
sponded in  a  way  to  wither  all  the 
germs  of  sentiment  in  the  bud. 

"What  subject  I  "  she  said  ;  "my 
looks  1  I  am  sure  they  can't  be 
interesting  to  you.  You  are  as 
hungry  as  ever  you  can  be,  and  I 
can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Papa,  he 
is  famishing,  and  I  don't  think  he 
can  contain  himself  any  longer.  Do 
take  him  down-stairs,  and  let  him 
have  something  to  eat.  For  my- 
self," Lucilla  continued,  in  a  lower 
tone,  "  it  is  my  duty  that  keeps  me 
up.  You  know  it  has  always  been 
the  object  of  my  life  to  be  a  com- 
fort to  papa." 

"  Come  along,  Tom,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  Don't  waste  your  time 
philandering  when  your  supper  is 
ready."  And  Dr  Marjoribanks  led 
the  way  down-stairs,  leaving  Tom, 
who  followed  him,  in  a  state  of 
great  curiosity  to  know  what  secret 
oppression  it  might  be  under  which 
his  cousin  was  supported  by  her 
duty.  Naturally  his  thoughts  re- 
verted to  a  possible  rival — some 
one  whom  the  sensible  Doctor 
would  have  nothing  to  say  to;  and 
his  very  ears  grew  red  with  excite- 
ment at  this  idea.  But,  notwith- 
standing, he  ate  a  very  satisfactory 
meal  in  the  library,  where  he  had 
to  answer  all  sorts  of  questions. 
Tom  had  his  tray  at  the  end  of  the 
table,  and  the  Doctor,  who  had, 
according  to  his  hospitable  old- 
fashioned  habit,  taken  a  glass  of 
claret  to  "  keep  him  company,"  sat 
in  his  easy-chair  bet  ween  the  fire  and 


the  table,  and  sipped  his  wine,  and 
admired  its  colour  and  purity  in 
the  light,  and  watched  with  satis- 
faction the  excellent  meal  his  ne- 
phew was  making.  He  asked  him 
all  about  his  prospects,  and  what 
he  was  doing,  which  Tom  replied  to 
with  the  frankest  confidence.  He 
was  not  very  fond  of  work,  nor  were 
his  abilities  anything  out  of  the 
common ;  but  at  the  present  mo- 
ment Tom  saw  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  gain  the  Woolsack  in 
time ;  and  Dr  Marjoribanks  gave 
something  like  a  sigh  as  he  listened, 
and  wondered  much  what  Provi- 
dence could  be  thinking  of  not  to 
give  him  the  boy. 

Lucilla  meantime  was  very  much 
occupied  up-stairs.  She  had  the 
new  housemaid  up  nominally  to 
give  her  instructions  about  Mr 
Tom's  room,  but  really  to  take  the 
covers  off  the  chairs,  and  see  how 
they  looked  when  the  room  was 
lighted  up ;  but  the  progress  of 
decay  had  gone  too  far  to  stand 
that  trial.  After  all,  the  chintz, 
though  none  of  the  freshest,  was 
the  best.  When  the  gentlemen 
came  up-stairs,  which  Tom,  to  the 
Doctor's  disgust,  insisted  on  doing, 
Lucilla  was  found  in  the  act  of 
pacing  the  room — pacing,  not  in 
the  sentimental  sense  of  making  a 
little  promenade  up  and  down,  but 
in  the  homely  practical  signification, 
with  a  view  of  measuring,  that  she 
might  form  an  idea  how  much  car- 
pet was  required.  Lucilla  was  tall 
enough  to  go  through  this  process 
without  any  great  drawback  in 
point  of  grace — the  long  step  giv- 
ing rather  a  tragedy-queen  effect  to 
her  handsome  but  substantial  per- 
son and  long,  sweeping  dress.  She 
stopped  short,  however,  when  she 
saw  them,  and  withdrew  to  the 
sofa,  on  which  she  had  established 
her  throne  ;  and  there  was  a  little 
air  of  conscious  pathos  on  her  face  as 
she  sat  down,  which  impressed  her 
companions.  As  for  Tom,  he  in- 
stinctively felt  that  it  must  have 
something  to  do  with  that  mystery 
under  which  Lucilla  was  supported 


18C5.] 


Marjoribanlfs. — Part  II. 


315 


by  her  duty  ;  and  the  irrelevant 
young  man  conceived  immediately 
a  violent  desire  to  knock  the  fellow 
down  ;  whereas  there  was  no  fellow 
at  all  in  the  case,  unless  it  might  be 
Mr  II olden,  the  upholsterer,  whose 
visits  Miss  Marjoribanks  would 
have  received  with  greater  enthu- 
siasm at  this  moment  than  those  of 
the  most  eligible  eldest  son  in  Kng- 
land.  And  then  she  gave  a  little 
pathetic  sigh. 

"What  were  you  doing.  Lucilla  !" 
said  her  father, — "rehearsing  Lady 
Macbeth,  1  suppose.  At  least  you 
looked  exactly  like  it  when  we  came 
into  the  room." 

"No,  papa,"  said  Lucilla, sweetly; 
"  I  was  only  measuring  to  see  how 
much  carpet  we  should  want ;  and 
that,  you  know,  and  Tom's  coming, 
made  me  think  of  old  times.  You 
are  so  much  down-stairs  in  the  li- 
brary that  you  don't  feel  it  ;  but  a 
lady  has  to  spend  her  life  in  the 
drawing-room — and  then  I  always 
was  so  domestic.  It  does  not  mat- 
ter what  is  outside,  1  always  find 
my  pleasure  at  home.  1  cannot 
help  if  it  has  a  little  effect  on  my 
spirits  now  and  then,"  said  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  looking  down  upon 
her  handkerchief,  "  to  be  always 
surrounded  with  things  that  have 
such  associations 

"  What  associations  ]  "  said  the 
amazed  Doctor.  To  be  sure,  he 
had  not  forgotten  his  wife  ;  but  it 
was  four  years  ago,  and  he  had  got 
used  to  her  absence  from  her  fa- 
vourite sofa  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  in 
that  particular,  had  acquiesced  in 
the  arrangements  of  Providence. 
"  Keally,  Lucilla,  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean." 

"  Xo,  papa,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks, with  resignation.  "  I  know 
you  don't,  and  that  is  what  makes 
it  so  sad.  lint  talking  of  new  car- 
pets, you  know,  I  had  such  an  ad- 
venture to-day  that  1  must  tell  you 
— (mite  one  of  my  adventures — the 
very  luckiest  thing.  It  happened 
when  1  WHS  out  walking;  I  heard 
n  voice  out  of  a  house  in  Urove 
Street,  just  the  rtry  thing  to  go  with 


my  voice.  That  is  not  a  thing  that 
happens  every  day,"  said  Lucilla, 
"  for  all  the  masters  have  always 
told  me  that  my  voice  was  some- 
thing quite  by  itself.  When  I 
heard  it,  though  it  was  in  Grove 
Street,  and  all  the  people  about,  I 
could  have  danced  for  joy." 

"  It  was  a  man's  voice,  I  sup- 
pose,"suggested  Tom  Marjoribanks, 
in  gloomy  tones  ;  and  the  Doctor 
added,  in  his  cynical  way — 

"  It's  a  wonderful  advantage  to 
be  so  pleased  about  trities.  What 
number  was  it  /  J-'or  my  part,  I 
have  not  many  patients  in  drove 
Street,"  said  Dr  Marjoribanks.  "  1 
would  find  a  voice  to  suit  you  in 
another  quarter,  if  1  were  you." 

"  Dear  papa,  it's  such  a  pity  that 
you  don't  understand,'"  said  Lucilla, 
compassionately.  "  It  turned  out 
to  be  Barbara  Lake;  for,  of  course, 
I  went  in  directly,  and  found  out. 
I  never  heard  a  voice  that  went  so 
well  with  mine."  If  Miss  Marjori- 
banks did  not  go  into  raptures  over 
the  contralto  on  its  own  merits,  it 
•was  not  from  any  jealousy,  of  which, 
indeed,  she  was  incapable,  but  sim- 
ply because  its  adaptation  to  her 
own  seemed  to  her  by  far  its  most 
interesting  quality,  and  indeed  al- 
most the  sole  claim  it  had  to  con- 
sideration from  the  world. 

"Barbara  Lake?"  said  the  Doc- 
tor. "  There's  something  in  that. 
If  you  can  do  her  any  good,  or  get 
her  teaching  or  anything — I  have 
a  regard  for  poor  Lake,  poor  little 
fellow!  He's  kept  up  wonderfully 
since  his  wife  died  ;  and  nobody 
expected  it  of  him,"  Dr  Marjori- 
banks continued,  with  a  moment- 
ary dreary  recollection  of  the  time 
when  the  poor  woman  took  fare- 
well of  her  children,  which  indeed 
was  the  next  day  after  that  on 
which  his  own  wife,  who  had  no- 
body in  particular  to  take  farewell 
of,  faded  out  of  her  useless  life. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucilla,  "  I  mean 
her  to  come  here  and  sing  with  rue; 
but.  then,  one  needs  to  organise  a  lit- 
tle first.  I  am  nineteen — how  long 
is  it  since  you  were  married,  papa  } " 


31G 


Miss  Marjoriljanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


"Two-and-twenty  years,"  said 
the  Doctor,  abruptly.  He  did  not 
observe  the  strangeness  of  the  ques- 
tion, because  he  had  been  thinking 
for  the  moment  of  his  wife,  and 
perhaps  his  face  was  a  trifle  graver 
than  usual,  though  neither  of  his 
young  companions  thought  of  re- 
marking it.  To  be  sure,  he  was  not 
a  young  man  even  when  he  mar- 
ried; but,  on  the  whole,  perhaps 
something  more  than  this  perfect 
comfort  and  respectability,  and 
those  nice  little  dinners,  had  seem- 
ed to  shine  on  his  horizon  when 
he  brought  home  his  incapable 
bride. 

"  Two-and-twenty  years  !  "  ex- 
claimed Lucilla.  "  I  don't  mind 
talking  before  Tom,  for  he  is  one 
of  the  family.  The  things  are  all 
the  same  as  they  were  when  mamma 
came  home,  though,  I  am  sure,  no- 
body would  believe  it.  I  think  it 
is  going  against  Providence,  for  my 
part.  Nothing  was  ever  intended 
to  last  so  long,  except  the  things 
the  Jews,  poor  souls !  wore  in  the 
desert,  perhaps.  Papa,  if  you  have 
no  objection,  I  should  like  to  choose 
the  colours  myself.  There  is  a  great 
deal  in  choosing  colours  that  go 
well  with  one's  complexion.  People 
think  of  that  for  their  dresses,  but 
not  for  their  rooms,  which  are  of  so 
much  more  importance.  I  should 
have  liked  blue,  but  blue  gets  so 
soon  tawdry.  I  think,"  said  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  rising  and  looking 
at  herself  seriously  in  the  glass, 
"  that  I  have  enough  complexion 
at  present  to  venture  upon  a  pale 
spring  green." 

This  little  calculation,  which  a  ti- 
mid young  woman  would  have  taken 
care  to  do  by  herself,  Lucilla  did 
publicly,  with  her  usual  discrimina- 
tion. The  Doctor,  who  had  looked 
a  little  grim  at  first,  could  not  but 
laugh  when  he  saw  the  sober  look 
of  care  and  thought  with  which 
Miss  Marjoribanks  examined  her 
capabilities  in  the  glass.  It  was 
not  so  much  the  action  itself  that 
amused  her  father,  as  the  consum- 
mate ability  of  the  young  revolution- 


ary. Dr  Marjoribanks  was  Scotch, 
arid  had  a  respect  for  "  talent " 
in  every  development,  as  is  natural 
to  his  nation.  He  did  not  even 
give  his  daughter  the  credit  for  sin- 
cerity which  she  deserved,  but  set 
it  all  to  the  score  of  her  genius, 
which  was  complimentary,  certainly, 
in  one  point  of  view  ;  but  the  fact 
was  that  Lucilla  was  perfectly  sin- 
cere, and  that  she  did  what  was 
natural  to  her  under  guidance  of 
her  genius,  so  as  always  to  be  in 
good  fortune,  just  as  Tom  Marjori- 
banks, under  the  guidance  of  his, 
brought  discredit  even  upon  those 
eternal  ordinances  of  English  gov- 
ernment which  fixed  the  time  of 
the  Carlingford  assizes.  Lucilla 
was  quite  in  earnest  in  thinking 
that  the  colour  of  the  drawing-room 
was  an  important  matter,  and  that 
a  woman  of  sense  had  very  good  rea- 
son for  suiting  it  to  her  complexion 
— an  idea  which  accordingly  she 
proceeded  to  develop  and  explain. 
"  For  one  can  change  one's 
dress,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
"as  often  as  one  likes — at  least 
as  often,  you  know,  as  one  has 
dresses  to  change  ;  but  the  furni- 
ture remains  the  same.  I  am  al- 
ways a  perfect  guy,  whatever  I 
wear,  when  I  sit  against  a  red  cur- 
tain. You  men  say  that  a  woman 
always  knows  when  she's  good-look- 
ing, but  I  am  happy  to  say  /  know 
when  I  look  a  guy.  What  I  mean 
is  a  delicate  pale-green,  papa.  For 
my  part,  I  think  it  wears  just  as 
well  as  any  other  colour ;  and  all 
the  painters  say  it  is  the  very  thing 
for  pictures.  The  carpet,  of  course, 
would  be  a  darker  shade  ;  and  as 
for  the  chairs,  it  is  not  at  all  neces- 
sary to  keep  to  one  colour.  Both 
red  and  violet  go  beautifully  with 
green,  you  know.  I  am  sure  Mr 
Holden  and  I  could  settle  all  about 
it  without  giving  you  any  trouble." 
"Who  told  you,  Lucilla,"  said 
the  Doctor,  "  that  I  meant  to  re- 
furnish the  house  1 "  He  was  even 
a  little  angry  at  her  boldness,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  was  so  much 
amused  and  pleased  in  his  heart 


1SC5.] 


Mitrjunlanks. — Part  II. 


317 


to  have  so  clever  a  daughter,  that 
all  the  tones  that  could  produce 
terror  were  softened  out  of  his 
voice.  "  I  never  heard  that  was 
a  sort  of  tiling  that  a  man  had  to 
do  for  his  daughter,"  said  l)r  Mar- 
joribanks  ;  '*  and  1  would  like  to 
know  what  I  should  do  with  all 
that  finery  when  you  get  married — 
as  I  suppose  you  will  by-and-by — 
and  leave  me  alone  in  the  house  <" 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  important  ques- 
tion," said  Tom.  As  usual,  it  was 
Tom's  luck  ;  but  then,  when  there 
did  happen  to  be  a  moment  when 
lie  ought  to  be  silent,  the  unfortu- 
nate fellow  could  not  help  but 
speak. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  marry  some 
time,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  with 
composure  ;  "  it  would  be  foolish, 
you  know,  to  make  any  engagements; 
but  that  will  depend  greatly  upon 
how  you  behave,  and  how  Carling- 
ford  behaves,  papa.  I  give  myself 
ten  years  here,  if  you  should  be 
very  good.  I5y  twenty-nine  I  shall 
be  going  olF  a  little,  and  perhaps  it 
may  be  tiring,  for  anything  I  can 
tell.  Ten  years  is  a  long  time,  and 
naturally,  in  the  mean  time,  I  want 
to  look  as  well  as  possible.  Stop  a 
minute;  I  forgot  to  put  down  the 
number  of  paces  for  the  length. 
Tom,  please  to  do  it  over  again 
for  me  ;  of  course,  your  steps  are 
a  great  deal  longer  than  mine." 

"  Tom  is  tired,"  said  the  Doctor; 
"  and  there  are  no  new  carpets 
coming  out  of  my  pockets,  lie- 
sides,  he's  going  to  bed,  and  I'm 
going  down-stairs  to  the  library. 
We  may  as  well  bid  you  good- 
night," ' 

These  words,  however,  were  ad- 
dressed to  deaf  ears.  Tom,  as  was 
natural,  had  started  immediately  to 
obey  Lucilla,  as  he  was  in  duty 
bound  ;  and  the  old  Doctor  looked 
on  with  a  little  amazement  and  a 
little  amusement,  recognising,  with 
something  of  the  surprise  which 
that  discovery  always  gives  to  fa- 
thers and  mothers,  that  his  visitor 
cared  twenty  times  more  for  what 
Lucilla  said  than  for  anything  that 


his  superior  wisdom  could  suggest. 
He  would  have  gone  of}'  and  left 
them  as  a  couple  of  young  fools,  if 
it  had  not  occurred  to  him  all  at 
once,  that  since  this  sort  of  thing 
had  begun,  the  last  person  in  the 
world  that  he  would  choose  to  see 
dancing  attendance  on  his  daugh- 
ter was  Tom  Marjoribanks.  Oddly 
enough,  though  lie  had  just  been 
finding  fault  with  Providence  for 
not  giving  him  a  son  instead  of  a 
daughter,  he  was  not  at  all  delight- 
ed nor  grateful  when  Providence 
put  before  him  this  simple  method 
of  providing  himself  with  the  son 
he  wanted.  He  took  a  great  deal 
too  much  interest  in  Tom  Marjori- 
banks to  let  him  do  anything  so 
foolish  ;  and  as  for  Lucilla,  the 
idea  that,  after  all  her  accomplish- 
ments, and  her  expensive  educa- 
tion, and  her  year  on  the  Continent, 
she  should  marry  a  man  who  had 
nothing,  disgusted  the  Doctor.  He 
kept  his  seat  accordingly,  though 
he  was  horribly  bored  by  the  draw- 
ing-room and  its  claims,  and  wanted 
very  much  to  return  to  the  library, 
and  get  into  his  slippers  and  his 
dressing-gown.  It  was  rather  a 
pretty  picture,  on  the  whole,  which 
he  was  regarding.  Lucilla,  perhaps 
with  a  view  to  this  discussion,  had 
put  on  green  ribbons  on  the  white 
dress  which  she  always  wore  in  the 
evening,  and  her  tawny  curls  and 
fresh  complexion  carried  off  trium- 
phantly that  diflicult  colour.  Per- 
haps a  critical  observer  might  have 
said  that  her  figure  was  a  little  too 
developed  and  substantial  for  those 
vestal  robes  ;  but  then  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks was  young,  and  could 
bear  it.  She  was  standing  by,  not 
far  from  the  fire,  on  the  other  side 
from  the  Doctor,  looking  on  anxi- 
ously, while  Tom  measured  the 
room  with  his  long  steps.  "  I 
never  said  you  were  to  stride,"  said 
Lucilla  ;  "  take  moderate  steps,  and 
don't  be  so  silly.  I  wa.s  doing  it 
myself  famously  if  you  had  not 
come  in  and  interrupted  me.  It 
is  frightful  to  belong  to  a  family 
where  the  men  are  so  stupid,"  said 


3  IS 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II, 


[March, 


Miss  Marjoribanks,  with  a  sigh 
of  mil  distress  ;  for,  to  be  sure, 
the  unlucky  Tom  immediately  be- 
thought himself  to  take  small  steps 
like  those  of  a  lady,  which  all  but 
threw  him  on  his  well-formed  though 
meaningless  nose.  Lucilla  shook 
her  head  with  an  exasperated  look, 
and  contracted  her  lips  with  dis- 
dain, as  he  passed  her  on  his  ill- 
omened  career.  Of  course  he  came 
right  up  against  the  little  table  on 
which  she  had  with  her  own  hand 
arranged  a  bouquet  of  geraniums 
and  mignonette.  "  It  is  what  he 
always  does,"  she  said  to  the  Doc- 
tor, calmly,  as  Tom  arrived  at  that 
climax  of  his  fate  ;  and  the  look 
with  which  she  accompanied  these 
words,  as  she  rang  the  bell  smartly 
and  promptly,  mollified  the  Doc- 
tor's heart. 

''  I  can  tell  you  the  size  of  the 
room,  if  that  is  all  you  want,"  said 
Dr  Marjoribanks.  "  I  suppose  you 
mean  to  give  parties,  and  drive  me 
out  of  my  senses  with  dancing  and 
singing. —No,  Lucilla,  you  must 
wait  till  you  get  married — that  will 
never  do  for  me." 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  Lucilla,  sweet- 
ly, "  it  is  so  dreadful  to  hear  you 
say  parties.  Everybody  knows  that 
the  only  thing  I  care  for  in  life 
is  to  be  a  comfort  to  you  ;  and  as 
for  dancing,  I  saw  at  once  that  was 
out  of  the  question.  Dancing  is 
all  very  well,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks, thoughtfully  ;  "  but  it  im- 
plies quantities  of  young  people — 
and  young  people  can  never  make 
what  /  call  society.  It  is  Evenings 
I  mean  to  have,  papa.  I  am  sure 
you  want  to  go  down-stairs,  and  I 
suppose  Tom  would  think  it  civil 
to  sit  with  me,  though  he  is  tired  ; 
so  I  will  show  you  a  good  example, 
and  Thomas  can  pick  up  the  table 


and  the  flowers  at  his  leisure. 
Good-night,  papa/'  said  Lucilla, 
giving  him  her  round  fresh  cheek 
to  kiss.  She  went  out  of  the  room 
with  a  certain  triumph,  feeling  that 
she  had  fully  signified  her  inten- 
tions, which  is  always  an  important 
matter ;  and  shook  hands  in  a  con- 
descending way  with  Tom,  who 
had  broken  his  shins  in  a  headlong 
rush  to  open  the  door.  She  looked 
at  him  with  an  expression  of  mild 
despair,  and  shook  her  head  again 
as  she  accorded  him  that  sign  of 
amity.  "  If  you  only  would  look 
a  little  where  you  are  going,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks; — perhaps  she 
meant  the  words  to  convey  an  alle- 
gorical as  well  as  a  positive  mean- 
ing, as  so  many  people  have  been 
found  out  to  do — and  then  she 
pursued  her  peaceful  way  up-stairs. 
As  for  the  Doctor,  he  went  off  to 
his  library  rubbing  his  hands,  glad 
to  be  released,  and  laughing  softly 
at  his  nephew's  abashed  looks. 
"  She  knows  how  to  put  hiin  down 
at  least,"  the  Doctor  said  to  him- 
self, well  pleased ;  and  he  was 
so  much  amused  by  his  daughter's 
superiority  to  the  vulgar  festivity 
of  parties,  that  he  almost  gave  in 
to  the  idea  of  refurnishing  the 
drawing-room  to  suit  Lucilla's  com- 
plexion. He  rubbed  his  hands 
once  more  over  the  fire,  and  in- 
dulged in  a  little  laugh  all  by  him- 
self over  that  original  idea.  "  So  it 
is  Evenings  she  means  to  have  !  " 
said  the  Doctor  ;  and,  to  be  sure, 
nothing  could  be  more  faded  than 
the  curtains,  and  there  were  bits 
of  the  carpet  in  which  the  pattern 
was  scarcely  discernible.  So  that, 
on  the  whole,  up  to  this  point  there 
seemed  to  be  a  reasonable  prospect 
that  Lucilla  would  have  everything 
her  own  way. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


Miss  Marjoribanks  had  so  many 
things  to  think  of  next  morning 
that  she  found  her  cousin,  who  was 
rather  difficult  to  get  rid  of,  much 


in  her  way :  naturally  the  young 
man  was  briefless,  and  came  on 
circuit  for  the  name  of  the  thing, 
and  was  quite  disposed  to  dawdle 


18G5.] 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


31!) 


the  first  morning,  and  attach  him- 
self to  the  active  footsteps  of 
Lucilla  ;  and  for-  her  part,  she 
hail  things  to  occupy  her  so  very 
much  more  important.  For  one 
tiling,  one  of  Dr  Marjoribank.s's 
little  dinner-parties  was  to  take 
place  that  evening,  which  would  be 
the  iirst  under  the  new  n'</i»i<\  and 
was  naturally  a  matter  of  some 
anxiety  to  all  parties.  u  1  shall  go 
down  and  ask  Mrs  Chiley  to  come 
with  the  Colonel/'  said  Lucilla. 
"  I  have  always  meant  to  do  that. 
AVe  can't  have  a  full  dinner-party, 
you  know,  as  long  as  the  house  is 
so  shabby  ;  but  I  am  sure  Mrs 
Chiby  will  come  to  take  care  of 
me." 

"  To  take  care  of  you  ! — in  your 
father's  house  !  Do  you  think 
they'll  bite  I "  said  the  Doctor, 
grimly  ;  but  a-s  for  Lucilla,  she  was 
quite  prepared  for  that. 

"  J  must  have  a  chaperone,  you 
know,"  she  said.  ''  1  don't  say  it 
is  not  quite  absurd  ;  but  then,  at 
first,  I  always  make  it  a  point  to 
give  in  to  the  prejudices  of  society. 
That  is  how  I  have  always  been  so 
successful,"  said  the  experienced 
Lucilla.  "  I  never  went  in  the 
face  of  anybody's  prejudices.  Af- 
terwards, you  know,  when  one  is 
known " 

The  Doctor  laughed,  but  at  the 
same  time  he  sighed.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  said  against  Mrs 
Chiley,  who  had,  on  the  whole,  as 
women  go,  a  very  superior  train- 
ing, and  knew  what  a  good  dinner 
was  ;  but  it  was  the  beginning  of 
the  revolution  of  which  Dr  Marjo- 
ribanks,  vaguely  oppressed  with  the 
idea  of  new  paper,  new  curtains, 
and  all  that  was  involved  in  the 
entrance  of  Mr  Holden  the  up- 
holsterer into  the  house,  did  not 
see  the  end.  He  acquiesced,  of 
course,  since  there  was  nothing  else 
for  it ;  but  it  must  be  confessed 
that  the  spectre  of  Mrs  Chiley  sit- 
ting at  his  right  hand  clouded  over 
for  the  Doctor  the  pleasant  antici- 
pation of  the  evening.  If  it  had 
been  possible  to  put  her  at  the 


head  of  the  table  beside  Lucilla, 
whom  she  was  to  come  to  take  care 
of,  he  could  have  borne  it  better — 
and  to  be  sure  it  would  have  been 
a  great  deal  more  reasonable  ;  but 
then  that  was  absolutely  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  Doctor  gave  in 
with  a  sigh.  Thus  it  was  that  he 
began  to  realise  the  more  serious 
result  of  that  semi-abdication  into 
which  he  had  been  beguiled.  The 
female  element,  so  long  peacefully 
ignored  and  kept  at  a  distance,  had 
come  in  again  in  triumph  and  taken 
possession,  and  the  Doctor  knew 
too  well  by  the  experience  of  a 
long  life  what  a  restless  and 
troublesome  element  it  was.  He 
had  begun  to  feel  that  it  had  ceased 
to  be  precisely  amusing  as  he  took 
his  place  in  his  brougham.  It  was 
good  sport  to  see  Lucilla  make  an 
end  of  Tom,  and  put  her  bridle 
upon  the  stift"  neck  of  Nancy  ;  but 
when  it  came  to  changing  the  char- 
acter of  the  Doctor's  dinners,  his 
intellect  naturally  got  more  obtuse, 
and  he  did  not  see  the  joke. 

As  for  Tom,  he  had  to  be  dis- 
posed of  summarily.  "  Do  go 
away,"  Miss  Marjoribanks  said,  in 
her  straightforward  way.  "  You 
can  come  back  to  luncheon  if  you 
like  ; — that  is  to  say,  if  you  can  pick 
up  anybody  that  is  very  amusinir. 
you  may  bring  him  here  about  half- 
past  one,  and  if  any  of  my  friends 
have  come  to  call  by  that  time,  I 
will  give  you  lunch  ;  but  it  must 
be  somebody  very  amusing,  or  I 
will  have  nothing  to  say  to  you/' 
said  Lucilla.  And  with  this  dis- 
missal Tom  Marjoribanks  departed, 
not  more  content  than  the  Doctor  ; 
for,  to  be  sure,  the  last  thing  in 
the  world  which  the  poor  fellow 
thought  of  was  to  bring  somebody 
who  was  very  amusing,  to  injure  his 
chances  witli  Lucilla.  Tom,  like 
most  other  people,  was  utterly  in- 
capable of  fathoming  the  grand 
conception  which  inspired  Miss 
Marjoribanks.  When  she  told  l,i:ii 
that  it  was  the  object  of  her  life  to 
be  a  comfort  to  papa,  he  believed 
it  to  a  certain  extent  ;  but  it  never 


Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


occurred  to  him  that  tliat  filial 
devotion,  though  beautiful  to  ^ con- 
template, would  preserve  Lucilla's 
heart  from  the  ordinary  dangers  of 
youth,  or  that  she  was  at  all  in 
earnest  in  postponing  all  matrimo- 
nial intentions  until  she  was  nine- 
and-twenty,  and  had  begun  to  "  go 
off  "  a  little.  So  he  went  away  dis- 
consolate enough,  wavering  between 
his  instinct  of  obedience  and  his 
desire  of  being  in  Lucilla's  com- 
pany, and  a  desperate  determina- 
tion never  to  be  the  means  of  injur- 
ing himself  by  presenting  to  her 
anybody  who  was  very  amusing. 
All  Miss  Marjoribanks's  monde, 
as  it  happened,  was  a  little  out  of 
humour  that  day.  She  had  gone 
on  so  far  triumphantly  that  it  had 
now  come  to  be  necessary  that  she 
should  receive  a  little  check  in  her 
victorious  career. 

When  Tom  was  disposed  of,  Miss 
Marjoribanks  put  on  her  hat  and 
went  down  Grange  Lane  to  carry 
her  invitation  to  Mrs  Chiley,  who 
naturally  was  very  much  pleased  to 
come.  "  But,  my  dear,  you  must 
tell  me  what  to  put  on,"  the  old 
lady  said.  "  I  don't  think  I  have 
had  anything  new  since  you  were 
home  last.  I  have  heard  so  much 
about  Dr  Marjoribanks's  dinners 
that  I  feel  a  little  excited,  as  if  I 
was  going  to  be  made  a  freemason 
or  something.  There  is  my  brown, 
you  know,  that  I  wear  at  home 
when  we  have  anybody — and  my 
black  velvet ;  and  then  there  is  my 
French  grey  that  I  got  for  Mary 
Chiley's  marriage." 

_"  Dear  Mrs  Chiley,"  said  Lucilla, 
"  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least 
what  you  wear;  there  are  only  to 
be  gentlemen,  you  know,  and  one 
never  dresses  for  gentlemen.  You 
must  keep  that  beautiful  black  vel- 
vet for  another  time." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs 
Chiley,  "  /  am  long  past  that  sort 
of  thing — but  the  men  think,  you 
know,  that  it  is  always  for  them  we 
dress." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
"  their  vanity  is  something  dread- 


ful— but  it  is  one  of  my  principles 
never  to  dress  unless  there  are 
ladies.  A  white  frock,  high  in  the 
neck,"  said  Lucilla,  with  sweet  sim- 
plicity— •"  as  for  anything  else,  it 
would  be  bad  style." 

Mrs  Chiley  gave  her  young  visi- 
tor a  very  cordial  kiss  when  she 
went  away.  "  The  sense  she  has  !" 
said  the  old  lady ;  but  at  the  same 
time  the  Colonel's  wife  was  so  old- 
fashioned  that  this  contemptuous 
way  of  treating  "  The  Gentlemen" 
puzzled  her  unprogressive  intelli- 
gence. She  thought  it  was  super- 
human virtue  on  Lucilla's  part, 
nearly  incredible,  and  yet  establish- 
ed by  proofs  so  incontestable  that 
it  would  be  a  shame  to  doubt  it : 
and  she  felt  ashamed  of  herself, 
she  who  might  have  been  a  grand- 
mother had  such  been  the  will 
of  Providence,  for  lingering  five 
minutes  undecided  between  her 
two  best  caps.  "  I  daresay  Lucilla 
does  not  spend  so  much  time  on 
such  vanity,  and  she  only  nine- 
teen," said  the  penitent  old  lady, 
As  for  Miss  Marjoribanks,  she  re- 
turned up  Grange  Lane  with  a 
mind  at  ease,  and  that  conscious- 
ness of  superior  endowments  which 
gives  amiability  and  expansion 
even  to  the  countenance.  She  did 
not  give  any  money  to  the  beggar 
who  at  that  period  infested  Grange 
Lane  with  her  six  children,  for  that 
was  contrary  to  those  principles  of 
political  economy  which  she  had 
studied  with  such  success  at  Mount 
Pleasant;  but  she  stopped  and  asked 
her  name,  and  where  she  lived, 
and  promised  to  inquire  into  her 
case.  "  If  you  are  honest  and  want 
to  work,  I  will  try  to  find  you 
something  to  do,"  said  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks; which,  to  be  sure,  was  a 
threat  appalling  enough  to  keep  her 
free  from  any  further  molestation 
on  the  part  of  that  interesting 
family.  But  Lucilla,  to  do  her  jus- 
tice, felt  it  equally  natural  that 
beneficence  should  issue  from  her 
in  this  manner  as  in  that  other 
mode  of  feeding  the  hungry  which 
she  was  willing  to  adopt  at  half- 


1865.] 


Miss  Murjnribanks. — Part  II. 


321 


past  one,  and  had  solemnly  engaged 
herself  to  fulfil  at  seven  o'clock.  She 
went  up  after  that  to  .Mr  Holden's, 
and  had  a  most  interesting  conver- 
sation, and  found  among  hi.s  stores 
a  delicious  damask,  softly,  spiritu- 
ally green,  of  which,  to  his  great 
astonishment,  she  tried  the  effect 
in  one  of  the  great  mirrors  which 
ornamented  the  shop.  u  Jt  is  ju.st 
the  tint  1  want,"  Lucilla  said,  when 
she  had  applied  that  unusual  test  ; 
and  she  left  the  fashionable  uphol- 
sterer of  Carlingford  in  a  state  of 
some  uncertainty  whether  it  was 
curtains  or  dresses  that  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  meant  to  have  made. 
Perhaps  this  confusion  arose  from 
the  fact  that  Lucilla's  mind  was 
occupied  in  discussing  the  question 
whether  she  should  not  go  round 
by  Grove  Street,  and  try  that  duet 
again  with  Barbara,  and  invite 
her  to  Grange  Lane  in  the  evening 
to  electrify  the  little  company  ;  or 
whether,  in  case  this  latter  idea 
might  not  be  practicable,  she  should 
bring  Barbara  with  her  to  lunch  by 
way  of  occupying  Tom  Marjori- 
banks.  Lucilla  stood  at  Mr  Hol- 
den's door  for  five  seconds  at  least 
balancing  the  matter;  but  finally 
she  gave  her  curls  a  little  shake, 
and  took  a  quick  step  forward,  and 
without  any  more  deliberation  re- 
turned towards  Grange  Lane  ;  for, 
on  the  whole,  it  was  better  not  to 
burst  in  full  triumph  all  at  once 
upon  her  constituency,  and  exhaust 
her  forces  at  the  beginning.  If  she 
condescended  to  sing  something 
herself,  it  would  indeed  be  a  greater 
honour  than  her  father's  dinner- 
party, in  strict  justice,  was  entitled 
to  ;  and  as  for  the  second  question, 
though  Miss  Marjoribanks  was  too 
happy  iu  the  confidence  of  her  own 
powers  to  fear  any  rivals,  and 
though  her  cousin's  devotion  bored 
her,  still  she  felt  doubtful  how  far 
it  was  good  policy  to  produce 
Barbara  at  luncheon  for  the  pur- 
pose of  occupying  Tom.  Other  peo- 
ple might  see  her  besides  Tom,  and 
her  own  grand  cmtp  might  be  fore- 
stalled for  anything  she  could  tell; 


and  then  Tom  had  some  title  to 
consideration  on  his  own  merits, 
though  he  was  the  unlucky  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  He  might  even, 
if  he  were  so  far  left  to  himself 
(though  Miss  Marjoribanks  smiled 
at  the  idea)  fall  in  love  with  Bar- 
bara ;  or,  what  was  more  likely, 
driven  to  despair  by  Lucilla's  indif- 
ference, he  might  pretend  to  fall  in 
love  ;  and  Lucilla  reflected,  that  if 
anything  happened  she  could  never 
forgive  herself.  This  was  the  point 
she  had  arrived  at  when  she  shook 
her  tawny  curls  and  set  out  sud- 
denly on  her  return  home.  It 
was  nearly  one  o'clock,  and  it  was 
quite  possible  that  Tom,  as  well  as 
herself,  might  be  on  the  way  to 
Grange  Lane  ;  but  Lucilla,  who,  as 
she  said,  made  a  point  of  never 
going  against  the  prejudices  of  so- 
ciety, made  up  her  mind  to  remain 
sweetly  unconscious  of  the  hour  of 
luncheon,  unless  somebody  came  to 
keep  her  company.  But  then  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  always  lucky,  as 
she  said.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  be- 
fore Tom  applied  for  admission, 
Miss  Bury  came  to  pay  Lucilla  a 
visit.  She  had  been  visiting  in  her 
district  all  the  morning,  and  was 
very  easily  persuaded  to  repose  her- 
self a  little  ;  and  then,  naturally, 
she  was  anxious  about  her  young 
friend's  spiritual  condition,  and  the 
effect  upon  her  mind  of  a  year's 
residence  abroad.  She  was  asking 
whether  Lucilla  had  not  seen  some- 
thing soul -degrading  and  disho- 
nouring to  religion  in  all  the 
mummeries  of  Popery;  and  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  who  was  perfectly 
orthodox,  had  replied  to  the  ques- 
tion in  the  most  satisfactory  man- 
ner; when  Tom  made  his  appear- 
ance, looking  rather  sheepish  and 
reluctant,  and  followed  by  the 
"somebody  amusing"  whom  Lu- 
cilla had  commissioned  him  to 
bring.  He  had  struggled  against 
his  fate,  poor  fellow  !  but  when  it 
happens  to  be  a  man's  instinct  to 
do  what  he  is  told,  he  can  no  more 
resist  it  than  if  it  was  a  criminal 
impulse.  Tom  entered  with  his 


Miss  Marjorilaiiks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


amusing  companion,  who  had  been 
chosen  with  care,  and  was  very  un- 
inviting to  look  at;  and  by-and- 
by  Miss  Bury,  with  the  most  puz- 
zled looks,  found  herself  listening 
to  gossip  about  the  theatres  and 
all  kinds  of  profane  subjects, 
think  they  are  going  to  hang  that 
fellow  that  killed  the  tailor,"  said 
the  amusing  man  ;  "  that  will  stir 
you  up  a  little  in  Carlingford,  I 
should  suppose.  It  is  as  good  as  a 
play  for  a  country  town.  Of  course, 
there  will  be  a  party  that  will  get 
up  a  memorial,  and  prove  that  a 
man  so  kind-hearted  never  existed 
out  of  paradise  ;  and  there  will  be 
another  party  who  will  prove  him 
to  be  insane ;  and  then  at  the  end  all 
the  blackguards  within  a  hundred 
miles  will  crowd  into  Carlingford, 
and  the  fellow  will  be  hanged,  as 
he  deserves  to  be  ;  but  I  assure 
you  it's  a  famous  amusement  for  a 
country  town." 

"  Sir,"  said  Miss  Bury,  with  a 
tremulous  voice,  for  her  feelings 
had  overcome  her,  "  when  you 
speak  of  amusement,  does  it  ever 
occur  to  you  what  will  become  of 
his  miserable  soul  ?" 

"  I  assure  you,  wretches  of  that 
description  have  no  souls/'  said 
the  young  barrister,  "  or  else,  of 
course,  I  would  not  permit  myself 
to  speak  so  freely.  It  is  a  conclu- 
sion I  have  come  to  not  rashly,  but 
after  many  opportunities  of  ob- 
serving," the  young  man  went  on 
with  solemnity ;  "  on  the  whole,  my 
opinion  is,  that  this  is  the  great 
difference  between  one  portion  of 
mankind  and  the  other  :  that  de- 
scription of  being,  you  may  take 
my  word  for  it,  has  no  soul." 

"  I  never  take  anybody's  word 
for  what  is  so  plainly  stated  in  the 
Holy  Scriptures,"  said  Miss  Bury  ; 
"  I  never  heard  any  one  utter  such 
a  terrible  idea.  I  am  sure  I  don't 
want  to  defend  a — a  murderer," 
cried  the  Rector's  sister,  with  agi- 
tation ;  "  but  I  have  heard  of  per- 
sons in  that  unfortunate  position 
coming  to  a  heavenly  frame  of 
mind,  and  giving  every  evidence 


of  being  truly  converted.  The  law 
may  take  their  lives,  but  it  is  an  aw- 
ful thing — a  truly  dreadful  thing," 
said  Miss  Bury,  trembling  all  over, 
"  to  try  to  take  away  their  soul." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Lucilla.  By  Jove ! 
he  does  not  mean  that,  you  know," 
said  Tom,  interposing  to  relieve  his 
friend. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  Jove,  Mr 
Thomas  Marjoribanks1?"  said  Miss 
Bury,  looking  him  in  an  alarming 
manner  full  in  the  face. 

The  unfortunate  Tom  grew  red 
and  then  he  grew  green  under  this 
question  and  that  awful  look.  "  No, 
Miss  Bury,  I  can't  say  I  do,"  he 
answered,  humbly;  and  the  amus- 
ing man  was  so  much  less  brotherly 
than  Tom  that  he  burst  into  un- 
sympathetic laughter.  As  for  Lu- 
cilla, it  was  the  first  real  check  she 
had  sustained  in  the  beginning  of 
her  career.  There  could  not  have 
been  a  more  unfortunate  contretemps, 
and  there  is  no  telling  how  disas- 
trous the  effect  might  have  been, 
had  not  her  courage  and  coolness, 
not  to  say  her  orthodoxy,  been 
equal  to  the  occasion.  She  gave 
her  cousin  a  look  which  was  still 
more  terrible  than  Miss  Bury's,  and 
then  she  took  affairs  into  her  own 
hands. 

"  It  is  dreadful  sometimes  to  see 
what  straits  people  are  put  to,  to 
keep  up  the  conversation,"  said  Lu- 
cilla ;  "  Tom  in  particular,  for  I 
think  he  has  a  pleasure  in  talking 
nonsense.  But  you  must  not  sup- 
pose I  am  of  that  opinion.  I  re- 
member quite  well  there  was  a 
dreadful  man  once  here  in  jail 
for  something,  and  Mr  Bury  made 
him  the  most  beautiful  character  ! 
Every  creature  has  a  soul.  I  am 
sure  we  say  so  in  the  Creed  every 
day  of  our  lives,  and  especially  in 
that  long  creed  where  so  many 
people  perish  everlastingly.  So  far 
from  laughing,  it  is  quite  dread- 
ful to  think  of  it,"  said  Lucilla. 
"  It  is  one  of  my  principles  never 
to  laugh  about  anything  that  has 
to  do  with  religion.  I  always  think 
it  my  duty  to  speak  with  respect. 


18G5.] 


Miss  Marjorilanks. — Part  II. 


3:13 


It  has  such  a  bad  effect  upon  sonic 
minds.  Miss  llury,  if  you  will  not 
take  anything  more,  1  think  we 
had  better  go  up-stairs." 

To  think  that  Tom,  whose  hick, 
as  usual,  had  betrayed  him  to  such 
an  unlooked-for  extent,  should  have 
been  on  the  point  of  following  to 
the  drawing  room,  was  more  than 
Miss  Marjoribanks  could  compre- 
hend ;  but  fortunately  his  com- 
panion had  more  sense,  and  took 
liis  leave,  taking  his  conductor 
with  him.  Miss  Bury  went  up- 
stairs in  silence,  sighing  heavily 
from  time  to  time.  The  good 
woman  was  troubled  in  her  spirit  at 
the  evident  depravity  of  the  young 
men  with  whom  circumstances  had 
constrained  her  to  sit  down  at 
table,  and  she  was  sadly  afraid 
that  such  companionship  must 
have  a  debasing  effect  upon  the 
mind  of  that  lamb  of  the  flock  who 
was  now  standing  before  her.  Miss 
Bury  bethought  herself  of  I)r  Mar- 
joribanks's  profane  jokes,  and  the 
indifference  he  had  shown  to  many 
things  in  which  it  was  his  duty  to 
have  interested  himself,  and  she 
could  not  but  look  with  tender 
pity  in  her  young  friend's  face. 

'•  I'oor  dear,"  said  Miss  Bury, 
"  it  is  dreadful  indeed  if  this  is  the 
sort  of  society  you  are  subjected 
to.  I  could  recommend  to  ])r 
Marjoribanks  a  most  admirable 
woman,  a  true  Christian,  who 
would  take  charge  of  things  and  be 
your  companion,  Lucilla.  It  is  not 
at  all  nice  for  you,  at  your  age,  to 
be  obliged  to  receive  young  men 
like  these  alone." 

"  1  had  you,"  said  Lucilla,  tak- 
ing both  Miss  Bury's  hands.  "  I 
felt  it  was  such  a  blessing.  I 
would  not  have  let  Tom  stay  for 
luncheon  if  you  had  not  been 
there  ;  and  now  I  am  so  glad,  be- 
cause it  has  shown  me  the  danger 


of  letting  him  bring  people.  I  am 
quite  sure  it  was  a  .special  provi- 
dence that  made  you  think  of  com- 
ing here  to-day." 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mis.s 
Bury,  who  was  naturally  mollified 
by  this  statement  of  the  question, 
"  1  am  very  glad  to  have  been  of 
use  to  you.  If  there  is  anything 
I  desire  in  this  life,  it  is  to  be 
useful  to  my  fellow-creatures,  and 
to  do  my  work  while  it  is  called 
day.  I  should  not  think  the  time 
lost,  my  dear  Lucilla.  if  I  could 
only  hope  that  I  had  impressed 
upon  your  mind  that  an  account 
must  be  given  of  every  careless 


"Oh,  yes,"  said  Lucilla,  "that 
is  so  true  ;  and  besides,  it  is  quite 
against  my  principles.  I  make  it  a 
point  never  to  speak  of  anything 
about  religion  except  with  the 
greatest  respect  ;  and  I  am  quite 
sure  it  was  a  special  providence 
that  I  had  yw" 

Miss  Bury  took  her  farewell 
very  affectionately,  not  to  say  ef- 
fusively, after  this,  with  her  heart 
melting  over  the  ingenuous  young 
creature  who  was  so  thankful  for 
her  protection  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  she  left  Miss  Marjoribanks 
a  prey  to  the  horrible  sensation  of 
having  made  a  failure.  To  be  sure, 
there  was  time  to  recover  herself 
in  the  evening,  which  was,  so  to 
speak,  her  first  formal  appearance 
before  the  public  of  Carlingford. 
Tom  was  so  ill-advised  as  to  come 
in  when  she  was  having  her  cup  of 
tea  before  dinner  to  fortify  her  for 
her  exertions  ;  and  the  reception 
he  met  with  may  be  left  to  the 
imagination.  But,  after  all,  there 
was  little  satisfaction  in  demol- 
ishing Tom  ;  and  then  Lucilla  had 
known  from  the  beginning  that 
the  success  of  her  undertaking  de- 
pended entirely  on  herself. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


The  evening  passed  off  in  a  way 
which,  if  Miss   Marjoribanks  had 


been   an   ordinary  woman,   would 
have   altogether    obliterated  from 


Miss  JfarjoribanJiS. — Part  II. 


[March, 


her  mind  all  recollection  of  the 
failure  at  lunch.  To  speak  first  of 
the  most  important  particular,  the 
dinner  was  perfect.  As  for  the 
benighted  men  who  had  doubted 
Lucilla,  they  were  covered  with 
shame,  and,  at  the  same  time,  with 
delight.  If  there  had  been  a  fault 
in  l)r  Marjoribanks's  table  under 
the  ancient  regime,  it  lay  in  a  cer- 
tain want  of  variety,  and  occasional 
over- abundance,  which  wounded 
the  feelings  of  young  Mr  Caven- 
dish, who  Avas  a  person  of  refine- 
ment. To -night,  as  that  accom- 
plished critic  remarked,  there  was 
a  certain  air  of  feminine  grace  dif- 
fused over  everything  —  and  an 
amount  of  doubt  and  expectation, 
unknown  to  the  composed  feast- 
ings  of  old,  gave  interest  to  the 
meal.  As  for  the  Doctor,  he  found 
Mrs  Chiley,  at  his  right  hand,  not 
so  great  a  bore  as  he  expected. 
She  was  a  woman  capable  of  appre- 
ciating the  triumphs  of  art  that  were 
set  before  her ;  and  had  indeed 
been  trained  to  as  high  a  pitch  of 
culture  in  this  respect  as  perhaps 
is  possible  to  the  female  intelli- 
gence ;  and  then  her  pride  and  de- 
light in  being  admitted  to  a  parti- 
cipation in  those  sacred  mysteries 
was  beyond  expression.  "  My  dear 
Lucilla,  I  feel  exactly  as  if  I  was 
going  to  be  made  a  freemason  ;  and 
as  if  your  dear  good  papa  had  to 
blindfold  me,  and  make  me  swear 
all  sorts  of  things  before  he  took 
me  down-stairs,"  she  said,  as  they 
sat  together  waiting  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  ceremony;  and 
when  the  two  ladies  returned  to 
the  drawing-room,  Mrs  Chiley  took 
Lucilla  in  her  arms  and  gave  her  a 
kiss,  as  the  only  way  of  expressing 
adequately  her  enthusiasm.  "  My 
love,"  said  the  Colonel's  wife,  "  I 
never  realised  before  what  it  was 
to  have  a  genius.  You  should  be 
very  thankful  to  Providence  for 
giving  you  such  a  gift.  I  have 
given  dinners  all  my  life — that  is, 
all  my  married  life,  my  dear,  which 
comes  to  almost  the  same  thing,  for 
I  was  only  a  baby— but  I  never 


could  come  up  to  anything  like 
that,"  said  Mrs  Chiley,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  As  for  Miss  Marjori- 
banks,  she  was  so  satisfied  with  her 
success  that  she  felt  at  liberty  to 
tranquillise  her  old  friend. 

"  1  am  sure  you  always  give  very 
nice  dinners,"  she  said ;  "  and  then, 
you  know,  the  Colonel  has  his 
favourite  dishes — whereas,  I  must 
say  for  papa,  he  is  very  reasonable 
for  a  man.  I  am  so  glad  you  are 
pleased.  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to 
say  it  is  genius,  but  I  don't  pretend 
to  anything  but  paying  great  atten- 
tion and  stiidying  the  combina- 
tions. There  is  nothing  one  cannot 
manage  if  one  only  takes  the 
trouble.  Come  here  to  this  nice 
easy-chair — it  is  so  comfortable. 
It  is  so  nice  to  have  a  little  moment 
to  ourselves  before  they  come  up- 
stairs." 

"That  is  what  I  always  say," 
said  Mrs  Chiley ;  "  but  there  are 
not  many  girls  so  sensible  as  you, 
Lucilla.  I  hear  them  all  saying  it 
is  so  much  better  French  fashion. 
Of  course,  I  am  an  old  woman,  and 
like  things  in  the  old  style." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  because  I 
am  more  sensible/'  said  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks,  with  modesty.  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  better  than  other 
people.  It  is  because  I  have 
thought  it  all  over,  you  know — 
and  then  I  went  through  a  course 
of  political  economy  when  I  was 
at  Mount  Pleasant,"  Lucilla  said, 
tranquilly,  with  an  air  of  having 
explained  the  whole  matter,  which 
much  impressed  her  hearer.  "  But 
for  all  that,  something  dreadful 
happened  to  -  day.  Tom  brought 
in  one  of  his  friends  with  him,  you 
know,  and  Miss  Bury  was  here,  and 
they  talked — I  want  to  tell  you,  in 
case  she  should  say  something,  and 
then  you  will  know  what  to  believe 
— I  never  felt  so  dreadfully  ashamed 
in  my  life — they  talked — 

"  My  dear !  not  anything  im- 
proper, I  hope,"  cried  the  old  lady, 
in  dismay. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Lucilla;  "but 
they  began  laughing  about  some 


1863.] 


Miss  Jfaryoribanla. — Part  II. 


325 


people  having  no  souls,  you  know 
— as  if  there  could  be  anybody 
without  a  soul — and  poor  Miss 
Bury  nearly  fainted.  You  may 
think  what  a  dreadful  thing  it  was 
for  me." 

"  My  dear  child,  if  that  was  all," 
said  Mrs  Chiley,  reassured  — "  as 
for  everybody  having  a  soul,  I  am 
sure  I  cannot  say.  You  never  were 
in  India,  to  be  sure ;  but  Miss 
Bury  should  have  known  better 
than  to  faint  at  a  young  man's 
talk,  and  frighten  you,  my  poor 
dear.  She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
herself,  at  her  age.  Do  you  think 
Tom  has  turned  out  clever  ? "  the 
old  lady  continued,  not  without  a 
little  Jinesse,  and  watching  Lucilla 
with  a  curious  eye. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  calmly;  "  he  is 
just  as  awkward  as  he  used  to  be. 
It  is  dreadful  to  have  him  here 
just  now,  when  I  have  so  many 
things  to  do — and  then  he  would 
follow  me  about  everywhere  if  I 
would  let  him.  A  cousin  of  that 
sort  is  always  in  the  way." 

"  I  am  always  afraid  of  a  cousin, 
for  my  part/'  said  Mrs  Chiley  ; 
u  and,  talking  of  that,  what  do  you 
think  of  Mr  Cavendish,  Lucilla  ? 
He  is  very  nice  in  himself,  and  he 
has  a  nice  property ;  and  some 
people  say  he  has  a  very  good 
chance  to  be  member  for  Carling- 
ford  when  there  is  an  election.  I 
think  that  is  just  what  would  suit 
you." 

"  I  could  not  see  him  for  the 
lamp,"  said  Lucilla  ;  "  it  was  right 
between  us,  you  know — but  it  is 
no  use  talking  of  that  sort  of  thing 
just  now.  Of  course,  if  I  had  liked 
I  never  need  have  come  home  at 
all,"  Miss  Marjoribanks  added, 
with  composure  ;  "  and,  now  I 
have  come  home,  I  have  got  other 
things  to  think  of.  If  papa  is 
good,  I  will  not  think  of  leaving 
him  for  ten  years." 

"Oh  yes;  I  have  heard  girls 
say  that  before,"  said  Mrs  Chiley  ; 
"  but  they  always  changed  their 
minds.  You  would  not  like  to  be 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIII. 


an  old  maid,  Lucilla  ;  and  in  ten 

years " 

"  1  should  have  begun  to  go  off  a 
little,  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks. "  No,  I  can't  say  I  wish  to 
be  an  old  maid.  Can  they  be 
coming  up-stairs  already,  do  you 
think  I  Oh,  it  is  Tom,  1  suppose," 
said  Lucilla,  with  a  little  indigna- 
tion. But  when  Tlu-y  did  make 
their  appearance,  which  was  at  a 
tolerably  early  period — for  a  return 
to  the  drawing-room  was  quite  a 
novelty  for  Dr  Marjoribanks's 
friends,  and  tempted  them  accord- 
ingly— Miss  Marjoribankswas  quite 
ready  to  receive  them.  And  just 
before  ten  o'clock,  when  Mrs  Chiluy 
began  to  think  of  going  home,  Lu- 
cilla, without  being  asked,  and  with- 
out indeed  a  word  of  preface,  sud- 
denly went  to  the  piano,  and  before 
anybody  knew,  had  commenced  to 
sing.  She  was  a  great  deal  too 
sensible  to  go  into  high  art  on  this 
occasion,  or  to  electrify  her  father's 
friends  with  her  newly-acquired  Ita- 
lian, or  even  with  German,  as  some 
young  ladies  do.  She  sang  them  a 
ballad  out  of  one  of  those  treasures 
of  resuscitated  ballads  which  the 
new  generation  had  then  begun  to 
dig  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
There  was  not,  to  tell  the  truth,  a 
great  deal  of  music  in  it,  which 
proved  Lucilla's  disinterestedness. 
"  I  only  sang  it  to  amuse  you,"  she 
said,  when  all  the  world  crowded 
to  the  piano  ;  and  for  that  night 
she  was  not  to  be  persuaded  to  fur- 
ther exertions.  Thus  Miss  Marjori- 
banks proved  to  her  little  public 
that  power  of  subordinating  her 
personal  tastes  and  even  her  vanity 
to  her  great  object,  which  more  than 
anything  else  demonstrates  a  mind 
made  to  rule.  "  I  hope  next  time 
you  will  be  more  charitable,  and 
not  tantalise  us  in  this  way,"  Mr 
Cavendish  said,  as  he  took  his 
leave  ;  and  Lucilla  retired  from  the 
scene  of  her  triumph,  conscious  of 
having  achieved  entire  success  in 
her  first  appearance  in  Carlingford. 
She  laid  her  head  upon  her  pillow 
with  that  sweet  sense  of  an  approv- 
Z 


526 


Jfiss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II. 


[March, 


ing  conscience  which  accompanies 
the  footsteps  of  the  benefactors  of 
their  kind.  But  even  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's  satisfaction  was  not  with- 
out its  drawbacks.  She  could  not 
get  out  of  her  mind  that  unhappy 
abortive  luncheon  and  all  its  hor- 
rors ;  not  to  speak  of  the  possibility 
of  her  religious  principles  being  im- 
pugned, which  was  dreadful  in  it- 
self ("  for  people  can  stand  a  man 
being  sceptical,  you  know,"  Miss 
Marjoribanks  justly  observed,  "but 
everybody  knows  how  unbecoming 
it  is  to  a  woman — and  me  who  have 
such  a  respect  for  religion  !"),  there 
remained  the  still  more  alarming 
chance  that  Miss  Bury,  who  was 
so  narrow-minded,  might  see  some- 
thing improper  in  the  presence  of 
the  two  young  men  at  Lucilla's 
maidenly  table  ;  for,  to  be  sure,  the 
Eector's  sister  was  altogether  in- 
capable of  grasping  the  idea  that 
young  men,  like  old  men  and  the 
other  less  interesting  members  of 
the  human  family,  were  simple  ma- 
terialf  or  Miss  Marjoribanks's  genius, 
out  of  which  she  had  a  great  result 
to  produce.  This  was  the  dread 
that  overshadowed  the  mind  of  Lu- 
cilla  as  she  composed  herself  to  rest 
after  her  fatigues.  When  she  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  innocent,  it  still 
pursued  her  into  her  dreams.  She 
dreamed  that  she  stood  at  the  altar 
by  the  side  of  the  member  for  Car- 
lingford,  and  that  Mr  Bury,  with  in- 
flexible cruelty,  insisted  upon  mar- 
rying her  to  Tom  Marjoribanks  in- 
stead ;  and  then  the  scene  changed, 
and  instead  of  receiving  the  saluta- 
tions of  Mr  Cavendish  as  M.P.  for 
the  borough,  it  was  the  amusing 
man,  in  the  character  of  the  defeat- 
ed candidate,  who  grinned  and 
nodded  at  her,  and  said  from  the 
hustings  that  he  never  would  forget 
the  luncheon  that  had  been  his  first 
introduction  to  Carlingford.  Such 
was  the  nightmare  that  pursued 
Lucilla  even  into  the  sphere  of 
dreams. 

When  such  a  presentiment  takes 
possession  of  a  well-balanced  mind 
like  that  of  Miss  Marjoribanks,  it 


may  be  accepted  as  certain  that 
something  is  likely  to  follow.  Lu- 
cilla did  her  best  to  disarm  fate,  not 
only  by  the  sweetest  submission  and 
dutifulness  to  the  Doctor  and  his 
wishes,  but  by  a  severe  disregard 
of  Tom,  which  drove  that  unhappy 
young  man  nearly  desperate.  Far 
from  saying  anything  about  lun- 
cheon, she  even  ignored  his  pre- 
sence at  breakfast,  and  remained 
calmly  unconscious  of  his  empty 
cup,  until  he  had  to  ask  for  some 
coffee  in  an  injured  and  pathetic 
voice,  which  amused  Dr  Marjori- 
banks beyond  description.  But 
even  this  did  not  prove  sufficient 
to  propitiate  the  Fates.  When  they 
were  gone — and  it  may  be  well  to 
say  that  Lucilla  used  this  pronoun 
to  signify  the  gentlemen,  in  greater 
or  smaller  number  as  it  might  hap- 
pen— and  she  had  finished  all  her 
arrangements,  Miss  Marjoribanks 
decided  upon  going  to  Grove  Street 
to  pay  Barbara  Lake  a  visit,  and 
practise  some  duets,  which  was  cer- 
tainly as  innocent  an  occupation 
for  her  leisure  as  could  have  been 
desired.  She  was  putting  on  her 
hat  with  this  object  when  the  bell 
in  the  garden  rang  solemnly,  and 
Lucilla,  whose  curiosity  even  con- 
quered her  good  manners  for  the 
moment,  hastening  to  the  window, 
saw  Mr  Bury  himself  enter  the  gar- 
den, accompanied  by  a  tall  black 
figure  in  deep  and  shabby  mourn- 
ing. All  the  tremors  of  the  night 
rushed  back  upon  her  mind  at  the 
sight.  She  felt  that  the  moment 
had  arrived  for  a  trial  of  her  cour- 
age very  different  from  the  exertions 
which  had  hitherto  sufficed  her. 
Nothing  but  the  most  solemn  in- 
tentions could  have  supported  the 
Rector  in  that  severe  pose  of  his 
figure  and  features,  every  line  in 
which  revealed  an  intention  of  be- 
ing "  faithful ;  "  and  the  accom- 
paning  mute  in  black,  whose  office 
the  culprit  could  not  divine,  had 
a  veil  over  her  face,  and  wore  a 
widow's  dress.  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
it  is  true,  was  not  a  woman  to  be 
discouraged  by  appearances,  but  she 


1865.] 


Miss  Jfaryoribanks. — Part  II. 


felt  her  heart  beat  as  she  collected 
all  her  powers  to  meet  this  myste- 
rious assault.  She  took  off  her  hat 
with  an  instinctive  certainty  that, 
for  this  morning  at  least,  the  duet 
was  impracticable,  when  she  heard 
Mr  Bury's  steady  step  ascending  the 
stairs  ;  but,  notwithstanding,  it  was 
with  a  perfectly  cheerful  politeness 
that  she  bade  him  welcome  when 
he  came  into  the  room.  "  It  is  so 
good  of  you  to  come,"  Lucilla  said  ; 
"  you  that  have  so  much  to  do.  I 
scarcely  could  believe  it  when  I 
saw  you  come  in  :  I  thought  it  must 
be  for  papa," 

"I  did  hope  to  find  Dr  Marjori- 
banks,'' said  the  Rector,  "but  as  he 
is  not  at  home,  I  thought  it  best  to 
come  to  you.  This  is  Mrs  Morti- 
mer," said  Mr  Bury,  taking  the 
chair  Lucilla  had  indicated  with  a 
certain  want  of  observance  of  his 
companion  which  betrayed  to  the 
keen  perceptions  of  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  that  she  was  a  dependant  of 
some  kind  or  other.  The  Rector 
•was  a  very  good  man,  but  he  was 
Evangelical,  and  had  a  large  female 
circle  who  admired  and  swore  by 
him  ;  and,  consequently,  he  felt  it 
in  a  manner  natural  that  he  should 
take  his  seat  first,  and  the  place 
that  belonged  to  him  as  the  princi- 
pal person  present ;  and  then,  to  be 
sure,  his  mission  here  was  for  Mrs 
Mortimer's  as  well  as  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's  "good."  After  this  in- 
troduction, the  figure  in  black  put 
\ip  its  veil,  and  revealed  a  deprecat- 
ing woman,  with  a  faint  sort  of 
pleading  smile  on  her  face.  Pro- 
bably she  was  making  believe  to 
smile  at  the  position  in  which  she 
found  herself ;  but  anyhow  she  took 
her  seat  humbly  on  another  chair 
at  a  little  distance,  and  waited,  as 
Lucilla  did,  for  the  next  golden 
words  that  it  might  please  the  Rec- 
tor to  say. 

"  My  sister  told  me  what  hap- 
pened yesterday,"  said  Mr  Bury. 
"  She  is  very  sorry  for  you,  Miss 
Marjoribanks.  It  is  sad  for  you 
to  be  left  alone  so  young,  and  with- 
out a  mother,  and  exposed  to — to 


temptations  which  it  is  difficult  to 
withstand  at  your  age.  Indeed,  at 
all  ages,  we  have  great  occasion  to 
pray  not  to  be  led  into  temptation  ; 
for  the  heart  of  man  is  terribly  de- 
ceitful. After  hearing  what  she 
had  to  say,  I  thought  it  bust  to 
come  up  at  once  this  morning  and 
talk  to  l)r  Marjoribanks.  I  am 
sure  his  natural  good  sense  will 
teach  him  that  you  ought  not  to 
be  left  alone  in  the  house." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  papa  can  help 
it,"  said  Lucilla.  "  I  am  sure  it  is 
very  sad  for  him  as  well  ;  but  since 
dear  mamma  died  there  has  been 
nobody  but  me  to  be  a  comfort  to 
him.  I  think  he  begins  to  look  a 
little  cheerful  now,"  Miss  Marjori- 
banks continued,  with  beautiful 
simplicity,  looking  her  adversary  in 
the  face.  "Everybody  knows  that 
to  be  a  comfort  to  him  is  the  object 
of  my  life." 

"That  is  a  very  good  feeling,"  said 
the  Rector,  "but  it  does  not  do  to 
depend  too  much  upon  our  feelings. 
You  are  too  young  to  be  placed  in 
a  position  of  so  much  responsi- 
bility, and  open  to  so  much  tempta- 
tion. I  was  deeply  grieved  for  Dr 
Marjoribanks  when  his  partner  in 
life  was  taken  from  him  ;  but  my 
dear  Miss  Lucilla,  now  you  have 
come  home,  who  stand  so  much  in 
need  of  a  mother's  care,  we  must  try 
to  find  some  one  to  fill  her  place." 

Lucilla  uttered  a  scream  of  gen- 
uine alarm  and  dismay  ;  and  then 
she  came  to  herself,  and  saw  the 
force  of  her  position.  She  had  it 
in  her  power  to  turn  the  tables  on 
the  Rector,  and  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate, as  a  weaker  woman  might 
have  done,  out  of  consideration  for 
anybody's  feelings.  "  Do  you  mean 
you  have  found  some  one  for  him 
to  marry  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  look 
of  artless  surprise,  bending  her  ear- 
nest gaze  on  Mr  Bury's  face. 

As  for  the  Rector,  he  looked  at 
Lucilla  aghast  like  a  man  caught 
in  a  trap.  "  Of  course  not,  of  course 
not,"  he  stammered,  after  his  first 
pause  of  consternation  :  and  then 
he  had  to  stop  again  to  take  breath. 


Miss  Marjorilanks.—Part  II. 


[March, 


Lucilla  kept  up  the  air  of  _  amaze- 
ment and  consternation  which  had 
come  naturally  at  the  first,  and 
had  her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  leaning- 
forward  with  all  the  eager  anxiety 
natural  to  the  circumstances,  and 
the  unfortunate  clergyman  reddened 
from  the  edge  of  his  white  cravat 
to  the  roots  of  his  grey  hair.  _  He 
was  almost  as  sensitive  to  the  idea 
of  having  proposed  something  im- 
proper as  his  sister  could  have  been, 
though  indeed,  at  the  worst,  there 
would  have  been  nothing  improper 
in  it  had  Dr  Marjoribanks  made  up 
his  mind  to  another  wife. 

"  It  is  very  dreadful  for  me  that 
am  so  young  to  go  against  you" 
said  Lucilla  ;  "  but  if  it  is  that,  I 
cannot  be  expected  to  take  any 
part  in  it — it  would  not  be  natural. 
It  is  the  great  object  of  my  life  to 
be  a  comfort  to  papa  ;  but  if  that 
is  what  you  mean,  I  could  not  give 
in  to  it.  I  am  sure  Miss  Bury 
would  understand  me,"  said  Miss 
Marjoribanks  ;  and  she  looked  so 
nearly  on  the  point  of  tears,  that 
the  Rector's  anxious  disclaimer 
found  words  for  itself. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  my  dear 
Miss  Lucilla — nothing  of  the  kind," 
cried  Mr  Bury  ;  "  such  an  idea 
never  came  into  my  mind.  I  can- 
not imagine  how  I  could  have  said 
anything — I  can't  fancy  what  put 

such  an  idea Mrs  Mortimer,  you 

are  not  going  away  1 " 

Lucilla  had  already  seen  with 
the  corner  of  her  eye  that  the  vic- 
tim had  started  violently,  and  that 
her  heavy  veil  had  fallen  over  her 
face — but  she  had  not  taken  any 
notice,  for  there  are  cases  in  which 
it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  have  a 
victim.  By  this  time,  however,  the 
poor  woman  had  risen  in  her  nerv- 
ous, undecided  way. 

"  I  had  better  go — I  am  sure  I 
had  better  go,"  she  said,  hurriedly, 
clasping  together  a  pair  of  helpless 
hands,  as  if  they  could  find  a  little 
strength  in  union.  "  Miss  Marjori- 
banks will  understand  you  better, 
and  you  will  perhaps  understand 
Miss  Marjoribanks " 


"  Oh,  sit  down,  sit  down,"  said 
Mr  Bury,  who  was  not  tolerant  of 
feelings.  "  Perhaps  I  expressed 
myself  badly.  What  I  meant  to 
say  was,  that  Mrs  Mortimer,  who 
has  been  a  little  unfortunate  in 
circumstances  —  sit  down,  pray — 
had  by  a  singular  providence  just 
applied  to  me  when  my  sister  re- 
turned home  yesterday.  These 
things  do  not  happen  by  chance, 
Lucilla.  We  are  taken  care  of  when 
we  are  not  thinking  of  it.  Mrs 
Mortimer  is  a  Christian  lady  for 
whom  I  have  the  greatest  respect. 
A  situation  to  take  the  superin- 
tendence of  the  domestic  affairs, 
and  to  have  charge  of  you,  would 
be  just  what  would  suit  her.  It 
must  be  a  great  anxiety  to  the  Doc- 
tor to  leave  you  alone,  and  with- 
out any  control,  at  your  age.  You 
may  think  the  liberty  is  pleasant 
at  first,  but  if  you  had  a  Christian 
friend  to  watch  over  and  take  care 

of  you What  is  the  matter?" 

said  the  Rector,  in  great  alarm.  It 
was  only  that  the  poor  widow  who 
was  to  have  charge  of  Lucilla,  ac- 
cording to  his  benevolent  intention, 
looked  so  like  fainting,  that  Miss 
Marjoribanks  jumped  up  from  her 
chair  and  rang  the  bell  hastily.  It 
was  not  Lucilla's  way  to  lose  time 
about  anything  ;  she  took  the  poor 
woman  by  the  shoulders  and  all  but 
lifted  her  to  the  sofa,  where  she 
was  lying  down  with  her  bonnet 
off  when  the  Rector  came  to  his 
senses.  To  describe  the  feelings 
with  which  Mr  Bury  contemplated 
this  little  entr'acte,  which  was  not 
in  his  programme,  would  be  beyond 
our  powers.  He  went  off  humbly 
and  opened  the  window  when  he 
was  told,  and  tried  to  find  the 
eau-de-cologne  on  the  table  ;  while 
Thomas  rushed  down -stairs  for 
water  at  a  pace  very  unlike  his 
usual  steady  rate  of  progress.  As 
for  Lucilla,  she  stood  by  the  side 
of  her  patient  quite  self-possessed, 
while  the  Rector  looked  so  foolish. 
"  She  will  be  all  right  directly,"  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  saying ;  "  luckily 
she  never  went  right  off.  When  you 


18G5.] 


Miss  Marjoriljanks. — Part  I!. 


don't  go  right  off,  lying  down  is 
everything.  If  there  had  been  any 
one  to  run  and  get  some  water  she 
would  have  got  over  it ;  but  luckily 
1  saw  it  in  time."  What  possible 
answer  Mr  lUiry  could  make  to 
this,  or  how  he  could  go  on  with 
his  address  in  sight  of  the  strange 
turn  things  had  taken,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  say.  Fortunately 
for  the  moment  he  did  not  attempt 
it,  but  walked  about  in  dismay,  and 
jmt  himself  in  the  draught  (with  his 
rheumatism),  and  felt  dreadfully 
vexed  and  angry  with  Mrs  Mor- 
timer, who,  for  her  part,  now 
she  had  done  with  fainting,  mani- 
fested an  inclination  to  cry,  for 
which  Mr  Bury  in  his  heart  could 
have  whipped  her,  had  that  mode 
of  discipline  been  permitted  in  the 
Church  of  England.  Lucilla  was 
merciful,  but  she  could  not  help  tak- 
ing a  little  advantage  of  her  victory. 
She  gave  the  sufferer  a  glass  of  water, 
and  the  eau -de -cologne  to  keep 
her  from  a  relapse,  and  whispered 
to  her  to  lie  quiet  ;  and  then  she 
came  back  and  took  her  seat,  and 
begged  the  Rector  not  to  stand  in 
the  draught. 

"  I  don't  think  she  is  strong," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  confiden- 
tially, when  she  had  wiled  the  discon- 
certed clergyman  back  to  her  side, 
"  her  colour  changes  so  ;  she  never 
would  be  able  for  what  there  is  to 
do  here,  even  if  papa  would  con- 
sent to  think  of  it.  For  my  part 
I  am  sure  I  should  be  glad  of  a 
little  assistance,"  said  Lucilla,  "  but 
I  never  like  to  give  false  hopes,  and 
I  don't  think  papa  would  consent ; 
— she  looks  nice  if  she  was  not  so 
weak,  poor  thing ! — and  there  are 
such  quantities  of  things  to  be 
done  here :  but  if  you  wish  it,  Mr 
Bury,  I  will  speak  to  papa,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  lifting  her  eyes, 
which  were  so  open  and  straight- 
forward, to  the  Rector's  face. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  in  the 
least  know  what  to  say,  and  the 
chances  are  he  would  not  have  been 
half  so  vexed  and  angry,  nor  felt  in 
so  unchristian  a  disposition  with  the 


poor  woman  on  the  sofa,  had  he 
meant  to  do  her  harm  instead  of 
good.  "Yes,  I  should  be  glad  if 
you  would  mention  it  to  l)r  Mar- 
joribanks," he  said,  without  very 
well  knowing  what  he  said  ;  and 
got  up  to  shake  hands  with  Lucilla, 
and  then  recollected  that  he  could 
not  leave  his  )>rnt<yce  behind  him, 
and  hesitated,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  He  was  really  grate- 
ful, without  being  aware  of  it,  to 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  when  once  again 
she  came  to  his  aid. 

"  Please,  leave  her  a  little,"  said 
Lucilla,  ''  and  1  can  make  acquaint- 
ance with  her,  you  know,  in  case 
papa  should  be  disposed  to  think 
of  it ; — she  must  lie  still  a  little  till 
it  quite  wears  off.  1  would  ask  you 
to  stay  to  lunch  if  I  was  not  afraid 
of  wasting  your  precious  time 

Mr  Bury  gave  a  little  gasp  of  in- 
dignation, but  he  did  not  say  any- 
thing. On  the  whole,  even  though 
smarting  under  the  indignity  of 
being  asked  to  lunch,  as  his  sister 
had  been,  when  probably  there 
might  be  a  repetition  of  the  scene 
of  yesterday,  he  was  glad  to  get 
safely  out  of  the  house,  even  at  the 
risk  of  abandoning  his  enterprise. 
As  for  a  woman  in  want  of  a  situ- 
ation, who  had  so  little  common 
sense  as  to  faint  at  such  a  critical 
moment,  the  Rector  was  disposed 
to  wash  his  hands  of  her  ;  for  Mr 
Bury,  "  like  them  all,"  as  Lucilla 
said,  was  horribly  frightened  by  a 
faint  when  he  saw  one,  and  after- 
wards pretended  to  disbelieve  in 
it,  and  called  it  one  of  the  things 
which  a  little  self-command  could 
always  prevent.  When  he  was 
gone  Miss  Marjoribanks  felt  the  full 
importance  of  her  victory  ;  and 
then,  though  she  had  not  hesitated 
to  sacrifice  this  poor  woman  when 
it  was  necessary  to  have  a  victim, 
that  moment  was  over,  and  she 
had  no  pleasure  in  being  cruel  ;  on 
the  contrary,  she  went  and  sat  by 
her  patient,  and  talked,  and  was 
very  kind  to  her  ;  she  made  her  lio 
still  and  tell  her  story  at  her  leisure, 
and  all  about  it. 


330 


Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton' s  Poems. 


"  I  knew  it  would  hurt  your  feel- 
ings," Miss  Marjoribanks  said,  can- 
didly, "but  I  could  not  do  any- 
thing else— and  you  know  it  was 
Mr  Bury's  fault  ;  but  I  am  sure,  if 

I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you " 

It  was  thus  that  Lucilla  added, 
without  knowing  it,  another  com- 
plication to  her  fortunes ;  but  then, 
to  be  sure,  clearsighted  as  she  was, 
she  could  not  see  into  the  future, 
nor  know  what  was  to  come  of  it. 
She  told  the  Doctor  in  the  evening 
with  the  greatest  faithfulness,  and 
described  how  Mr  Bury  looked,  and 
that  she  had  said  she  did  not  think 


papa  would  be  disposed  to  think 
of  it ;  and  Dr  Marjoribanks  was 
so  much  entertained  that  he  came 
up -stairs  to  hear  the  end,  and 
took  a  cup  of  tea.  It  was  the  third 
night  in  succession  that  the  Doctor 
had  taken  this  step,  though  it  was 
against  his  principles  ;  and  thus  it 
will  be  seen  that  good  came  out  of 
evil  in  a  beautifully  distinct  and  ap- 
propriate way  ;  but,  notwithstand- 
ing, Miss  Marjoribanks,  though 
she  had  escaped  immediate  danger, 
still  felt  in  her  heart  the  conse- 
quences of  having  made  a  failure  at 
the  beginning  of  her  career. 


SIR    E.    BULWER    LYTTON  S    POEMS. 


THERE  is  a  certain  prodigality  of 
genius,  peculiar  to  our  own  time, 
which,  though  very  agreeable  to 
the  general  reader  in  its  immediate 
results,  is  liable  to  cause  a  disper- 
sion of  gems,  whose  individual 
brilliancy  is  as  nothing  compared 
with  their  combined  lustre  in  the 
casket.  Some  of  the  best  poetry  of 
the  present  age  has  originally  ap- 
peared in  the  columns  of  periodi- 
cals, or  even  annuals ;  and,  though 
much  admired  and  quoted  for  a 
certain  season,  has  sometimes  faded 
away  from  the  memory,  along  with 
the  more  ephemeral  material  with 
which  it  was  incongruously  con- 
joined. Again,  it  often  occurs  that 
the  noblest  thoughts  of  poets,  en- 
shrined in  the  worthiest  verse,  have 
been  kept  altogether  from  the  pub- 
lic view;  partly  because  the  sub- 
jects were  of  a  nature  so  personal 
to  the  writer,  and  so  hallowed  by 
associations  belonging  to  himself 
alone,  that  he  hesitated  to  discover 
them  to  others  ;  partly — and  that 
we  incline  to  think  is  the  more  com- 
mon reason — because  the  fastidious 
artist,  after  all  his  pains,  was  not 
fully  satisfied  with  the  excellence 
of  his  work,  and  still  hoped,  in 
some  moment  of  happy  inspiration, 


to  remove  the  slight  blemishes 
which,  in  all  probability,  eyes  less 
keenly  critical  than  his  own  would 
have  entirely  failed  to  discover. 

It  is  therefore  matter  of  con- 
gratulation to  find  a  writer  who  has 
already  set  his  broad  stamp  upon 
the  forehead  of  the  age,  and  as- 
sumed a  foremost  place  in  the 
ranks  of  genius,  at  length  col- 
lecting those  poems  which,  from 
time  to  time,  he  has  promiscuously 
issued,  and  adding  to  the  heap 
others  which  have  hitherto  re- 
mained unseen.  We  cannot  afford 
to  lose  any  of  the  genuine  utter- 
ances of  poesy.  Poems  such  as 
these  before  us  may  not  be  so  at- 
tractive or  prized  as  the  bolder  con- 
ceptions or  more  ambitious  works 
which  have  made  Sir  Bulwer 
Lytton  famous ;  but  in  many  a 
heart  they  will  find  an  echo — by 
many  they  will  be  regarded  as  not 
less  valuable,  though  less  imposing, 
monuments  of  his  genius  and  his 
power.  It  is  not  always  the  larg- 
est work  that  obtains  from  pos- 
terity the  greatest  measure  of  ad- 
miration. Dryden's  immortal  ode 
is  fresh  in  our  memories,  while  his 
heavy  tragedies  are  forgotten ;  the 
lyrics  of  Campbell  are  prized  far 


'Poems,'  by  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  Edward  Bulwer  Lytton,  Bart.,  M.P.     A  new 
edition,  revised.     Murray,  London.    1865. 


1865.] 


Sir  E.  Eulicer  Lytton' s  Poems. 


331 


beyond  the  more  lengthy  produc- 
tions upon  which  he  lavished  so 
much  industry  and  care;  the 
simpler  ballads  of  Wordsworth 
have  already  outlived  his  '  Excur- 
sion;' and  the  minor  poems  of 
Goethe,  originally  scattered  as  waifs 
and  strays  through  the  almanacs 
and  pocket-books  of  Germany,  are 
now  treasured  and  perused  with 
more  care  and  fondness  than  his 
novels  of  a-sthetic  life,  or  even  his 
attempts  to  resuscitate,  in  a  Gothic 
guise,  the  glories  of  the  classical 
drama.  Such  instances  as  these 
may  well  justify  the  hope  which 
Sir  Bulwer  Lytton  has  expressed 
in  the  dedication  prefixed,  to  this 
volume,  that  what  he  has  so  written 
in  verse  may,  some  day  or  other, 
become  better  known  to  his  coun- 
trymen. . 

At  the  same  time  we  do  not  ex- 
pect that  the  recognition  will  be 
immediate.  The  poetry  of  our 
author,  as  exhibited  in  this  volume, 
is  so  purely  of  a  reflective  caste, 
that  it  can  hardly  be  appreciated  or 
its  merits  understood  by  that  nu- 
merous class  of  readers  who  demand 
sensational  excitement,  and  who 
will  not  be  satisfied  unless  some- 
thing unusually  piquant  is  set  be- 
fore them.  Nor  will  it  gratify 
those  who  maintain  that  the  art  of 
poetry  consists  in  stringing  together 
a  series  of  verbal  gauds  and  decora- 
tions—  of  images,  not  naturally 
suggested,  but  painfully  forced  and 
elaborated — of  conceits  which  at- 
tract attention  less  from  their  apt- 
ness than  their  oddity.  Pure  and 
masculine  in  his  diction,  as  one  of 
the  masters  of  the  olden  time, 
Lytton  rises  far  above  those  petty 
arts  and  devices  which  less  cul- 
tivated minds  adopt  to  veil  the 
poverty  of  their  thoughts ;  and, 
though  his  song  be  too  often 
mournful,  it  is  nevertheless  clear 
and  definite  in  expression,  and  free 
from  that  mystical  vagueness  which 
rather  repels  than  invites  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  reader. 

Some  of  these  poems,  as  we  have 
already  indicated,  are  reprints,  and 
the  most  elaborate  is  one  called 


'  Milton,'  composed  by  the  author 
while  a  youth  at  college,  but  re- 
vised and  considerably  altered  since 
its  first  appearance  in  type.  Few 
poets  retain  in  later  years  a  par- 
tiality for  their  early  lucubrations. 
Their  subsequent  literary  training 
and  experience  make  them  ex- 
tremely sensitive  and  intolerant  of 
faults  which  arose  from  immaturity 
of  power  ;  and  too  often  they  are 
apt  wholly  to  condemn  poems  which, 
in  the  judgment  of  unbiassed  critics, 
are  well  worthy  of  preservation. 
We  are  glad  that,  in  this  instance, 
the  author  has  been  merciful  to  the 
issue  of  his  youth,  and,  with  what- 
ever amount  of  correction,  has  re- 
stored it  to  what  we  must  deem  to 
be  its  proper  place  ;  for  not  only  is 
it  interesting  as  a  specimen  of  his 
earlier  style,  but  it  contains  within 
itself  many  passages  of  singular 
grace  and  beauty. 

"The  design  of  this  poem,"  says 
Sir  E.  15.  Lytton,  in  a  prefatory 
note,  "  is  that  of  a  picture.  It  is 
intended  to  portray  the  great  pa- 
triot poet  in  the  three  cardinal  divi- 
sions of  life — youth,  manhood,  and 
age.  The  first  part  is  founded  upon 
the  well-known  though  ill-authenti- 
cated tradition  of  the  Italian  lady  or 
ladies  seeing  Milton  asleep  under 
a  tree  in  the  gardens  of  his  college, 
and  leaving  some  tributary  verses 
beside  the  sleeper.  Taking  full  ad- 
vantage of  this  legend,  and  presum- 
ing to  infer  from  Milton's  Italian 
verses  (as  his  biographers  have  done 
before  me)  that  in  his  tour  through 
Italy  he  did  not  escape  the  influ- 
ence of  the  master-passion,  I  have 
ventured  to  connect,  by  a  single 
thread  of  romantic  fiction,  the  seg- 
ments of  a  poem  in  which  narra- 
tive, after  all,  is  subservient  to  de- 
scription. This  idea  belongs  to  the 
temerity  of  youth,  but  I  trust  it 
has  been  subjected  to  restrictions 
more  reverent  than  those  ordinarily 
imposed  on  poetic  licence." 

Undoubtedly  there  are  extant 
five  sonnets  and  one  canzone,  com- 
posed by  John  Milton,  in  indifler- 
ent  Italian,  which  seem  to  coun- 
tenance the  view  that,  either  at 


Sir  E.  Buhver  Lyttons  Poems. 


[March, 


Ferrara  or  Bologna,  the  lieart  of  the 
young  Puritan  had  been  touched 
by  the  charms  of  a  southern  beauty, 
and  so  touched  as  to  give  vent  to 
its  feelings  in  a  strain  of  singular 
bombast.  But  we  apprehend  that, 
in  reality,  he  was  only  imitating 
his  friends  of  the  Delia  Cruscan 
Academy,  who  were  a  sad  set  of 
drivellers,  belabouring  one  another 
with  fulsome  compliments  in  rhyme, 
and  striving  hard  to  simulate  the 
sort  of  passion  which  Petrarch  pro- 
fessed for  his  Laura.  If  there  was 
any  reality  in  the  Miltonic  confes- 
sion of  amorousness,  we  agree  with 
Tom  Warton  in  thinking  that  it 
was  probably  addressed  to  the  fam- 
ous singer,  Leonora  Baroni,  the 
Grisi  of  her  age,  who,  at  the  time 
when  the  poet  visited  Italy,  was 
captivating  all  men  by  the  magni- 
ficent magic  of  her  voice.  In  Latin, 
at  least,  he  has  paid  to  that  syren 
a  homage  which  would  have  ap- 
peared utterly  extravagant  had  it 
come  even  from  the  wildest  cava- 
lier. Witness  the  poem  beginning 
thus  : — 

"Angelus  unicuique  suus,  sic  credite  gentes, 
Obtigit  sethereis  ales  ab  ordinibus. 


Quid  minim,  Leonora,  tibi  si  gloria  major? 
Nam  tuam   presentem   vox   sonat  ipsa 
Dcum." 

Fancy  the  horror  of  Exeter  Hall 
were  Lord  Shaftesbury  to  address, 
at  the  present  day,  such  a  compli- 
ment to  Madame  Titiens ! 

Be  that  as  it  may,  there  was  cer- 
tainly enough  to  justify  the  later 
poet  in  representing  the  older  one 
as  under  the  influence  of  a  romantic 
attachment,  though  the  threefold 
introduction  of  the  mysterious 
Italian  lady  does  somewhat  shock 
our  credence.  We  are,  in  fact,  too 
well  conversant  with  the  personal 
history  of  Milton  to  accept,  even 
with  indulgent  faith,  the  episode 
which  is  here  presented  ;  and  more 
than  once,  during  its  perusal,  the 
images  of  the  unfortunate  Mary 
Powell  and  of  her  two  legitimate 
successors  have  risen  before  us,  as 
if  protesting  against  this  inter- 
ference with  their  vested  rights. 
But  that  objection  removed — and 
it  is  one  which  we  rather  hint  than 
urge,  being  conscious  that  we  are 
somewhat  too  prone  to  insist  upon 
precision — we  regard  the  poem  as 
one  of  great  beauty.  Here  are  the 
opening  lines  : — 


"  It  was  the  Minstrel's  merry  month  of  June  ; 
Silent  and  sultry  glow'd  the  breezeless  noon ; 
Along  the  flowers  the  bee  went  murmuring  • 
Life  in  its  myriad  forms  was  on  the  wing ; 
Played  on  the  green  leaves  with  the  quiv'ring  beam, 
Sang  from  the  grove,  and  sparkled  from  the  stream, 
When,  where  yon  beech-tree  veil'd  the  soft'ning  ray, 
On  violet-banks  young  Milton  dreaming  lay. 

"  For  him  the  Earth  below,  the  Heaven  above, 
Doubled  each  charm  in  the  clear  glass  of  youth  ; 
And  the  vague  spirit  of  unsettled  love 
Roved  through  the  visions  that  precede  the  truth, 
While  Poesy's  low  voice  so  hymn'd  through  all 
That  ev'n  the  very  air  was  musical. 

"  The  sunbeam  rested,  where  it  pierced  the  boughs, 
On  locks  whose  gold  reflected  back  the  gleaming  ; 
On  Thought's  fair  temple  in  majestic  brows  ; 
On  Love's  bright  portal— lips  that  smiled  in  dreaming. 

"  Dreams  he  of  Nymph  half  hid  in  sparry  cave  ? 
Or  of  his  own  Sabrina  chastely  '  sitting 
Under  the  glassy  cool  translucent  wave,' 
The  loose  train  of  her  amber  tresses  knitting  1 


1865.]  Sir  E.  Sulwr  Lytton't  Poems.  333 

( )r  that  far  shadow,  yet  but  faintly  view'd, 
Where  the  Four  Rivers  take  their  parent  springs, 
Which  shall  come  forth  from  starry  solitude, 
In  the  last  days  of  angel-visitings, 
When,  soaring  upward  from  the  nether  storm, 
The  Heaven  of  Heavens  shall  earthly  guest  receive, 
And  in  the  long-lost  Eden  smile  thy  form, 
Fairer  than  all  thy  daughters,  fairest  Eve  1 

"  Has  the  dull  Earth  a  being  to  compare 
With  those  that  haunt  that  spirit-world — the  brain  / 
Can  shapes  material  vie  with  forms  of  air, 
Nature  with  Phantasy  1 — ()  question  vain  ! 
Lo,  by  the  1  )reamer,  fresh  from  heavenly  hands, 
Youth's  dream-inspirer — Virgin  Woman  stands; 
She  came,  a  stranger  from  the  Southern  skies, 
And  careless  o'er  the  cloister'd  garden  stray'd, 
Till,  pausing,  violets  on  the  bank  to  cull. 
Over  the  Dreamer  bent  the  Beautiful. 


"  Felt  he  the  touch  of  her  dark  locks  descending, 
Or  with  his  breath  her  breathing  fused  and  blending, 
That,  like  a  bird  scared  from  the  tremulous  spray, 
Pass'd  the  light  Sleep  with  sudden  wings  away  J 
Sighing  he  woke,  and  waking  he  beheld  ; 
The  sigh  was  silenced,  as  the  look  was  spell'd  ; 
Look  charming  look,  the  love  that  ever  lies 
In  human  hearts,  like  lightning  in  the  air, 
Flash'd  in  the  moment  from  those  meeting  eyes, 
And  open'd  all  the  Heaven  ! 

"  O  Youth,  beware  ! 

For  either  light  should  but  forewarn  the  gaze  ; 
Woe  follows  love,  as  darkness  doth  the  blaze  ! " 

Again  they  meet,  but  the  scene  'Decameron' — Milton  again   finds 

is  changed.     In  Italy,  by  the  sunny  himself     in    the    sweet     presence 

banks  of  the  Arno — in  a  spot,  the  that  had  haunted  him  like  a  fairy 

description  of  which  is  as  exquisite  dream  ;  and  love  is  merged  in  wor- 

as  any  of  the  earlier  pictures  of  the  ship  : — 

"  They  met  again  and  oft !  what  time  the  Star 
Of  Hesperus  hung  his  rosy  lamp  on  high  ; 
Love's  earliest  beacon,  from  our  storms  afar, 
Lit  in  the  loneliest  watch-tower  of  the  sky, 
Perchance  by  souls  that,  ere  this  world  was  made, 
Were  the  first  lovers  the  first  stars  survey'd. 
And  Mystery  o'er  their  twilight  meeting  threw 
The  charm  that  nought  like  mystery  doth  bestow  : 
Her  name — her  birth — her  home  he  never  knew  ; 
And  she — his  love  was  all  she  sought  to  know. 
And  when  in  anxious  or  in  tender  mood 
He  pray'd  her  to  disclose  at  least  her  name, 
A  look  from  her  the  unwelcome  prayer  subdued, 
So  sad  the  cloud  that  o'er  her  features  came  : 
Her  lip  grew  blanch'd,  as  with  an  ominous  fear, 
And  all  her  heart  seem'd  trembling  in  her  tear. 


334  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton's  Poems.  [March, 

So  worsliipp'd  lie  in  silence  and  sweet  wonder, 

Pleased  to  confide,  contented  not  to  know  ; 

And  Hope,  life's  silvering  moonlight,  smiled  asunder 

Doubts,  which,  like  clouds,  rise  ever  from  below. 

And  thus  his  love  grew  daily,  and  perchance 

Was  all  the  stronger  circled  by  romance. 

He  found  a  name  for  her,  if  not  her  own, 

Haply  as  soft,  and  to  her  heart  as  dear — 

'  Zoe' — name  stolen  from  the  tuneful  Greek, 

It  meaneth  '  life,'  when  common  lips  do  speak, 

And  more  in  lips  that  love  ; — sweet  language  known 

To  lovers,  sacred  to  themselves  alone  ; 

Words,  like  Egyptian  symbols,  set  apart 

For  the  mysterious  Priesthood  of  the  Heart." 

We  are  compelled  to  pass  over  have  it  otherwise.  It  is  difficult 
much  that  we  would  most  willingly  to  identify  the  poet  of  '  Comus ;  and 
quote — indeed,  it  is  like  desecra-  '  Lycidas ',  with  the  shrill-tongued 
tion  to  mutilate  so  fine  a  poem  as  opponent  of  Salmasius  ;  and  we 
this,  and  exhibit  it  in  broken  frag-  acquiesce  in  the  treatment  which 
ments.  In  his  portraiture  of  the  restores  to  us  the  young  enthusiast 
young  Milton,  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton  still  under  the  influence  of  the  en- 
has  somewhat  idealised  his  char-  nobling  impulses  of  chivalry.  In 
acter ;  softening  down  the  harsher  ardent  strains  he  woos  the  fair 
features,  and  making  him  expatiate  Italian  ;  urging  her  to  become  his 
in  language  which  would  have  bet-  bride,  and  depart  with  him  to 
ter  suited  the  lips  of  Sir  Philip  England,  whither  he  is  summoned 
Sydney  than  those  of  the  austere  by  the  call  of  duty  and  of  patriot- 
republican.  Yet  we  would  not  ism.  Thus  terminates  the  scene  : — 

"  She  look'd  upon  that  brow  so  fair  and  high, 
Too  bright  for  sorrow  as  too  bold  for  fear ; 
She  look'd  upon  the  depth  of  that  large  eye 
Whence  (ev'n  when  lost  to  daylight)  starry  clear 
Shone  earth's  sublimest  soul; — then  tremblingly 
On  his  young  arm  her  gentle  hand  she  laid, 
And  in  the  simple  movement  more  was  said 
Of  the  weak  woman's  heart,  than  ever  yet 
Of  that  sweet  mystery  man's  rude  speech  hath  told. 
The  touch  rebuked  him  as  he  thrill'd  to  it ; 
Back  to  their  deep  the  stormier  passions  roll'd, 
And  left  his  brow  (as  when  the  heaven  above 
Smiles  through  departing  cloud)  serene  with  love. 
'  Come  then — companion  in  this  path  sublime ; 
Link  life  with  life,  and  strengthen  soul  with  soul ; 
If  vain  the  hope  that  lights  the  onward  time ; 
If  back  to  darkness  fade  the  phantom  goal ; 
If  Dreams,  that  now  seem  prophet-visions,  be 
Dreams,  and  no  more — still  let  me  cling  to  thee  ! 
Still,  seeing  thee,  have  faith  in  human  worth, 
And  feel  the  Beautiful  yet  lives  for  earth  ! 
Come,  though  from  marble  domes  and  myrtle  bowers, 
Come,  though  to  lowly  roofs  and  northern  skies ; 
In  its  own  fancies  Love  has  regal  towers, 
And  orient  sunbeams  in  beloved  eyes. 
Trust  me,  whatever  fate  my  soul  may  gall, 
Thou  at  thy  woman-choice  shalt  ne'er  repine; 
Trust  me,  whatever  storm  on  me  may  fall, 


1865.]  Sir  K.  Jtultcer  Lytton's  Pofms.  335 

This  man's  true  breast  shall  ward  the  bolt  from  thine. 

Hark,  where  the  bird  from  yon  dark  ilex  breathes 

Soul  into  night — so  be  thy  love  to  me  ! 

Look,  where  around  the  bird  the  ilex  wreathes 

Still,  sheltering  boughs — so  be  my  love  to  thee  ! 

O  dweller  in  my  heart,  the  music  thine; 

And  the  deep  shelter — wilt  thou  scorn  it  ? — mine  ! ' 

He  ceased,  and  drew  her  closer  to  his  breast ; 

Soft  from  the  ilex  sang  the  nightingale  : 

Thy  heart,  O  woman,  in  its  happy  rest 

Hush'd  a  diviner  tale  ! 

And  o'er  her  bent  her  lover;  and  the  gold 

Of  his  rich  locks  with  her  dark  tresses  blended; 

And  still,  and  calm,  and  tenderly,  the  lone 

And  mellowing  night  upon  their  forms  descended; 

And  thus,  amid  the  ghostly  walls  of  old, 

Seen  through  that  silvery,  moonlit,  lucent  air, 

They  seem'd  not  wholly  of  an  earth-born  mould, 

But  suited  to  the  memories  breathing  there — 

Two  genii  of  the  mix'd  and  tender  race, 

Their  charmed  homes  in  lonely  coverts  singling, 

Last  of  their  order,  doom'd  to  haunt  the  place, 

And  bear  sweet  being  interfused  and  mingling. 

Draw  through  their  life  the  same  delicious  breath, 

And  fade  together  into  air  in  death." 

"  From  his  embrace  abrupt  the  maiden  sprang 
With  low  wild  cry  despairing : — In  the  shade 
Of  that  dark  tree  where  still  the  night-bird  sang, 
Stood  a  stern  image,  statue-like,  and  made 
A  shadow  in  the  shadow ; — locks  of  snow 
Crown'd,  with  the  awe  of  age,  the  solemn  brow; 
Lofty  its  look  with  passionless  command, 
As  some  old  chief's  of  grand  inhuman  Home : 
Calm  from  its  stillness  moved  the  beckoning  hand, 
And  low  from  rigid  lips  it  murmur'd,  'Come!'" 

Years  pass.     A  king  has  gone  to  labour;  for  visions  of  Paradise  have 

the  scaffold.     The  starof  Cromwell  beenvouchsafedhim,andhehascom- 

has  risen  and  set,  and  a  Stuart  is  pleted  that  wonderful  work  which 

again  upon  the  throne.     Worn,  de-  ranks  among  the  Epics  as  Hesperus 

spised,  and  blind,  the  old  man  has  among  the  clustering  of  the  stars. 

retired  from  the  strife,  but  not  from  And  now  the  end  is  drawing  near : — 

"  Its  gay  farewell  to  hospitable"  eaves 
The  swallow  twitter'd  in  the  autumn  heaven ; 
Dumb  on  the  crisp  earth  fell  the  yellowing  leaves, 
Or,  in  small  eddies,  fitfully  were  driven 
Down  the  bleak  waste  of  the  remorseless  air. 
Out,  from  the  widening  gaps  in  dreary  boughs, 
Alone  the  laurel  smiled — as  freshly  fair 
As  its  own  chaplet  on  immortal  brows, 
When  Fame,  indifferent  to  the  changeful  sun, 
Sees  waning  races  wither,  and  lives  on. — 
An  old  man  sate  before  that  deathless  tree 
Which  bloom'd  his  humble  dwelling-place  beside ; 


336  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton's  Poems.  [March, 

The  last  pale  rose  which  lured  the  lingering  bee 
To  the  low  porch  it  scantly  blossom'd  o'er, 
Nipp'd  by  the  frost-air,  had  that  morning  died. 
The  clock  faint-heard  beyond  the  gaping  door, 
Low  as  a  death-watch  click' d  the  moments'  knell ; 
And  tli rough  the  narrow  opening  you  might  see 
Uncertain  footprints  on  the  sanded  floor 
(Uncertain  footprints  which  of  blindness  tell) ; 
The  rude  oak  board,  the  morn's  untasted  fare ; 
The  scatter'd  volumes  and  the  pillow'd  chair, 
In  which,  worn  out  with  toil  and  travel  past, 
Life,  the  poor  wanderer,  finds  repose  at  last. 

"  The  old  man  felt  the  fresh  air  o'er  him  blowing, 
Waving  thin  locks  from  musing  temples  pale  ; 
Felt  the  quick  sun  through  cloud  arid  azure  going, 
And  the  light  dance  of  leaves  upon  the  gale, 
In  that  mysterious  symbol-change  of  earth 
Which  looks  like  death,  though  but  restoring  birth. 
Seasons  return ;  for  him  shall  not  return 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn. 
Whatever  garb  the  mighty  mother  wore, 
Nature  to  him  was  changeless  evermore. — 
List,  not  a  sigh  ! — though  fall'n  on  evil  days, 
With  darkness  compass' d  round — those  sightless  eyes 
Need  not  the  sun ;  nightly  he  sees  the  rays, 
Nightly  he  walks  the  bowers,  of  Paradise, 
High,  pale,  still,  voiceless,  motionless,  alone, 
Death-like  in  calm  as  monumental  stone, 
Lifting  his  looks  into  the  farthest  skies, 
He  sate :  And  as  when  some  tempestuous  day 
Dies  in  the  hush  of  the  majestic  eve, 
So  on  his  brow — where  grief  has  pass'd  away, 
Reigns  that  dread  stillness  grief  alone  can  leave." 

Wrapt  in  sublime  contemplation,  long  ago.    Alas !  can  that  blind  grey 

the  aged  bard  hears  not   the   ap-  man   have  been  the   lover  of  her 

proaching  tread.      But   a   pilgrim  youth  1     No   recognition   follows ; 

from   the   far  and   sunny  clime  is  for  earthly  ties  and  earthly  thoughts 

near,  impressed  by  an  irrepressible  are  all  unmeet  for  the  soul  that  is 

longing  to  behold  once  more  the  already  half   with   God.     A   brief 

face  of  him  who  had  wooed  her  interval,  and  all  is  over. 

"  A  death-bell  ceased  ; — beneath  the  vault  were  laid 
A  great  man's  bones  ; — and  when  the  rest  were  gone, 
Veil'd,  and  in  sable  widow'd  weeds  array'd, 
An  aged  woman  knelt  upon  the  stone. 
Low  as  she  pray'd,  the  wailing  notes  were  sweet 
With  the  strange  music  of  a  foreign  tongue  : 
Thrice  to  that  spot  came  feeble,  feebler  feet, 
Thrice  on  that  stone  were  humble  garlands  hung. 
On  the  fourth  day  some  formal  hand  in  scorn 
The  flowers  that  breathed  of  priestcraft  cast  away; 
But  the  poor  stranger  came  not  with  the  morn, 
And  flowers  forbidden  deck'd  no  more  the  clay. 
A  heart  was  broken ! — and  a  spirit  fled  ! 
Whither — let  those  who  love  and  hope  decide — 
But  in  the  faith  that  Love  rejoins  the  dead, 
The  heart  was  broken  ere  the  garland  died." 


18G5.] 


E.  Jlttlicer  Lyttons  Poems. 


So  terminates  this  fine  poem, 
perhaps  the  best  sustained  in  the 
volume.  Diilicult  as  was  the  sub- 
ject, the  author's  treatment  of  it 
has  been  eminently  successful,  while 
the  melody  and  exquisite  construc- 
tion of  the  verse  are  in  accordance 
with  the  sentiments  it  conveys. 

We  cannot  give  the  same  meed 
of  praise  to  another  elaborate  poem 
which  is  entitled  '  Constance,  or 
the  Portrait.'  It  is  a  tale  of  modern 
times  and  of  modern  life,  which 
might  have  afforded  excellent  scope 
for  the  novelist,  but  is  not  suitable 
for  the  delicate  touches  which  are 
the  triumph  of  the  poetic  art.  It 
is  a  trite  but  true  observation,  that 
the  realms  of  the  past  are  the  pro- 
per ground  for  the  poet  ;  and  in 
narrative,  at  least,  we  are  inclined 
to  think  that  the  nearer  he  ap- 
proaches to  his  own  time,  the  less 
likely  he  is  to  succeed.  There  may 
be  no  lack  of  romance  in  the  inci- 
dents, or  of  passion  in  the  emotions 
he  portrays ;  but  the  accessories, 
which  he  cannot  altogether  avoid, 
belong  to  our  ordinary  prosaic  life, 
and  will  not  bear  that  amount  of 
poetic  colouring  which  is  necessary 
to  complete  the  illusion.  In  this 
sense  it  is  undeniable  that  distance 
</oes  lend  enchantment  to  the  view  ; 
for  the  language  which  appears  to 
us  so  beautiful  when  uttered  by  a 
Romeo  or  a  Juliet,  would  assuredly 
be  deemed  out  of  place  if  put  into 
the  mouths  of  denizens  of  May 
Fair  existing  in  the  reign  of  Queen 
Victoria.  So  difficult  is  it  to  adapt 
recent  events  to  the  poetic  standard, 
that  no  one  has  yet  deemed  it  pos- 
sible to  construct  an  epic  or  a 
rhymed  romance  upon  the  basis  of 
events  which  occurred  during  the 
Peninsular  War,  or  the  campaigns 
of  the  first  Napoleon  ;  and  more 
than  a  century  must  elapse  before 
the  expedition  to  the  Crimea  can 
furnish  an  available  theme.  Im- 
pose upon  a  poet  the  task  of  de- 
scribing a  Gothic  castle,  with  its 
banqueting-hall,  its  dungeon  keep, 
and  the  retinue  of  men-at-arms  and 
mailed  knights  that  thronged  the 
courtyard  and  the  corridors — and, 


if  he  is  a  master  of  his  craft,  he  will 
bring  before  your  eyes  a  vision  of 
the  olden  time,  as  perfect  as  if  it 
had  been  raised  by  the  wave  of  the 
wand  of  an  enchanter.  But  ask  him 
to  depict  a  ball-room,  and  to  people 
it  with  beings  whom  we  cannot  dis- 
associate from  the  notion  of  crinoline 
and  the  uniform  of  the  J.lues — bid 
him  describe  in  melodious  verse  the 
giddy  sensations  of  the  waltz,  or 
give  poetic  utterance  to  the  whis- 
pered conversations  at  a  table  laid 
out  with  the  delicacies  of  (Junter — 
and  you  will  find  a  woeful  differ- 
ence between  his  treatment  of  the 
past  and  of  the  present.  We  see  no 
incongruity  when  Shylock  talks, *in 
good  blank  verse,  of  his  ducats,  or 
the  rate  of  usance,  on  the  llialto  ; 
but  gravity  itself  would  nut  be 
proof  against  the  heroics  of  a  mo- 
dern banker  or  broker  deploring  a 
change  in  the  rate  of  interest,  or  a 
depreciation  in  Venezuelan  securi- 
ties. However  dexterously  Sir  E. 
15.  Lytton  has  tried  to  surmount 
this  obvious  difficulty  of  giving 
poetical  treatment  to  a  subject  es- 
sentially modern,  we  do  not  think 
that  he  has  succeeded  ;  but  it  is  no 
disgrace  to  have  failed  in  an  at- 
tempt which  might  have  tasked  to 
the  uttermost,  if  even  he  could  have 
achieved  it,  the  marvellous  ingen- 
uity and  unparalleled  versatility  of 
Chaucer. 

Turning  to  the  minor  poems,  we 
recognise,  with  no  ordinary  pleas- 
ure, one  which  has  already  graced 
the  pages  of  the  Magazine,  and 
which  we  regard  as  one  of  the  most 
perfect  specimens  of  that  difficult 
style  of  composition,  the  allegorical, 
which  has  been  composed  during 
the  present  century.  We  confess 
to  have,  in  the  abstract,  no  great 
liking  for  allegories,  which  generally 
are  sickly  things,  "  that  palter  to 
us  in  the  double  sense,"  and  seldom 
lead  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion. 
Our  opinions  upon  this  point  may 
appear  to  many  heretical,  but  with 
all  our  love  for  Edmund  Spenser — 
the  sweetest  poet,  who  was  not  like- 
wise a  dramatist,  of  the  noble  Eliza- 
bethan era  of  literature — we  cannot 


338  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton's  Poems.  [March, 

help  wishing  that  he  had  made  '  The  its  conditions  ;  and  we  know  of 
Faerie  Queene '  a  grand  historical  none  which  are  more  perfectly  ap- 
epic,  with  Arthur  for  its  hero,  in-  propriate  or  musically  expressed 
stead  of  a  shadowy  representation  than  this  of  '  The  Boatman/  which, 
of  cardinal  virtues  and  the  issue  of  for  the  gratification  of  our  regular 
opposing  faiths.  Spenser,  we  are  readers,  who  have  seen  and  admired 
assured,  but  yielded  or  conformed  it  already,  it  is  quite  unnecessary 
to  the  taste  of  his  age,  then  imbued  that  we  should  quote.  Most  musical 
with  Italian  tendencies  ;  and  the  is  it  in  its  flow ;  reminding  us,  al- 
school  of  which  he  was  the  bright-  most  unconsciously,  of  the  passage 
est  ornament  came  to  an  ignoble  end  of  Thalaba  with  the  maiden  in  the 
in  the  hands  of  Giles  and  Phineas  enchanted  boat,  one  of  the  most 
Fletcher.  The  finest  sustained  al-  exquisite  strains  of  poetry  that  are 
legory  of  the  world  is,  undoubtedly,  to  be  found  in  the  English  lan- 
that  of  John  Bunyan,  the  '  Pilgrim's  guage.  But  we  pass  to  another 
Progress,'  and  with  our  language  in  which  we  can  claim  no  pater- 
alone  can  it  perish.  But  a  short  nity  even  by  adoption  —  and  we 
allegory  is,  like  a  parable  or  an  pray  you,  reader,  to  hearken  to 
apologue,  most  effective  if  true  to  the  strain  of 

"  THE   PILGRIM    OF   THE    DESERT, 

"  Wearily  flaggeth  my  Soul  in  the  Desert ; 

Wearily,  wearily. 

Sand,  ever  sand,  not  a  gleam  of  the  fountain  ; 
Sun,  ever  sun,  not  a  shade  from  the  mountain  ; 
Wave  after  wave  flows  the  sea  of  the  Desert, 

Drearily,  drearily. 

Life  dwelt  with  life  in  my  far  native  valleys, 

Nightly  and  daily ; 

Labour  had  brothers  to  aid  and  beguile  ; 
A  tear  for  iny  tear,  and  a  smile  for  my  smile  ; 
And  the  sweet  human  voices  rang  out ;  and  the  valleys 

Echoed  them  gaily. 

Under  the  almond-tree,  once  in  the  spring-time, 

Careless  reclining ; 

The  sigh  of  my  Leila  was  hush'd  on  my  breast, 
As  the  note  of  the  last  bird  had  died  in  its  nest ; 
Calm  look'd  the  stars  on  the  buds  of  the  spring-time, 

Calm — but  how  shining  ! 

Below  on  the  herbage  there  darken' d  a  shadow ; 

Stirr'd  the  boughs  o'er  me ; 

Dropp'd  from  the  almond-tree,  sighing,  the  blossom  ; 
Trembling  the  maiden  sprang  up  from  my  bosom  ; 
Then  the  step  of  a  stranger  came  mute  through  the  shadow, 

Pausing  before  me. 

He  stood  grey  with  age  in  the  robe  of  a  Dervise, 

As  a  king  awe-compelling  ; 

And  the  cold  of  his  eye  like  the  diamond  was  bright, 
As  if  years  from  the  hardness  had  fashion'd  the  light : 
'  A  draught  from  thy  spring  for  the  way-weary  Dervise, 

And  rest  in  thy  dwelling.' 

And  my  herds  gave  the  milk,  and  my  tent  gave  the  shelter ; 
And  the  stranger  spell-bound  me 


1865.1  Sir  E.  nttltcer  Lytton's  Poems.  339 

With  his  tales,  nil  the  night,  of  the  fur  world  of  wonder, 
Of  the  ocean  of  <  )in;in  with  pearls  gleaming  under  ; 
And  I  thought,  'Oh,  how  mean  are  the  tents'  simple  shelter 
And  the  valleys  around  me  ! ' 

I  seized  as  I  listen'd,  in  fancy,  the  treasures 

By  Af rites  conceul'd  ; 

Scared  the  serpents  that  watch  in  the  ruins  afar 
O'er  the  hoards  of  the  Persian  in  lost  (Jhil-Menar  ; — 
Alas !  till  that  night  happy  youth  had  more  treasured 

Than  Ormus  can  yield. 

Morn  came,  and  I  went  with  my  guest  through  the  gorges 

In  the  rock  hollow'd  ; 

The  flocks  bleated  low  as  I  passed  them  ungrieving, 
The  almond-buds  strew'd  the  sweet  earth  I  was  leaving ; 
Slowly  went  Age  through  the  gloom  of  the  gorges, 

Lightly  Youth  follow'd. 

We  won  through  the  Pass — the  Unknown  lay  before  me, 

Sun-lighted  and  wide ; 

Then  I  turn'd  to  my  guest,  but  how  languid  his  tread, 
And  the  awe  I  had  felt  in  his  presence  was  fled, 
And  I  cried,  '  Can  thy  age  in  the  journey  before  me 

Still  keep  by  my  side  ? ' 

'  Hope  and  Wisdom  soon  part ;  be  it  so,'  said  the  Dervise, 

'  My  mission  is  done.' 

As  he  spoke,  came  the  gleam  of  the  crescent  and  spear, 
Chimed  the  bells  of  the  camel  more  sweet  and  more  near; — 
'  Go,  and  march  with  the  Caravan,  youth,'  sigh'd  the  Dervise, 

'  Fare  thee  well ! ' — he  was  gone. 

What  profits  to  speak  of  the  wastes  I  have  traversed 

Since  that  early  time  ? 

One  by  one  the  procession,  replacing  the  guide, 
Have  dropp'd  on  the  sands,  or  have  stray'd  from  my  side  ; 
And  I  hear  never  more  in  the  solitudes  traversed 

The  camel-bell's  chime. 

How  oft  I  have  yearn'd  for_the  old  happy  valley, 

But  the  sands  have  no  track  ; 

He  who  scorn'd  what  was  Nfcir  mast  advance  to  the  far, 
Who  forsaketh  the  landmark  must  march  by  the  star, 
And  the  steps  that  once  part  from  the  peace  of  the  valley 

Can  never  come  back. 

So  on,  ever  on,  spreads  the  path  of  the  Desert, 

Wearily,  wearily ; 

Sand,  ever  sand — not  a  gleam  of  the  fountain  ; 
Sun,  ever  sun— not  a  shade  from  the  mountain  ; 
As  a  sea  on  a  sea,  flows  the  width  of  the  Desert, 

Drearily,  drearily. 

How  narrow  content,  and  how  infinite  knowledge  ! 

Lost  vole,  and  lost  maiden  ! 
Enclosed  in  the  garden  the  mortal  was  blest : 
A  world  with  its  wonders  lay  round  him  unguest ; 
That  world  was  his  own  when  he  tasted  of  knowledge — 

Was  it  worth  Adenl" 


340 


Sir  E.  Eulwer  Lyttoris  Poems. 


[March, 


After  this,  is  it  necessary  to  give 
more  specimens  of  this  delightful 
volume  I  Perhaps  not.  It  might 
disappoint  some  to  dwell  upon  what 
they  might  esteem  drearier  fancies 
— for,  as  we  have  already  hinted, 
some  of  the  poems  are  so  grave  and 
sombre,  that  they  rather  suggest 
autumnal  fancies  than  those  which 
are  suitable  for  the  period  of  spring. 
French  critics  have  said  that  our 
recent  English  poetry  is,  as  a  whole, 
too  melancholy  in  its  tone ;  and  we 
cannot,  with  truth,  aver  that  they 
are  altogether  mistaken  in  that 
judgment.  Why  it  should  be  so 
we  cannot  understand.  The  elder 
poets,  both  of  England  and  Scot- 
land, were  joyous  in  the  extreme; 
and  merrier  men — within  the  limits 
of  becoming  mirth — you  could  not 
find  than  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  or 
Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dnn- 
keld.  Why  should  Sir  E.  B.  Lyt- 
ton  be  dolorous  ?  He  stands  ac- 
knowledged as  the  first  novelist 


of  the  age — he  has  achieved  the 
highest  dramatic  success  —  he  has 
added  to  his  literary  triumphs  the 
renown  of  a  philosopher,  an  orator, 
and  a  statesman  —  and  he  should 
not  now,  unless  his  ambition  is 
altogether  satiated  and  extinguish- 
ed, proclaim  that  all  is  vanity. 
There  are,  we  are  well  aware,  va- 
riations in  the  poetic  temperament, 
as  there  are  differences  in  the  sing- 
ing of  the  birds ;  and  though  the 
nightingale  is  admitted  to  be  the 
sweetest,  as  she  is  the  most  plain- 
tive, of  the  woodland  choristers, 
we  are  not  sure  that,  as  a  perpetu- 
ity, we  would  not  give  the  prefer- 
ence to  the  livelier  trilling  of  the 
thrush.  That  Sir  Edward  himself 
has  some  secret  consciousness  of 
this,  we  gather  from  expressions 
which  we  find  occurring  ever  and 
anon  throughout  his  poems;  and, 
as  an  antidote  against  his  more 
sombre  moods,  we  would  repeat  his 
own  advice, — 


"  Let  us  fill  urns  with  rose-leaves  in  our  May, 
And  hive  the  thrifty  sweetness  for  December." 

The  poems  entitled  '  Parcae,  or  already  drawn  largely ;  and  our 
Leaves  from  History,'  are  finely  last  extract  shall  be  one  that  Schil- 
conceived,  especially  that  relating  ler  might  have  been  proud  to  own, 


to  Mary  Stuart.  We  must,  how- 
ever, refer  our  readers  for  these  to 
the  volume,  from  which  we  have 


though  it  bears  the  unmistakable 
mark  of  the  original  genius  of  his 
translator  : — 


"  THE    TRUE   JOY-GIVER. 

"  Oh  (Evoe,  Liber  Pater, 

Oh,  the  vintage  feast  divine, 

When  the  god-  was  in  the  bosom 

And  his  rapture  in  the  wine ; 

When  the  Faun  laugh'd  out  at  morning 
When  the  Maenad  hymn'd  the  night ; 

And  the  Earth  itself  was  drunken 
With  the  worship  of  delight'; 

Oil  (Evoe,  Liber  Pater, 

Thou,  whose  orgies  are  upon 

Moonlit  hill-tops  of  Parnassus, 
Shady  slopes  of  Helicon ; — 

Ah,  how  often  have  I  hail'd  thee  ! 

Ah,  how  often  have  I  been 
The  gay  swinger  of  the  thyrsus, 

When  its  wither' d  leaves  were  green  ! 


1SG5.]  Sir  E.  Jiulwer  Lyttoiis  Pouns.  IM1 

Then,  the  boughs  wore  purple-gloaming 

With  the  dew-drop  and  the  star; 
As,  in  chanting,  came  the  wood-nymph, 

And,  in  flashing,  came  the  car. 

But  how  faded  are  the  garlands 

Of  the  thyrsus  that  1  bore, 
When  the  wood-nymph  chanted  '  Follow  ! 

In  the  vintage-feast  of  yore. 

Vet  my  vineyards  are  the  richest 

That  Falernian  slopes  bestow  ; 
Has  the  vineherd  lost  his  cunning  ? 

Has  the  summer  lost  its  glow  ] 

Dullard,  never  on  Falernium 

The  true  Care-Dispeller  trod  ; 
There,  the  vine-leaves  wreathe  no  thyrsus, 

There,  the  fruits  allure  no  god. 

Liber's  wine  is  Nature's  life-blood  ; 

Liber's  vineyards  bloom  upon 
Moonlit  hill-tops  of  Parnassus, 

Shady  slopes  of  Helicon. 

But  the  hill-tops  of  Parnassus 

Are  still  free  to  every  age ; 
I  have  trod  them  with  the  Poet, 

I  have  mapp'd  them  with  the  Sage ; 

And  I'll  take  my  young  disciple 

To  heed  well,  with  humbled  eyes, 
How  the  rosy  Gladness-giver 

Welcomes  ever  most  the  wise. 

Lo,  the  arching  of  the  vine-leaves ; 

Lo,  the  sparkle  of  the  fount; 
Hark,  the  carol  of  the  Miunads ; 

Lo,  the  car  is  on  the  Mount ! 

'  Ho,  there  ! — room,  ye  thyrsus-bearers, 

For  your  playmate  I  have  been  ! ' 
'  ( )nce  it  might  be,'  laugh'd  Lyivus, 

'  But  thy  thyrsus  then  was  green.' 

And  adown  the  gleaming  alleys 

See,  the  gladness-bringer  glide  ; 
And  the  wood-nymph  murmurs  '  Follow  ! ' 

To  the  young  man  by  my  side." 

And  now  we  have  done,  how-  out  our  waking  thoughts  into  the 
ever  reluctant  we  are  to  lay  the  phantoms  of  sleep,  which  often  con- 
volume  aside.  But  there  is  an  end  tinue  precogitations,  making  cables 
to  all  things.  Our  lamp  is  burning  of  cobwebs,  and  wildernesses  of 
dim ;  and,  like  old  Sir  Thomas  handsome  groves.'' 
Browne,  "  we  are  unwilling  to  spin 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  nxciii.  2  A 


342 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


GUY   NEVILLE  S   GHOST. 


No  :  I  have  met  plenty  of  ghost- 
seers,  and  have  heard  them  tell 
their  stories  with  a  sincerity  of  awe 
and  a  shuddering  recollection  of 
the  terror  past  that  left  no  sort 
of  doubt  as  to  their  belief.  And 
history  assures  me  that,  ever  since 
the  days  of  Homer,  and  perhaps 
before  then,  ghosts  have  from  time 
to  time  been  seen  of  men,  and  have 
made  the  hair  of  the  seers  stand  on 
end,  and  their  blood  curdle  with 
fear.  But  I  never  saw  a  ghost  my- 
self, except  once.  And  then]  Yes; 
then  I  must  do  the  ghost  the  jus- 
tice to  say  that  I  was  horribly 
frightened. 

I  was  very  glad  to  accept  Charlie 
Neville's  invitation  to  pass  a  few 
days  with  him  in  the  cottage  which 
he  inhabits  in  one  of  the  pleasantest 
valleys  in  Westmoreland  —  right 
through  which  valley  runs  the  road 
from  Lancashire  to  Scotland.  I 
was  very  tired  of  being  chained  to 
my  desk  in  one  of  the  dirtiest, 
gloomiest,  dampest  towns  in  Eng- 
land— a  town  that  for  six  months 
in  the  year  alternates  between  fog 
and  sleet,  and  for  the  rest  between 
fog  and  rain — a  town  where  nobody 
lives  except  to  make  a  fortune, 
where  nobody  does  anything  or 
thinks  of  anything  but  his  fortune 
till  he  has  made  it,  and  whence,  the 
fortune  made,  every  one  goes  as  far 
away  as  possible  to  spend  it.  I 
had  been  a  prisoner,  or  a  slave,  all 
summer,  and  it  was  now  Septem- 
ber. All  the  more  did  I  delight  in 
my  journey,  knowing  that  Septem- 
ber is  the  pleasantest  of  months  in 
Westmoreland,  where  May  is  cold, 
the  summer  mostly  wet,  and  August 
dense  and  oppressive.  Charlie  was 
a  pleasant  member  of  a  pleasant 
family,  and  the  idea  of  once  more 
enjoying  the  society  of  young  ladies 
— a  species  unknown  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  my  prison-house — was 
enough  to  excite  my  spirits  to  the 
uttermost.  Even  a  long  railway 


journey,  in  a  carriage  from  which 
the  presence  of  an  asthmatic  direc- 
tor-looking old  gentleman  banished 
alike  the  breath  of  fresh  air  and  the 
hope  of  tobacco,  failed  to  subdue 
them.  It  was  in  a  joyous  mood 
that  I  sprang  upon  the  platform  at 
Windermere,  valise  in  hand,  and 
looked  out  for  Charlie. 

A  big  dog  made  his  appearance 
first,  who,  after  suspiciously  glanc- 
ing and  snuffing  at  a  travelling 
suit  which  retained  an  atmosphere 
of  the  printing-office  about  it, 
rubbed  his  nose  against  the  hand 
that  held  my  valise  just  as  my 
friend  came  up  and  shook  me 
heartily  by  the  other. 

"  Is  that  monster  yours  1 "  I  said, 
as  we  walked  to  the  phaeton.  "  He 
was  more  friendly  than  I  expected, 
and  more  formidable  than  I  liked." 

"Ah,"  said  his  master,  "  Caesar 
was  puzzled  by  the  smell  of  factory- 
smoke  and  cotton-fluff  about  you. 
If  it  had  been  tobacco-smoke  and 
cigar-ashes  he  would  have  recog- 
nised it.  But  Caesar  always  finds 
out  a  gentleman.  There  is  a  baronet 
of  my  acquaintance  who  goes  about 
in  such  rags  that  the  servants  offer 
him  a  penny  when  he  calls  for  the 
first  time  on  a  friend ;  but  Caesar 
recognised  his  title  at  first  sight, 
and  made  him  the  humblest  obei- 
sance. And  the  best  dressed  of 
burnt-out  tailors  or  shipwrecked 
sailors,  in  whom  I  might  expect  a 
visitor,  cannot  take  in  Caesar.  He 
never  lets  them  open  the  gate. 
Dogs  are  the  most  aristocratic  of 
living  creatures." 

And  this  commenced  a  discus- 
sion, in  which  Charlie,  who  quar- 
tered the  Kingmaker's  Bear  and 
Ragged  Staff,  and  could  recite  his 
whole  pedigree  since  the  battle  of 
Barnet,  bore  his  part  with  great 
spirit  and  vivacity.  This  occupied 
our  tongues  while  the  pony  tra- 
versed many  miles  of  the  loveliest 
scenery  in  England.  This,  and  the 


1865.] 


Gtty 


's  Ghost. 


speculations  with  which  it  branched 
off,  wholly  irrelevant  to  the  subject 
of  my  tale,  were  interrupted  only 
when  we  reached  the  valley,  at  the 
other  end  of  which  the  windows  of 
Neville  Orange  flashed  back  the 
golden  light  of  the  sun  that  was 
sinking  behind  the  western  moun- 
tains. 

"  That  is  my  home,"  said  Charlie, 
as  I  gazed  in  silent  admiration  at 
the  beautiful  sight.  "It  is  small, 
as  you  see  :  it  has  been  very  much 
larger.  The  ruins  of  what  in  the 
olden  days  was  Neville  Grange  lie 
on  the  other  side  of  the  cottage, 
•which  my  great-grandfather  built 
on  part  of  the  old  site.  Our  present 
abode  is  so  small  that,  with  our 
large  family,  it  requires  some  close 
packing  to  take  in  the  few  guests 
whom  we  can  persuade  to  relieve 
our  solitude.  Kelief  it  is,  for  there 
is  no  other  gentleman  within  a 
dozen  miles,  except  the  curate." 

"  Is  that  the  curate  J"  I  asked, 
pointing  to  an  elegant  figure  which, 
in  a  sporting  costume,  and  with  his 
back  turned  to  us,  was  climbing  at 
some  little  distance  a  steep  path 
which  led  to  a  little  farmhouse,  the 
residence  of  one  of  the  poorer  of 
those  "  statesmen  "who  are  the  pride 
of  the  English  Highlands.  "I  think 
even  your  fastidious  eyes  will  admit 
him  to  have  the  air  of  a  gentleman." 

"  No ;  that  is  not  the  curate. 
That  is  Crosthwaite's  house.  His 
family  have  held  that  farm  longer 
than  history  runs  back — probably 
in  the  days  of  Alfred.  I  don't 
know  who  the  man  is — some  tourist, 
I  suppose.  It  has  a  look  of  Guy 
Monthermer,  my  cousin  ;  but  Mon- 
thermer  is  with  his  regiment  in 
India,  and,  if  he  were  not,  he  would 
hardly  come  so  near  us." 

I  remembered  that  there  had  been 
a  fierce  quarrel  between  Guy  Mon- 
thermer and  Charlie's  father,  who 
was  Monthermer's  guardian.  Guy 
was  a  few  years  senior  to  Charlie, 
but  very  young  at  the  time  of  the 
quarrel.  He  had  been  foolish 
enough  to  make  the  feud  public  by 
challenging  his  relative,  but  had, 


of  course,  been  met  with  a  contemp- 
tuous refusal.  Thus  much  1  knew; 
but  1  did  not  know  then,  nor  do  1 
know  now,  the  exact  merits  of  the 
quarrel,  or  the  demerits  of  Guy 
Monthermer.  I  can  only  tell  my 
readers  that  he  distinguished  him- 
self in  India  alike  by  his  courage 
and  his  insubordination;  that, some 
years  after  the  date  of  my  visit  to 
Neville  Grange,  lie  engaged  in  the 
Garibaldian  expedition;  and  that 
— but  the  rest  they  will  learn  from 
my  story,  and  1  will  not  spoil  it  by 
anticipation.  1  knew  then  only 
enough  to  let  my  companion's  re- 
mark pass  unanswered.  He  looked 
for  some  time  after  the  stranger, 
who,  however,  was  too  distant  for 
recognition. 

We  reached  Neville  Grange,  and 
were  greeted  with  hearty  welcome 
by  two  boys  and  three  little  girls, 
the  junior  branches. of  the  house, 
who  had  rushed  out  to  meet  their 
brother  at  the  door.  "Without  going 
into  the  drawing-room,  Charles  un- 
dertook to  show  me  up-stairs  ;  and 
for  this,  remembering  Caesar's  opin- 
ion of  my  travelling  suit,  I  was 
not  ungrateful.  The  part  of  the 
cottage  into  which  I  was  introduced 
was  clearly  of  old  date.  The  oak 
flooring  was  perfectly  black  ;  it  had 
become  irregular  in  its  level  from 
the  gradual ''  settling"  of  the  walls, 
and  it  was  broken  at  uncertain  in- 
tervals by  capricious  steps.  The 
walls  were  panelled  with  dark  old 
oak  ;  the  doors  were  of  the  same 
material,  with  old-fashioned  latches 
in  place  of  hidden  locks  and  round- 
ed handles.  One  of  these  Charles 
opened.  Two  downward  steps  led 
into  a  small  room,  oak-rloored,  with 
scanty  carpet  and  oak -panelled 
walls,  on  which  hung  two  or  three 
modern  sketches  and  one  ancient 
portrait  in  oils.  One  window  gave 
a  view  over  the  valley  ;  the  other, 
in  a  strange  situation,  just  beside 
the  fireplace,  reaching  to  the  ground, 
without  sill  or  sash,  apparently  a 
mere  hole  in  the  wall,  looked  out 
upon  a  network  of  broken  walls, 
mouldering  and  moss-covered,  in 


344 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


which  it  was  possible  to  trace  the 
ruins  of  a  larger  house  than  the 
present  cottage  which  had  renewed 
the  name  of  Neville  Grange. 

My  toilet  made,  I  left  my  room, 
without  bestowing  much  attention 
on  the  details  of  its  appearance.  I 
was  joined  by  Charles ;  and  when 
we  reached  the  drawing-room  he  in- 
troduced me  to  his  mother,  a  lady 
still  beautiful  and  elegant,  in  mid- 
dle age  and  widow's  weeds,  and  to 
her  elder  daughters,  girls  between 
sixteen  and  twenty.  Annie,  the 
younger,  resembled  her  mother. 
Her  beauty  was  of  the  best  Saxon 
type ;  that  which,  in  spite  of  fair 
hair,  blue  eyes,  and  clear,  soft  com- 
plexion, is  redeemed  by  something 
of  refined  elegance  about  the  fea- 
tures, and  of  intellectual  expression 
in  eye  and  brow,  from  the  pain- 
fully close  resemblance  to  a  wax 
doll,  which  is  so  generally  char- 
acteristic of  Teutonic  loveliness. 
Flora  was  thoroughly  Norman — 
such  as  might  have  been  the  heiress 
of  Warwick  ere  her  marriage  with 
the  last  hereditary  chief  of  the 
house  of  Neville  —  with  slender 
form,  a  hand  which  every  sculptor 
must  have  admired  in  perfect  de- 
spair of  imitation  ;  a  head  small, 
gracefully  set  on,  and  of  exquisite 
shape,  with  ringlets  of  raven  black- 
ness and — the  only  instance  I  ever 
saw  of  true  black  hair  that  was  not 
coarse — as  soft  and  fine  as  her  sis- 
ter's. Her  eyes  were  dark  ;  of  their 
exact  colour  I  never  could  satisfy 
myself,  but  of  their  brilliancy  there 
could  be  no  doubt  or  forgetfulness, 
nor  yet  of  that  exquisite  softness 
which  belongs  only  to  dark  eyes 
when  earnest  emotion  finds  uncon- 
scious expression  in  their  upturned 
gaze.  Why  I  did  not  fall  in  love 
with  Flora  is  not  now  to  the  pur- 
pose. But  so  penetrated  was  I 
with  interest  in  her  and  admiration 
for  her  beauty,  that  during  the 
evening  I  could  not  help  observing 
her  with  a  close  attention  which 
made  me  aware — certain  beyond  the 
possibility  of  doubt  —  that  some 
painful  anxiety  was  preying  upon 


her  mind.  A  jest  from  her  brother, 
a  sudden  appeal  to  her  notice  from 
the  children,  would  bring  colour 
to  her  cheek  in  warm,  fast-fading 
flushes ;  when  unnoticed  she  seemed 
absorbed,  not  so  much  in  reverie  as 
in  calculation.  I  am  not  a  close 
observer  of  countenances,  but  I  can 
tell  the  difference  between  the  face 
of  a  dreamer  and  a  thinker — can 
even  discriminate  between  medi- 
tative thought  and  that  kind  of 
consideration  which  is  preparing 
for  the  future,  planning  the  achieve- 
ment of  a  plot  or  the  avoidance  of 
a  misfortune.  The  closer  my  ob- 
servation, the  clearer  became  my 
comprehension  of  the  nature  of  the 
thoughts  which  disturbed  that 
transparent  countenance.  Always, 
as  she  seemed  to  despair  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  intermit  her  calculation, 
a  shadow  that  spoke  of  fear,  and  of 
something  that  seemed  like  shame, 
passed  over  her  face.  If  it  had 
been  possible  to  associate  with  that 
face  and  form,  so  evidently  belong- 
ing to  the  highest  "  aristocracy  of 
nature,"  so  lofty  and  so  pure,  any 
thought  of  dishonour  or  untruth, 
or  if  Flora  had  been  young  enough 
for  the  innocent  scrapes  of  child- 
hood, I  should  have  said  that  she 
anticipated  some  fatal  discovery 
— was  scheming  to  avoid  being 
"found  out."  Most  men,  perhaps 
most  women,  are  subject  to  such 
alarms  from  time  to  time  ;  but  men 
do  not  like  to  believe  that  there 
can  be  anything  to  be  "  found  out " 
in  the  mind  of  a  young  and  beauti- 
ful girl. 

We  talked  pleasantly  and  frank- 
ly, all  of  us.  Flora  spoke  unfre- 
quently ;  but  when  she  did  speak, 
the  clear  tones  of  a  voice  that  "  like 
a  silver  clarion  rang,"  though  only 
like  the  clarion's  notes  subdued  by 
distance,  and  something  noble  as 
well  as  novel  in  what  she  said,  gave 
our  conversation  its  chief  zest  and 
charm.  I  had  fallen  into  the 
bachelor  habit  of  smoking  a  cigar 
immediately  after  the  evening  meal, 
and  that  digestive  had  become  to 
me  as  necessary  as  the  meal  itself ; 


1865.") 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


315 


and  Charlie  was  fully  of  my  mind. 
But  after  tea  that  evening — for  the 
Nevilles  dined  early,  and  Charles 
was  too  true  a  gentleman  not  to 
know  that  nothing  so  annoys  a 
guest  as  household  changes  made 
for  him — I  was  pleased  that  there 
was  no  excuse  for  the  accustomed 
departure  of  the  ladies,  and  deaf  to 
his  hints,  that  pointed  towards  sun- 
set clouds  and  meant  tobacco-smoke. 
And  when  bedtime  came — their 
hours  were  early — my  regrets  were 
more  sincere  than  Annie  believed 
them. 

"  You  will  get  your  cigar  with 
Charlie,  and  '  thank  us  much  for 
going.'  I  know  he  has  been 
watching  for  ten  o'clock  a  full  hour 
and  a  half." 

"  I  plead  guilty  to  the  cigar, 
Miss  Neville  ;  but  I,  who  have 
that  every  night  of  my  life,  and 
enjoy  ladies'  society  only  by  such 
rare  chances  as  this,  would  readily 
go  to  bed  cigarless  if  you  would 
postpone  your  retirement  but  half 
an  hour." 

"  Take  care  lest  they  take  you  at 
your  word,"  said  Charlie,  in  horror  ; 
and  his  sister,  smiling,  followed 
Mrs  Neville  and  Flora  from  the 
room.  Charlie  and  I  turned  out. 
The  wind  blew  hard  ;  it  generally 
blows  in  Westmoreland  throughout 
the  autumn,  and  to  smoke,  save 
under  shelter,  had  been  impossible. 
We  wrapped  railway  rugs  round 
us,  and  sought  shelter  in  an  angle 
of  the  ruins.  A  wall,  some  eight 
feet  high,  joined  that  of  the  cot- 
tage just  beneath  the  second  win- 
dow in  my  room.  Ca;sar's  kennel, 
where  he  lay  unchained,  stood  at  a 
little  distance  by  what  had  once 
been  the  opposite  wall  of  a  small 
room  or  closet,  apparently  enclosed 
in  the  centre  of  the  old  house. 
Here  it  was  possible  to  light  a 
match  ;  here  we  found  seats  upon 
the  fallen  fragments  of  the  wall, 
and  smoked  in  peace. 

"This  place,"  said  Charlie,  "or 
rather  some  ten  feet  above  our 
heads,  was  the  scene  of  the  family 
tragedy  from  which  our  house 


dates  its  decay,  and  the  doom — if 
your  modern  principles  will  let  me 
call  it  so — that  hangs  over  us." 

"And  what  is  that  doom?"  I 
inquired,  in  perhaps  a  sceptical 
tone. 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  my  friend 
asked,  "  that  in  no  generation  does 
more  than  one  male  of  the  house 
live  to  reach  the  full  maturity  of 
manhood,  and  that  he  never  dies 
in  his  bed  (  Ah,  you  may  smile. 
But  so  truly  have  we  believed  in 
the  doom,  that  every  chief  of  my 
line  has  married  before  he  reached 
my  age,  lest  his  race  should  end 
with  him  ;  and  yet  never  since  .Sir 
Guy's  time  have  two  brothers  of 
our  blood  been  men  together.  And 
never  has  any  head  of  the  family 
died  save  by  a  violent  or  a  sudden 
death.  My  great-grandfather  fell 
at  Yorktown  ;  his  father  had  been 
drowned  while  bathing  in  Gras- 
mere  ;  my  grandfather  was  killed 
at  Badajos " 

I  knew  why  he  paused.  I  re- 
membered the  riot  unquelled  ;  the 
blame  of  civilian  imbecility  laid  on 
the  soldier  ;  the  forbearance  slan- 
dered as  cowardice,  the  sentence  of 
the  court-martial  avoided  by  sui- 
cide, four  months  before  Charlie's 
youngest  sister  was  born.  I  re- 
membered for  what  cause  his  mo- 
ther wore  the  widow's  weeds  she 
had  never  abandoned.  The  stiper- 
stition  of  my  friend  began  to  touch 
me.  I  could  not  turn  to  indifferent 
matters,  as  I  might  have  done  had 
any  other  man  spoken  to  me  of  his 
family  misfortunes  ;  for  Charlie 
was  my  intimate  friend.  So  I 
asked  him, 

"And  what  is  the  story  of  the 
crime  by  which  this  doom  has  been 
entailed  on  all  Sir  Guy's  pos- 
terity \" 

"  What,  have  you  never  heard 
the  legend  of  our  house  ?  Well,  it 
is  not  so  strange,  for  it  is  not  one 
of  which  we  care  to  talk  to  stran- 
gers ;  and  even  to  you,  I  should 
hardly  have  cared  to  speak  of  it 
anywhere  but  here.  Elsewhere 
you  might  have  doubted  it  or 


346 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


smiled  at  it  ;  here,  where  it  oc- 
curred, though  you  have  no  better 
reason  to  believe  it,  you  are  more 
likely  to  do  so." 

I  felt  that  there  was  some  truth 
in  this.  My  companion  proceeded. 

"  Sir  Guy's  picture  hangs  over 
your  fireplace.  It  is  worth  a  care- 
ful scrutiny,  for  much  of  his  strange 
and  wayward  character  is  to  be 
traced  in  those  lineaments.  He 
quitted  his  house  at  an  early  age 
for  the  Court  of  King  Charles  I., 
leaving  behind  him  his  aged  father 
and  a  brother,  a  mere  child,  to 
whom  he  was  tenderly  attached. 
This  boy  had  been  Sir  Guy's  con- 
stant companion  in  boyish  pranks, 
while  yet  so  little  that  his  brother 
would  carry  him  on  his  shoulder  ; 
he  rode  out  for  miles  perched  be- 
fore Guy  on  the  saddle,  went  with 
him  up  the  hills  or  on  the  lake, 
followed  him  like  a  dog,  and  was 
cherished  by  him  as  if  he  had  been 
not  a  brother  but  an  only  son. 
Ere  the  elder  went  from  home,  the 
old  man  called  him  to  his  chamber 
and  earnestly  commended  the  child 
to  his  brotherly  affection.  'You 
love  him  now,  Guy ;  but  you 
are  wayward  of  mood,  ambitious 
of  heart,  unforgiving  of  temper. 
Many  things  may  change  you ; 
many  clouds  may  come  between 
you  and  your  youth  before  you 
return  home.  You  will  not  see 
him  again  for  many  years,  and 
time  changes  affection  and  wears 
out  memory.  Swear  to  me  that 
you  will  never  wrong  him  or  ne- 
glect him ;  that  he  shall  never 
have  reason  bitterly  to  feel  the 
difference  between  a  father's  and  a 
brother's  love.'  'May  God  forget 
me  ;  may  good  fortune  desert  me 
and  my  house/  answered  Guy,  '  if 
by  fault  or  default  of  mine  my 
brother  come  to  harm/  And  with 
these  words  Sir  Guy  left  his  father 
and  went  forth  into  the  world. 

"  News  came  of  him  now  and 
anon.  At  first  he  was  in  favour 
with  the  King,  and  rose  to  rank 
and  influence  in  the  royal  service. 
His  father  died,  believing  that  all 


was  well,  and  more  hopeful  for  his 
son  than  he  had  ever  been.  Then 
he  was  expected  at  home.  But 
he  wrote,  arranging  for  his  brother's 
education  under  the  care  of  the 
venerable  clergyman  of  the  parish, 
and  came  not.  He  had  ties  at 
Court ;  the  wife  of  a  great  noble- 
man, one  of  the  loveliest  in  Hen- 
rietta's train,  had  fixed  his  fancy, 
and,  as  he  thought,  had  smiled 
upon  him.  He  was  a  man  of  un- 
governed  passions  and  fearless  tem- 
per ;  he  pursued  the  lady  with  a 
fierce  fervour  which  terrified  her- 
self, and  with  a  reckless  vehemence 
which  endangered  both.  Whether 
she  yielded  or  not  was  never  known; 
enough  was  said  to  excite  suspicion, 
and  her  husband,  a  man  of  calm 
and  generous  disposition,  but  of 
unflinching  determination,  resolved 
to  save  his  wife,  if  there  were  yet 
time.  He  obtained  from  the  King 
a  foreign  appointment  for  young 
Neville.  It  was  peremptorily  and 
not  very  respectfully  refused.  Lord 

then  withdrew  his  wife  from 

the  Court,  and  sent  her  to  his  coun- 
try seat.  Sir  Guy  suspected  his 
purpose,  and  was  infuriated.  In 
those  days  it  was  easy  to  force  a 
quarrel,  even  on  so  eminent  a  man. 
Guy  Neville  contrived  publicly  to 
insult  his  enemy  ;  a  duel  followed, 
and  Lord was  mortally  wound- 
ed. Ere  his  enemy  had  quitted 

the  ground,  Lord  's   mother, 

who  had  suspected  the  nature  of 
his  engagement,  came  to  the  spot 
in  time  to  see  her  son  expire.  Be- 
side his  bleeding  corpse  she  cursed 
his  assassin,  and  prayed  that,  as  he 
had  brought  desolation  on  a  happy 
home,  so  his  own  might  be  desolate ; 
that  as  he  had  cut  short  an  honour- 
able and  useful  life,  so  might  his 
own  life,  and  the  lives  of  his  de- 
scendants, be  cut  short  in  their 
prime.  Sir  Guy  cowered  beneath 
her  curse,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  his  second  hurried  him  from 
the  field.  He  had  to  hide  himself 
for  the  time,  of  course.  Presently 
he  learned  that  there  was  no  such 
chance  of  pardon  for  his  crime  as 


1865.] 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


347 


lie  had  hoped.  The  childless  dow- 
ager had  thrown  herself  at  the 
King's  feet,  and  Charles,  greatly 
moved,  had  promised  her  justice  in 
the  emphatic  words  of  David,  '  As 
the  Lord  liveth,  before  whom  I 
stand,  the  man  that  hath  done  this 
thing  shall  surely  die.'  Sir  Guy 
Hod  his  country  and  took  refuge  in 
Holland,  tormented  alike  by  the 
bitterness  of  remorse  and  the  fury 
of  vindictive  hatred  towards  the 
sovereign  who  had  refused  to  treat 
his  quarrel  as  a  fair  use  of  the  chi- 
valric  practice  of  private  combat, 
and  dealt  with  him  not  as  a  duel- 
list but  as  a  murderer.  In  Holland 
he  fell  in  with  Puritan  exiles,  who, 
while  not  pretending  to  palliate  his 
crime,  encouraged  and  fostered  his 
lust  for  vengeance  against  the  King 
•who  had  sought  to  punish  it.  Sir 
Guy  became  the  associate  of  Puri- 
tans ;  married  a  daughter  of  one  of 
their  chiefs  ;  and,  while  refusing  to 
lead  the  life  of  an  ascetic,  joined 
heart  and  soul  in  the  wildest  and 
most  wicked  of  their  conspiracies. 

"  The  rebellion  broke  out,  and  Sir 
Guy  Neville  returned  to  England, 
and  joined  the  armies  of  the  Par- 
liament. He  held  a  command  in  a 
force  which  was  operating  in  the 
north  of  Lancashire.  One  day  in- 
formation was  received  through  a 
spy  that  a  messenger  had  been 
sent,  with  a  mounted  escort,  to  con- 
vey despatches  from  the  royal  par- 
tisans in  the  same  quarter  to  the 
Marquess  of  Montrose,  and  Sir  Guy, 
with  his  troop,  was  detached  to  in- 
tercept him. 

"  They  came  up  in  sight  of  the 
escort  a  few  miles  from  hence,  and 
gave  chase.  Seeing  themselves  com- 
pletely outnumbered,  the  Cavaliers 
set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and,  being 
admirably  mounted,  contrived  to 
distance  the  majority  of  their  pur- 
suers. Neville,  with  a  few  of  his 
troopers,  outstripped  the  rest,  and 
pressed  the  fugitives  hard.  Sud- 
denly the  latter  drew  bridle,  turned 
round,  and  rode  full  upon  this  van- 
guard, evidently  intending  to  over- 
power it  before  the  remainder  of 


the  troop  could  come  up.  The 
leader  of  the  Royalists  was  a  very 
young  man,  without  a  beard,  and 
with  a  mustache  almost  silken  in 
softness,  with  slender  form  and 
very  youthful  air  and  figure,  but 
with  the  same  stern  expression,  the 
same  dark  deep-set  eyes  and  black 
eyebrows  that  you  will  recognise  in 
the  portrait  of  Sir  Guy.  His  long 
lovelocks,  which  escaped  from  his 
steel  cap  and  fell  over  his  shoulders, 
were  of  raven  black.  In  a  word, 
we  have  his  portrait ;  to-morrow 
you  shall  see  it.  Flora  resembles 
it  as  much  as  a  girl  may  resemble  a 
man.  The  Cavalier  rode  straight  at 
Neville,  who  was  a  yard  or  so  in  ad- 
vance of  his  foremost  troopers,  and 
swords  were  crossed.  Sir  Guy  was  a 
firstrate  swordsman,  but  in  the  young 
Royalist  he  had  met  his  match  in 
skill  and  courage.  It  was  to  sheer 
strength  that  the  Roundhead  owed 
the  advantage  which  enabled  him 
twice  to  overpower  his  opponent's 
guard,  and  inflict  two  fearful  wounds, 
one  on  the  head,  and  one  on  the 
left  shoulder.  The  Cavaliers,  mean- 
while, had  beaten  back  the  rebels  ; 
two  of  them  rode  to  the  rescue  of 
their  young  chief,  and  it  was  only 
by  a  desperate  exertion  of  his  own 
swordsmanship  and  his  horse's 
power  that  Sir  Guy  evaded  their 
swords,  and  made  good  his  retreat. 
The  remainder  of  his  troopers  were 
now  fast  approaching,  and  the  Cava- 
liers resumed  their  Might,  carrying 
off  with  them  the  victim  of  the 
Puritan's  sword. 

"  The  rebels  continued  the  chase  ; 
and  though  they  were  distanced, 
and  the  turns  and  windings  of  the 
mountain-road  concealed  their  ene- 
my, Neville  was  confident  of  suc- 
cess. He  knew  the  road  —  he 
knew  that  it  led  directly  to  his 
ancestral  home,  and  that  the  fugi- 
tives could  not  go  much  farther 
without  halting,  especially  as  they 
had  to  carry  with  them  a  man,  in 
all  likelihood  mortally  wounded. 
There,  or  at  the  neighbouring  resi- 
dence of  the  clergyman,  they  would 
probably  leave  him.  The  troopers 


348 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


rode  on  rapidly.  They  reached 
the  rectory;  it  was  deserted,  and 
they  searched  it  in  vain.  With 
difficulty  their  captain  restrained 
their  savage  wish  to  fire  the  home 
of  the  man  who  had  been  the 
friend  and  teacher  of  his  youth, 
the  guardian  of  his  brother — now, 
as  Guy  had  learned  from  rumour, 
serving  with  the  King  in  the  south. 
It  was  that  rumour  which  had  de- 
termined Guy  to  seek  service  in 
Lancashire.  The  band  rode  up  to 
Neville  Grange.  The  Cavaliers 
were  not  there  :  they  had  passed 
by,  said  the  one  domestic  who  was 
visible,  at  full  gallop,  and  without 
drawing  bridle.  Guy  looked  at  the 
man  hard  and  sternly,  and  he 
trembled  and  turned  pale  beneath 
that  gaze. 

"  '  Ride  on  in  pursuit,'  said  the 
captain  to  his  lieutenant ;  '  I,  with 
four  men,  stay  here  to  search  the 
house.'  And  he  dismounted  and 
entered  the  house.  The  servant 
followed  him,  with  voluble  pro- 
tests that  no  one  had  crossed  the 
threshold  except  the  aged  clergy- 
man, who  had  consented  to  take 
charge  of  it,  since  Master  Philip 
had  quitted  it  to  join  the  King. 
Guy  cast  a  hasty  glance  over  the 
lower  rooms  and  then  passed  on 
up-stairs.  The  servant  accompanied 
him  in  ever-increasing  terror,  which 
might,  however,  be  attributed  to  the 
fact  that  two  troopers  followed  him 
with  loaded  carbines,  and  two  others 
held  theirs  at  full-cock  pointed  at 
either  side  of  his  shaking  head. 
Passing  through  room  after  room 
Neville  paused  at  the  door  of  that 
you  are  to  sleep  in  to-night.  It  look- 
ed then  much  as  it  looks  now,  save 
that  where  this  window  is  was  then 
a  panel  of  the  oak  which  lines  the 
rest  of  the  wall.  The  door  was 
half-open,  and  Guy  entered.  A 
stain  on  the  bare  floor  caught  his 
eye.  He  stooped  and  touched  it 
with  his  hand. 

' '  Blood  ! '  he  said,  sharply ;  but 
he  said  no  more.  He  asked  no 
question.  He  strode  straight  to 
the  fireplace;  and,  putting  forth 


his  right  hand,  touched  a  part  of 
the  panel  where  that  window  is 
now  placed.  The  troopers  stared. 
He  pressed  it  hard;  still  harder 
did  they  stare,  while  the  servant 
stood  with  his  eyes  almost  starting 
from  his  head,  gazing  in  mute  and 
motionless  terror  on  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  unknown  intruder. 

"  '  Bring  your  carbines  here,  three 
of  you ! '  said  Sir  Guy,  in  a  low 
tone.  '  One  of  you  keep  his  at 
that  rascal's  ear,  and  blow  out  his 
brains  if  he  speaks.  Now,  bring 
the  butts  to  bear  one  above  the 
other  in  a  line  with  my  hand  ; 
knock  me  this  panel  in.'  The 
soldiers  looked  at  each  other, 
clearly  thinking  their  leader  mad. 
Why  should  he  choose  to  try  to 
knock  to  pieces  this  part  of  the 
wall  rather  than  another !  Never- 
theless they  obeyed.  The  carbine- 
butts  went  with  full  force  against 
the  oak  panelling  ;  a  hollow  sound 
was  returned.  They  struck  again 
with  all  the  strength  they  could 
muster.  A  sound  of  crashing  wood 
followed ;  the  panel  was  broken. 
Still  it  held  its  place,  until  Sir  Guy 
thrust  his  arm  through  the  hole 
broken  in  by  a  carbine  blow,  and 
drew  a  bolt.  A  shot  was  fired  from 
the  other  side;  and,  as  he  drew 
back  his  broken  wrist,  the  panel 
gave  way  and  fell  before  the  re- 
newed blows  of  the  troopers. 

"  A  secret  room,  or  rather  closet, 
stood  open,  just  above  our  heads. 
Opposite  the  door  was  a  pallet,  by 
the  side  of  which  a  light  was  burn- 
ing. Beside  this  pallet  knelt  an 
aged  man  in  the  robes  of  a  priest, 
his  back  to  the  intruders';  upon  it 
lay  a  youth,  his  head  bandaged, 
his  shirt  blood-stained,  his  face 
livid  with  the  hue  of  approaching 
death,  and  yet  grasping  a  smoking 
pistol  in  his  right  hand.  Guy 
Neville  recognised  the  adversary 
with  whom  he  had  crossed  swords 
an  hour  before.  He  recognised 
more.  He  grew  suddenly  pale,  and 
staggered  back  :  he  strove  an  in- 
stant for  utterance.  A  look  of  sur- 
prise, anguish,  and  horror,  but  also 


18G5.] 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


54!) 


of  recognition,  crossed  the  face  of 
the  dying  man.  An  exclamation 
rose  to  his  parted  lips  ;  but  ere 
it  was  uttered,  ere  Gluy  could  re- 
cover breath,  a  ball  from  one  of  the 
carbines  crashed  through  the  ban- 
daged head,  and  the  Cavalier,  with- 
out a  word  or  a  groan,  fell  back — 
dead. 

"  Paralysed  with  horror,  the  frat- 
ricide stood  on  the  threshold  of  the 
death-chamber.  His  staring  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  corpse,  his 
hand  had  fallen  by  his  side,  the 
pain  of  his  wound  unfelt,  his  very 
senses  frozen  with  the  terror  that 
had  stricken  him  to  the  soul.  He 
was  wakened  to  consciousness  by  a 
voice  that  lie  knew  well,  speaking 
in  tones  of  prophetic  denunciation 
that  pierced  the  conscience  of  the 
assassin.  The  aged  priest — his  tutor 
— had  risen,  and  confronted  the 
startled  troopers  and  their  cower- 
ing chief. 

"  '  So,  Guy  Neville,  rebel  to  thy 
King,  recreant  to  thy  God,  mur- 
derer of  thy  brother  !  is  it  thus  we 
meet  for  the  last  time  ]  Go  hence  : 
the  curse  of  Cain  is  upon  thee,  and 
the  measure  of  thy  crimes  is  not 
yet  full.' 

"He  passed  out,  untouched  by  the 
troopers,  holding  his  robes  together 
lest  the  murderer's  touch  should 
pollute  them.  Guy  Neville  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot  till  the  old  man 
was  gone.  Then  he  turned — fled 
from  the  chamber  and  from  the 
house,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
none  knew  whither. 

"  Fifteen  years  later,  an  old  and 
worn  man,  a  young  Avoman,  and 
an  infant,  arrived  late  one  night, 
and  took  possession  of  the  Grange. 
They  were  all  dressed  in  deep 
mourning  ;  the  father,  wife,  and 
child  of  a  second  Philip  Neville, 
the  heir  of  the  race,  who  had  just 
perished  in  a  drunken  brawl.  The 
widow  and  orphan  were  lodged  in 
the  most  distant  quarter  of  the 
house  ;  the  old  man,  aged  in  middle 
life,  occupied  the  chamber  that 
opened  into  the  secret  room.  They 
sought  him  the  next  day ;  his 


chamber  was  vacant.  One  old 
servant  of  the  house,  who  alone 
knew  the  secret  of  the  panel,  en- 
tered the  hiding-place  whither  a 
brother  had  led  his  brother's  mur- 
derers. There  lay  Sir  Guy,  on  the 
bed  on  which  that  corpse  had  lain, 
still  spotted  with  blood.  There 
was  no  si^n  of  violence  on  his  per- 
son, but  he  was  dead.  Nothing  to 
account  for  his  death,  but  the  ex- 
pression of  mortal  terror  on  a  coun- 
tenance that  had  never  blanched 
in  the  face  of  battle  ;  the  features 
convulsed  with  such  an  agony  of 
fear  as  might  well  suifice  to  kill. 
The  dead  body  lay  in  state,  and  the 
trembling  peasantry  and  the  horror- 
struck  yeomen,  who  looked  upon  it, 
whispered  one  another  that  only 
some  fearful  visitant  from  another 
world  could  have  wrought  on  those 
iron  nerves  the  terror  which  had 
driven  the  blood-stained  soul  from 
a  frame  still  erect  and  vigorous. 
And  it  is  an  accepted  creed  among 
their  descendants  to  this  day,  that 
either  his  brother's  spirit,  or  some 
yet  more  terrible  apparition,  had 
come  to  summon  the  fratricide  to 
his  last  account." 

I  listened  in  silence.  Charles 
told  the  story  with  a  faith  that  im- 
posed upon  and  awed  me,  and  I 
have  since  satisfied  myself  that  it 
is  as  true  as  documentary  history 
can  make  it  ;  that  Sir  Guy  really 
caused  his  brother's  death,  and 
really  died  in  that  chamber  of 
terror — the  terror  of  a  guilty  con- 
science or  a  ghostly  vision. 

I  once  spoke  with  a  young  Crim- 
ean soldier  of  his  feelings  under  fire; 
a  man  of  whose  physical  courage  no 
one  who  looks  in  his  face  could 
doubt.  Speaking  lightly  of  mus- 
ketry and  of  round  shot,  he  con- 
fessed his  horror  of  shells  in  the 
naive  expression  :  "  I  never  became 
so  used  to  them  but  that  I  let  my 
cigar  out  when  they  passed  over  my 
head."  So  did  my  extinct  Cabana 
bear  witness  to  the  effect  of  the 
Neville  legend.  It  was  a  minute 
or  two  before  I  could  shake  off  the 
spell  sufficiently  to  light  a  second. 


350 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


"  Some  unbeliever  in  ghosts  re- 
marks," I  observed,  "  that  when- 
ever a  man  really  believes  that  he 
sees  a  visitor  from  another  world, 
either  his  life  or  his  reason  gives 
way.  If  this  be  so,  it  is  nowise 
wonderful  that  the  vision  of  his 
brother's  ghost  should  frighten  to 
death  your  amiable  ancestor." 

"  Don't  jest  with  my  tale,"  said 
Charlie,  somewhat  displeased.  "  If 
you  don't  believe  it,  I  do  ;  and  on 
ample  evidence." 

"One  sometimes  jests  with  things 
that  are  too  terrible  to  be  seriously 
contemplated,  just  by  force  of  re- 
action," I  replied.  ''  Hence  it  is 
that  the  two  most  awful  ideas 
known  to  man — Death  and  Satan 
— are  most  frequently  the  themes 
of  jest,  even  to  those  who  believe 
in  the  one  as  heartily  as  when  they 
realise  it  they  dread  the  other." 

After  a  pause.  Charles  said  : 

"  I  have  never  thought  that  the 
sight  of  a  ghost,  apart  from  the 
horror  which  may  environ  an  evil 
spirit  or  a  bad  conscience,  would 
be  terrible.  On  the  contrary,  I 
have  often  longed  to  see  one — one 
that  I  knew — as  a  proof  that  would 
set  at  rest  for  ever  all  doubts  con- 
cerning the  future.  I  have  great 
sympathy  with  those  bargains  be- 
tween friends  of  which  we  hear  in 
legend,  that  the  soul  of  the  one 
first  deceased  should  return  to  warn 
the  survivor." 

"I  doubt,"  I  answered,  "whether 
a  ghost  would  serve  your  purpose. 
From  the  days  of  Homer  down  to 
these,  men  have  seen  ghosts  from 
time  to  time.  But  they  have  all 
been  alike.  What  are  Homer's  in- 
habitants of  Hades  but  ghosts,  as 
they  are  seen  of  ghost-seers — empty 
phantoms  without  sense  or  speech, 
rather  the  shadows  than  the  spirits 
of  the  departed,  whose  form  they 
assume  1  And  who  that  should 
collect  his  idea  of  a  future  existence 
from  the  ghosts  that  have  been  seen 
of  men — wandering  about  church- 
yards, gibbering  over  buried  trea- 
sures, haunting  the  scenes  of  crimes 
done  or  suffered — to  say  nothing 


of  those  which  rap  out  bad  verses 
and  bad  grammar  by  the  aid  of  ill- 
educated  tables — but  would  echo 
with  sad  foreboding  the  wish  of  the 
dead  Achilles  : — 

"  Make    not    light    of  death,   I    beseech 

thee,  gallant  Odysseus. 
Fain   would  I,   still  living  on   earth,    be 

slave  to  another, 
Slave    to    a  landless  master  with  scanty 

store  of  subsistence, 
Rather  than   reign  below,  a  prince  of  the 

dead  that  are  perished." 

"  You  ought  not  to  confound  the 
seen  ghosts  with  the  table-rapping 
phenomena.  Whether  human  or 
not,  the  agency  of  the  latter  is  cer- 
tainly not  sM^e-rhuman.  Now,  the 
ghosts  that  are  seen  may  be  all 
that  we  could  wish  to  be  as  spirits, 
wanting  nothing  but  the  power  of 
communicating  with  us,  and  that 
through  our  deficiency,  not  through 
theirs.  As  to  their  occupations,  do 
they  not  agree  exactly  with  what 
philosophy  would  suggest  as  the 
future  fate  of  those  who,  while  on 
earth,  had  no  ideas  above  or  beyond 
the  best  of  earth's  pursuits]" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  I  won't  debate 
the  philosophy  of  Mr  Owen,  or  the 
evidences  of  Mrs  Crowe,  after  sun- 
set. If  you  would  like  to  see  a 
ghost,  I  would  not ;  and  he  who 
falls  asleep  talking  of  them  may 
well  meet  one  in  his  dreams.  We 
will  talk  politics  till  our  cigars  go 
out,  and  then  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

But  I  did  not.  My  nerves  were 
too  much  excited  for  sleep.  I  had 
not  spent  an  evening  of  pleasant 
talk  for  a  long  time,  nor  heard  a 
family  legend  before,  as  told  by  a 
firm  believer  in  its  horrors,  and  the 
effect  of  the  double  stimulus  was  to 
render  me  thoroughly  wakeful.  As 
I  took  off  my  coat,  and  looked  for 
a  peg  to  hang  or  a  chair  to  lay  it  on, 
my  eye  was  caught  by  a  garment 
hung  in  one  corner — it  was  a  lady's 
shawl.  Then  one  of  the  drawers 
which  I  opened,  in  order  to  deposit 
the  contents  of  my  valise,  was  full 
of  those  pretty  feminine  trifles  which 
seem  to  a  bachelor  so  mysterious 
and  so  charming — sleeves  and  col- 


1865.1 


Guy  Neville'*  Ghost. 


551 


lars,  and  needlework  that  did  not 
seem  intended  for  either.  It. shows 
strongly  the  innate  grace  of  woman 
that  she  should  spend  so  much  art 
and  labour  in  rendering  ornamental 
what  is  never  to  be  seen  ;  and  this 
trait  alone  should  dispose  of  the 
slander  that  women  dress  only  to 
fascinate  men.  A  pincushion  here, 
an  unfinished  fragment  of  work 
there,  a  general  prettiness  and  taste- 
ful arrangement  of  the  whole,  proved 
to  me  that  I  occupied  a  lady's  room. 
"  Whose  I  If  any  of  the  family  have 
sole  possession  of  this  room,  it  must 
be  the  eldest  daughter.  I  have, 
therefore,  ousted  Flora  from  her 
apartment.  I  hope  she  does  not 
dislike  a  change  as  much  a-s  I  do. 
I  think  I  should  be  glad,  however, 
to  escape  the  gloom  of  these  panelled 
walls  and  oaken  ceiling,  and  the 
eyes  of  that  portrait,  which  follow 
one  everywhere."  And  here  my 
observations  brought  me  face  to 
face  with  the  picture  of  Sir  Guy 
Neville.  Painted  in  his  youth,  it 
nevertheless  betrayed,  or  I  fancied 
in  its  expression,  the  passions  which 
blasted  his  life.  The  dark,  deep- 
set  eyes  spoke  at  once  of  fiery  spirit 
and  of  iron  will ;  the  mouth,  despite 
the  mustache  which  half -hid  it, 
betrayed  in  the  fulness  of  the  under 
lip  the  vehemence  of  passion,  and 
in  the  curved  upper  lip  the  scornful 
impatience  of  control  which  made 
that  passion  his  master.  In  a  word, 
the  face  was  one  in  which  a  glance 
could  detect  a  nature  which  would 
hardly  be  held  within  the  bounds 
of  law,  either  by  conscience  or  by 
fear  ;  which  would  never  know  how 
to  forego  a  purpose  or  forgive  an 
injury.  I  gazed  long  upon  the  por- 
trait, and  then  turned  away.  I 
have  said  that  it  hung  over  the  fire- 
place, and,  therefore,  beside  the 
strange  window  that  had  once  been 
the  secret  door.  I  took  up  a  book, 
•wrapped  a  dressing-gown  about  me, 
and  sat  down  in  a  rocking-chair  by 
the  grate,  to  read.  I  sat  on  one 
side,  so  as  to  have  the  window  on 
my  right  hand,  and  my  eyes  directed 
away  from  it.  I  read  for  some  few 


minutes  before  I  began  to  feel  un- 
comfortable. An  impression  that  1 
was  not  alone — a  nervous  horror,  as 
of  the  presence  of  some  unseen  evil 
— gained  so  powerful  a  hold  of  my 
senses,  that  for  some  time  I  could 
not  resolve  to  move  or  look  around. 
Some  at  least  of  my  readers  will 
recognise  the  sensation.  When  I 
did  move  by  a  strong  effort,  I  turned 
my  eyes  full  upon  the  window, 
smiling  at  my  own  folly,  while  1 
avoided  the  h'xed  look  with  which 
the  portrait  seemed  to  haunt  me. 
My  reason  contemptuously  assured 
my  shrinking  nerves  that  there  was 
nothing  there;  that  1  should  turn 
only  to  look  upon  vacant  darkness. 

Wrong  !  what  are  these  eyes  fixed 
on  mine  with  no  painted  stare  ? 
what  is  this  face,  on  a  level  with 
my  own,  and  almost  within  reach 
of  my  hand,  between  which  and  me 
is  nothing  but  a  thin  sheet  of  glass? 
There,  at  the  window,  rose  the  head 
and  bust  of  Sir  Guy  Neville,  each 
feature  the  exact  semblance  of  the 
portrait,  with  pale,  terror-stricken 
countenance,  and  dark  piercing  eyes 
gazing  in  horror  upon  me,  as  they 
had  gazed  on  that  vision  which 
scared  his  soul  from  her  habitation  ! 
For  a  time,  which  could  not  be 
counted  by  moments,  I  sat  fascin- 
ated, paralysed,  my  sight  fixed  upon 
those  spectral  eyes  that  glared  into 
mine.  For  an  instant  I  regained 
will  enough  to  hide  my  face  with 
my  hand.  When  I  looked  again 
the  spectre  had  vanished.  At  that 
moment  a  sound  which  broke  the 
dead  silence  of  night  startled  me, 
and  made  me  spring  to  my  feet, 
trembling  in  every  limb.  It  was 
the  stroke  of  the  clock,  which,  from 
the  neighbouring  church,  rang  out 
the  signal  of  midnight.  I  heard 
that,  and  for  a  long  time  I  saw  and 
heard  no  more. 

When  I  woke  from  that  trance, 
or  swoon — for  I  have  no  idea  of  the 
nature  of  the  insensibility  that  had 
fallen  upon  me  —  my  candle  was 
flickering  in  the  socket,  and  my 
teeth  chattered,  and  my  limbs  shook 
with  cold.  Happily  for  me  there 


352 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


was  a  nightlight  in  the  room ; 
I  lighted  that,  mechanically  un- 
dressed, and  crept  beneath  the 
blankets.  I  looked  at  my  watch 
as  I  took  it  off  :  it  was  two  in  the 
morning.  Strange  as  it  may  seem, 
I  was  scarcely  in  bed  before  I  fell 
asleep. 

I  was  wakened  from  a  dreamless 
rest  by  Charlie's  emphatic  summons, 
and  had  to  dress  myself  with  a  haste 
which  left  no  time  for  reflection 
over  the  horror  of  the  night.  I  was 
startled,  however,  when  I  looked  in 
the  glass,  by  the  ghastly  pallor  of 
my  face,  and  was  conscious  of  sen- 
sations of  mental  exhaustion  and 
bodily  pain  such  as  often  follow  a 
day  of  severe  toil  and  exposure,  but 
rarely  trouble  us  when  we  wake 
from  a  rest  however  short.  When 
I  joined  the  family  at  breakfast, 
Mrs  Neville  almost  started  as  she 
greeted  me,  and  Charlie  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  old  fellow,  you  look  like  a 
ghost ! "  I  could  not  repress  a 
shudder  at  the  word,  and  Annie 
asked,  laughingly,  "  Did  you  meet 
one  in  the  ruins  last  night  ] "  "  Not 
in  the  ruins,"  I  answered,  half  un- 
consciously. By  this  time  the  at- 
tention of  the  whole  party  was  fixed 
upon  me,  and  I  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  rouse  myself,  and  shake  off 
my  absence  of  mind  and  the  sense 
of  gloom  and  terror  that  hung  over 
me.  Annie  had  ventured  another 
question,  but  was  silenced  by  her 
mother,  and  Charles,  to  relieve  him- 
self from  the  general  feeling  of 
curiosity  and  embarrassment,  took 
up  the  newspaper  of  the  previous 
day,  which  the  post  had  brought  in 
time  for  their  breakfast.  I  forced 
myself  to  look  up,  and  attend  to 
what  was  going  on.  Flora  was  tea- 
maker,  and  I  held  out  my  hand  to 
take  a  cup  from  hers.  In  doing  so 
I  felt  that  her  wrist  trembled  so 
that  she  could  hardly  hold  it ;  and, 
looking  in  her  face,  I  saw  an  ex- 
pression of  alarm  and  dismay,  where 
yesterday  there  had  been  only  un- 
easiness and  perplexity.  Certainly 
she  feared  something,  and  the  danger 
had  come  nearer.  The  ghost  could 


have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was 
a  very  earthly  fear  that  troubled 
that  sweet  face.  Suddenly  Charlie 
uttered  an  exclamation,  and  read 
the  following  paragraph  from  the 
newspaper  : — 

"  Captain  Monthermer,  — th  Hus- 
sars, was  tried  on  the  10th  July  by 
court-martial,  for  disobedience  to 
orders  and  insulting  his  superior 
officer  on  parade.  The  court  as- 
sembled at  Meerut,  under  the  pre- 
sidency of  Colonel .  Captain 

Monthermer  was  found  guilty,  and 
sentenced  to  be  dismissed  her  Ma- 
jesty's service.  The  sentence  has 
been  confirmed  by  the  Commander- 
in-Chief." 

I  noticed  the  deep  colour  that 
came  over  Flora's  face  as  this  was 
read,  and  comments  were  made 
upon  it  by  Annie,  Mrs  Neville, 
and  Charles.  Certainly,  I  thought, 
this  is  no  news  to  Flora,  and  it 
has  some  painful  interest  for  her. 
Does  she  know  this  scapegrace  1 
Surely  not ;  she  was  a  mere  infant 
when  he  quarrelled  with  her  father. 

After  breakfast,  Charlie  summon- 
ed me  to  join  him  in  a  cigar.  I 
could  not  repress  a  shudder  as  we 
came  to  the  very  spot  where  we 
had  sat  the  night  before,  just  iinder 
the  haunted  window. 

"  What's  the  matter  1 "  said  he, 
in  surprise.  "  It  is  not  cold.  And 
you  look  as  pale  as  a  ghost,  or  as 
if  you  had  seen  one.  Did  my  story 
spoil  your  night's  rest  1 " 

"Its  hero  did,"  said  I,  trying 
to  smile.  "Don't  laugh  at  rne, 
Charlie,  and  don't  be  in  a  hurry  to 
attribute  what  I  tell  you  to  my  own 
fancy.  Hundreds  of  times  have  I 
sat  at  night  recalling  much  more 
horrible  stories,  and  expecting  when 
I  looked  up  to  see  some  frightful 
spectre  with  its  eyes  glaring  into 
mine  :  and  yet  never  has  my  im- 
agination painted  a  visible  form 
upon  the  darkness.  But  last  night 
I  saw  at  that  window  the  ghost  of 
Sir  Guy,  the  exact  semblance  of 
the  picture  over  the  mantelpiece ; 
ay,  saw  it  as  distinctly  as  I  see 
you  now ;  and  that  with  a  light 


1865.] 


Guy  Neville  i  Ghost. 


3.-J3 


burning  by  my  side,  bright  enough 
to  read  a  penny  newspaper  by." 

"The  deuce  you  did!  Are  you 
sure  you  were  not  dreaming  J" 

"  I  had  a  book  in  my  hand,  and 
had  just  looked  up  from  it.  I  was 
as  wide  awake  as  you  were  when 
you  told  me  the  story." 

"  Sir  Guy's  ghost  was  never  seen 
by  a  stranger  before,  and  but  once  or 
twice  by  the  men  of  our  own  family. 
Are  you  certain  it  was  that  face, 
and  that  your  imagination  did  not 
lead  you  to  attribute  to  some  in- 
tending robber  the  features  of  Sir 
Guy,  whose  image  just  then  tilled 
your  mind  {" 

"  I  am  as  certain  of  the  face  as 
that  I  saw  the — thing  at  all.  Fea- 
ture for  feature,  it  was  the  face  of 
the  portrait,  save  that  it  lacked  the 
long  (lowing  hair,  and  seemed  some- 
what older.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
observed  it  attentively,  but  it  burnt 
itself  into  my  memory  in  that  mo- 
ment ;  and  if  I  were  a  painter  I 
could  draw  it  line  for  line,  with 
the  very  expression  of  horror,  or  of 
consternation,  that  it  wore.  I  may, 
though  I  feel  assured  that  I  was 
not,  have  been  deceived  altogether. 
It  may  have  been  a  spectral  illusion, 
the  vision  of  a  diseased  brain.  But 
if  I  saw  anything  1  saw  what  I  have 
described.  Besides,  who  could  have 
climbed  to  that  window  and  not 
have  been  torn  down  by  your  dog  .' 
Caesar  was  loose." 

"  Strange — very  strange,"  observ- 
ed Charles,  musingly.  "  How  was  he 
dressed  T' 

"In  black  ;  at  least  perfect  black- 
ness surrounded  the  face.  That  was 
all  I  observed.  It  is  folly  to  talk 
of  the  dress  of  a  ghost."  I  said  this 
a  little  angrily.  I  was  quite  cer- 
tain that  1  had  seen,  and  not  fan- 
cied the  apparition — that  it  had 
really  been  there,  and  that  it  was 
no  ordinary  denizen  of  this  world. 

Charlie  did  not  answer,  and  we 
smoked  on  in  silence.  After  some 
ten  minutes  he  threw  away  his  cigar 
and  rose. 

"  I  am  going  over  to  Crosth- 
waite's.  1  should  like  to  know 


who  was  the  guest  we  saw  yester- 
day. My  mind  misgives  me,  now 
that  I  know  that  Guy  Monthermer 
is  in  England.  Will  you  come  with 
me  j" 

"  Gladly,"  I  answered,  as  we  went 
off  together.  "  But  what  should 
bring  Monthermer  here?  The  place 
has  few  attractions  for  one  excluded 
from  Neville  Grange. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  for  if  he 
is  here  you  may  render  assistance 
in  getting  rid  of  him,  or  in  keeping 
the  watch  on  him,  which  I  must 
maintain.  Guy  has  inherited,  ap- 
parently, the  romantic  temper  and 
ungovernable  passions  of  our  an- 
cestor— whom,  by  the  way,  he  re- 
sembles exceedingly  in  personal  ap- 
pearance. His  mother  and  great- 
grandmother  were  both  Nevilles, 
descendants  of  Sir  Guy,  and  mem- 
bers of  our  own  house.  Early  left 
an  orphan,  my  father  brought  him 
up,  till  he  was  about  eighteen. 
Flora,  then  a  little  girl  in  short 
frocks,  was  his  especial  favourite, 
and  was  warmly  attached  to  him  ; 
and  the  quarrel  which  separated 
him  from  our  family  affected  her 
so  much,  child  as  she  was,  that  she 
became  seriously  ill.  About  three 
years  and  a  half  ago  she  was  stay- 
ing with  a  relative  in  Liverpool, 
and  Monthermer's  regiment  was 
quartered  there.  He,  being  un- 
known except  by  name  to  my  aunt, 
met  Flora  more  than  once  at  the 
houses  of  friends,  and  I  fear  in  her 
walks  ;  and  both  of  them  persuaded 
themselves  that  the  love  they  had 
felt  for  each  other  in  their  child- 
hood had  ripened  into  passionate 
attachment.  Before  they  were  se- 
parated, some  rash  pledge  had 
passed  between  them.  Flora  was 
brought  home,  and  gradually  seem- 
ed to  forget  this  bit  of  romance,  as 
we  forbore  to  allude  to  it,  and  took 
it  for  granted  that  nothing  of  a  se- 
rious kind  had  occurred.  But  she 
has  seen  no  one  comparable  to  Guy 
in  personal  beauty,  intellectual  bril- 
liancy, or  romantic  humour,  since 
her  return  home  :  her  quiet  life  in 
this  secluded  place  has  been  but 


Guy  Neville's  Ghost. 


[March, 


too  likely  to  leave  her  time  to  dwell 
on  the  one  interesting  episode  in 
her  life.  If  she  and  Montherraer 
were  to  meet  again,  one  interview 
would  fix  his  hold  on  her  imagina- 
tion as  strongly  as  ever.  I  hope  to 
God  that  my  fancy  deceives  me,  and 
that  my  fear  that  Guy  Monthermer 
was  the  man  you  saw  yesterday  even- 
ing just  by  Crosthwaite's  house,  is  as 
unfounded  as  it  seems  improbable." 

We  reached  the  farm,  and  ques- 
tioned the  stout  old  yeoman.  He 
was  very  imcommunicative,  and 
evidently  suspected  that  our  ques- 
tions had  some  unfriendly  purpose. 
Thus  put  on  his  guard,  the  spirit  of 
hospitality  made  him  vigilant  in 
his  guest's  behalf ;  and  we  could 
only  gather  that  a  young  gentleman 
had  been  there  some  days,  and  had 
left  very  early  this  morning — whe- 
ther suddenly  or  not,  we  could  not 
ascertain.  Charles  felt  satisfied  at 
finding  that  the  stranger  was  gone. 
If  he  had  been  Guy  Monthermer,  he 
would  hardly  have  departed  with- 
out seeing  Flora.  I  pondered  and 
debated,  but  came  to  no  conclusion. 

My  visit  was  a  pleasant  one. 
Flora  grew  cheerful  and  at  ease  ; 
she  and  her  sister  were  charming, 
frank,  amusing  companions,  as  free 
from  affected  shyness  as  from  that 
fast  and  forward  manner  which  is 
the  more  popular  and  fashionable 
affectation  of  to-day.  The  children 
were  pleasant  and  well-behaved  ; 
their  mother  kind  and  hospitable  ; 
Charles  as  agreeable  a  companion  as 
ever.  Many  were  our  pleasant  ex- 
cursions ;  incessant  our  conversa- 
tion on  all  subjects,  grave  and  gay, 
that  did  not  partake  of  a  political 
flavour  ;  and  I  never  left  a  friend's 
house  more  reluctantly  than  when 
an  editorial  summons  warned  me 
that  I  had  overstayed  my  leave  at 
Neville  Grange.  I  certainly  slept 
more  soundly  at  home  ;  but,  though 
expected  with  fear  and  trembling, 
the  ghost  never  again  appeared  at 
the  window,  or  entered  the  haunt- 
ed chamber. 

Next  May  I  ran  up  to  London, 
to  visit  theatres  and  exhibitions, 


and  enjoy  three  days  of  dissipa- 
tion. On  the  morning  before  my 
return,  I  entered  the  rooms  of  the 
Royal  Academy.  I  had  looked  at 
a  dozen  of  the  most  bepraised  and 
best-abused  pictures,  when,  hanging 
just  above  the  line,  a  striking  por- 
trait caught  <my  eye.  I  staggered 
against  an  elderly  gentleman,  whose 
gouty  foot  was  unhappily  next  to 
me ;  his  lusty  curses  restored  me 
to  myself,  and  I  gazed  again  at  the 
picture  with  more  self-possession. 
Above  the  collar  of  a  cavalry  uni- 
form, one  sleeve  whereof — of  course 
with  the  arm  in  it — rested  on  the 
saddle  of  a  fine  bay  charger,  looked 
out  right  into  my  eyes  the  face  I 
had  seen  at  the  window  of  Neville 
Grange.  But  not  as  I  should  have 
painted  it.  The  features  were  the 
same ;  but  they  were  calm  and 
stern,  save  that  the  upper  lip  seem- 
ed to  curl  slightly,  as  with  the  ex- 
pression of  habitual  pride.  The 
same  eyes  gazed  into  mine ;  but 
the  expression  was  no  longer  that 
which  they  had  borne  on  that 
terrible  night.  Then,  they  were 
full  of  a  terror  which  overspread 
the  whole  countenance  ;  now,  they 
looked  forth  with  a  glance  of  scorn- 
ful fire.  The  picture  was  that  of  a 
soldier  on  the  instant  before  bat- 
tle ;  it  bore  no  other  title  than 
"  An  Officer/'  and  the  catalogue 
gave  the  name  of  an  artist  just  de- 
ceased. I  had  no  clue  to  the  indi- 
viduality of  the  figure  ;  was  it  per- 
chance a  fancy  sketch  by  one  who 
had  seen  the  portrait  of  Sir  Guy 
Neville  1  I  could  not  tell. 

I  visited  Chester  on  my  way 
back,  having  business  with  the 
editor  of  a  county  paper.  On  re- 
turning to  the  station  I  had  some 
half  an  hour  to  wait,  and  I  strolled 
up  and  down  the  platform.  A  train 
came  up  from  Liverpool,  and  out 
of  it  flowed  a  stream  of  passengers. 
A  young  lady  was  left  standing  by 
the  carriage,  whence  her  companion 
had  gone  in  quest  of  their  luggage. 
As  she  turned  her  face  towards  me 
I  recognised  Flora  Neville. 

She  saw  me,  and  coloured  and 


1865.] 


Guy  Xevilk'a  Ghost. 


355 


trembled  violently.  I  was  greatly 
surprised,  but  advanced  to  speak  to 
her.  She  gave  me  her  hand  me- 
chanically, and  strove  to  answer 
my  greeting,  but  in  vain. 

"  How  comes  it  that  I  meet  you 
here,  Miss  Neville  I"  I  asked.  "  I 
understood  from  Charlie  that  you 
had  been  in  Liverpool,  but  were  to 
return  to  the  north  to-day.  Are 
you  paying  a  visit  to  Chester,  or 
going  on  elsewhere  I  " 

My  questions  seemed  to  trouble 
Flora  extremely.  But  I  had  not 
time  for  surprise  or  conjecture.  A 
figure  was  coming  towards  us,  with 
a  large  portmanteau  in  one  hand 
and  a  carpet-bag  in  the  other.  It 
was  my  turn  to  tremble,  and,  if  not 
to  colour,  to  turn  very  faint  and 
very  pale.  Unspiritual  as  his  pre- 
sent occupation  was,  I  saw  there 
not  only  the  original  of  the  Aca- 
demic portrait,  but  the  very  face 
that  had  gazed  in  upon  me  through 
the  window  of  Neville  Orange. 
Again  an  expression  of  dismay, 
though  far  less  intense  than  then, 
overspread  that  face  as  its  owner 
recognised  me.  But  his  approach 
restored  to  Flora  the  self-possession 
which  had  deserted  both  of  us. 
Turning  round,  and  fairly  looking 
me  i«i  the  face,  with  a  blush  and  a 
smile,  she  said : 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  my  hus- 
band, Guy  Monthermer ! " 

It  flashed  across  me  at  once.  I 
had  heard  from  Charles  three  days 
before,  and  not  a  word  of  this  mar- 
riage ;  nay,  words  which  distinctly 
implied  that  Flora  was  returning 
home.  Instead  of  doing  so,  she 
had  turned  off,  by  appointment,  at 
some  point  on  her  route ;  met  Mon- 
thermer, and  married  him,  having 
gained  in  this  manner  a  full  day's 
start  of  all  pursuit.  I  looked  grave- 
ly at  Monthermer. 

"  Come,  sir,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  my  look,  "  be  just  to  us  both.  I 
was  a  hot-headed  youngster  when  I 
quarrelled  with  her  father  ;  on  that 
account  I  knew  it  was  hopeless  to 
ask  the  consent  of  her  family  :  on 
that  and  others,  if  you  will.  I  have 


done  many  foolish  things,  but  never 
anything  that  should  make  a  gentle- 
man blush  for  himself,  or  a  woman 
weep  for  him.  I  have  loved  her 
since  she  was  a  child  ;  she  has  loved 
me  for  nearly  five  years."  Flora 
pressed  his  arm.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  me,  and  her  eyes  were 
looking  up  into  his.  He  went  on  : 

l>  I  met  her  again  last  autumn,  at 
great  risk,  in  her  own  home.  We 
should  then  have  concerted  our 
marriage  but  for  you.  I  had  only 
ventured  to  see  her  at  night,  for 
there  were  too  many  about  who 
knew  my  person,  and  would  have 
recognised  me  instantly  had  they 
seen  me  by  day.  {Several  nights  in 
succession  had  I  climbed  the  wall 
and  spoken  with  Flora  through  the 
single  pane  of  that  window  which 
opens  with  a  rustic  latch.  One 
day,  when  I  had  ventured  down 
into  the  valley,  I  saw  at  a  distance 
young  Neville  returning  from  a 
drive  ;  I  hastened  home,  but  was 
still  in  sight  as  he  drove  by.  That 
night  I  postponed  my  visit  to  Flora's 
window  later  than  usual  :  it  was 
midnight  when  I  climbed  to  my 
accustomed  place  —  the  dog,  who 
had  been  civil  to  me  from  the  first, 
evidently  understanding  that  1  did 
not  belong  to  the  usual  order  of 
trespassers,  remaining  silent — and 
was  about  to  tap  at  the  window, 
when  I  recognised  a  stranger — a 
man — in  Flora's  usual  seat.  The 
blood  rushed  back  to  my  heart,  and 
I  nearly  fell  ;  he  shrank  as  if  he 
had  seen  a  spectre,  and  covered  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  1  recovered 
my  presence  of  mind,  dropped  in- 
stantly to  the  ground,  ran  home, 
and  left  at  daylight.  Some  days 
afterwards  I  received  a  letter  from 
Flora,  in  which  she  gave  me  a 
graphic  account — derived  froin  her 
brother — of  your  ghostly  vision. 
Heartily  I  laughed  over  our  mutual 
terror,  mine  of  a  spy,  and  yours  of 
a  spectre." 

"  Then  it  was  no  visitant  from 
another  world  I  saw  that  night  ?  it 
was — you  were — 

"  I  was  Guy  Xevillc's  Ghost." 


356 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


[March, 


ETONIANA,    ANCIENT   AND   MODERN. 


THE  briefest  notice  of  the  Eto- 
nians of  the  eighteenth  century 
would  imply  a  biographical  diction- 
ary of  half  the  distinguished  names 
in  Church  and  State.  It  is  only 
some  few,  whose  school -days  are 
best  known  to  us,  that  must  find 
record  here.  Their  maturer  fame 
is  written  in  English  history ;  it  is 
in  the  few  and  scattered  memorials 
of  their  boyhood  that  our  special 
interest  lies. 

Foremost  of  such  names  should 
stand  Horace  Walpole ;  sprung  from 
an  Etonian  family,  he  was  all  his 
life  an  Etonian,  heart  and  soul. 
That  fact  alone  should  save  him 
from  the  charge  of  heartlessness. 
Like  his  great  father,  he  never  for- 
got an  Eton  schoolfellow.  His  re- 
ferences to  the  old  school-times 
have  a  sort  of  self-accusing  pathos, 
as  if  he  felt  that  he  was  not  growing 
wiser  as  he  grew  older,  and  that 
the  world  of  folly  and  fashion  was 
hardening  a  kindly  heart.  "  The 
playing-fields  of  Eton  "  are  his  no- 
tion of  a  lost  paradise.  "  An  ex- 
pedition against  bargemen"  (so 
early  were  those  hereditary  feuds), 
"  or  a  match  at  cricket,"  were  worth 
all  the  pleasures  of  riper  ambition. 
"Alexander,  at  the  head  of  the 
world,  never  tasted  the  true  plea- 
sure that  boys  enjoy  at  the  head  of 
a  public  school."  Cambridge  was 
a  wilderness  to  him,  compared  with 
the  "  dear  scene"  he  had  left.  How 
could  Gray  "  live  so  near  it,  with- 
out seeing  it "  1  He  was  at  Eton 
nearly  seven  years;  being  entered 
at  ten  years  old,  under  Bland  as 
head-master,  in  1727,  and  leaving 
for  King's  College  (but  as  a  fellow- 
commoner)  in  1 734.  He  made  many 
friendships  there,  marked  by  some 
of  the  fantastic  romance  of  his  day. 
Gray  was  there  with  him,  quiet 
and  studious,  reading  Virgil  for 
amusement  in  his  play-hours,  writ- 


ing graceful  Latin  verse,  and  al- 
most as  fond  of  Eton  as  him- 
self. With  him  and  with  Richard 
West  and  Thomas  Ashton  (after- 
wards fellow)  Horace  formed  the 
"  quadruple  alliance,"  in  which, 
like  Sir  William  Jones  and  his 
friends  at  Harrow,  they  figured 
under  heroic  names,  and  appear  to 
have  ruled  imaginary  kingdoms. 
Walpole  himself  was  Tydeus ;  Gray, 
Orosmades  ;  Ashton,  Plato  ;  and 
West,  Almanzor.  Then,  again,  he 
was  one  of  another  "triumvirate,"  as 
their  schoolfellows  called  them,  in 
which  he  was  associated  with  George 
and  Henry  Montagu.  His  letter  to 
the  former,  dated  from  "  The  Chris- 
topher," when  he  revisited  Eton 
three  years  after  leaving  school,  is 
one  of  the  most  charming  in  all  his 
pleasant  correspondence,  especially 
as  it  breathes  no  thought  but  of 
kindly  recollections.  Even  the 
memory  of  a  flogging  only  amuses 
him,  as  he  looks  forward  to  hearing 
a  sermon  on  Sunday  from  his  old 
schoolfellow  Ashton,  who,  when  he 
last  saw  him  in  chapel,  was  "  stand- 
ing funking  over  against  a  Conduct 
to  be  catechised,"  and  thinks  he 
"  shall  certainly  be  put  in  the  bill 
for  laughing  in  church." 

Charles  James  Fox  entered  under 
Dr  Barnard  in  1758  ;  Francis,  the 
translator  of  Horace,  being  his  pri- 
vate tutor.  He  was  a  troublesome 
and  irregular  pupil — "more  of  a  mu- 
tineer than  a  courtier,"  says  one 
of  his  contemporaries  ;  yet  he  gave 
out  flashes  of  ability  from  time  to 
time.  He  had  his  father  to  thank 
for  much  irrational  indulgence ;  in 
the  middle  of  his  Eton  career  he 
took  the  boy  off  to  Paris  and  to  Spa 
for  four  months.  He  came  back  to 
school,  as  might  be  expected,  not 
at  all  improved,  "  with  all  the  fop- 
peries and  follies  of  a  young  man." 
It  speaks  volumes  for  the  whole- 


1865.] 


Jftoniana,  Ancient  ami  Modern. — 1'a.rt  II. 


3.r,7 


some  discipline  of  Eton  under  Bar- 
nard, that  the  boys  teased  and 
laughed  at  him,  and  the  Doctor 
took  the  first  opportunity  of  ad- 
ministering a  Hogging.  The  two 
contemporaries  of  Fox  who  most 
distinguished  themselves  in  after 
life  \vere  William  Windham  and 
"William  (afterwards  Lord)  CJren- 
ville  ;  but  no  school  friendship  ap- 
pears to  have  been  formed  between 
them. 

But  the  most  remarkable  scholar 
trained  under  ] laniard,  in  the  re- 
putation of  all  his  Eton  contempo- 
raries, was  one  whose  memorial  has 
almost  perished — Sir  James  Mac- 
donald  of  Sleat.  "  A  miracle  of 
talent,"  George  Hardinge  calls  him, 
who  was  in  the  same  remove,  lie 
came  to  Eton  with  few  previous 
advantages,  but  a  ripe  scholar  in 
almost  every  point  but  Latin  verse. 
Barnard  saw  his  powers  at  once, 
and  placed  him  exceptionally  high 
at  his  entrance.  ''  Boys,"  said  he 
to  the  form,  "  I  am  going  to  put 
over  your  heads  a  boy  who  cannot 
write  a  verse ;  but  I  trust  you — for 
I  know  your  generous  feelings." 
The  result  justified  the  master  in 
every  way.  He  was  "  the  Marcel- 
lus  of  his  day,"  both  at  Eton  and 
at  the  University.  But  he  died 
early,  abroad,  before  his  great  abili- 
ties were  matured. 

Dr  Eoster  entered  upon  his  school 
list,  in  1771,  the  name  of  perhaps 
the  most  elegant  Latin  scholar  whom 
Eton  can  boast.  Richard  Colley 
"Wellesley.  As  Marquess  Welles- 
ley,  he  will  be  long  remembered 
there, not  only  for  the  honour  which 
he  did  the  school,  but  for  the  love 
which  he  bore  it  to  his  dying  day. 
Years  only  strengthened  his  affec- 


tion for  Eton,  and  distance  only 
increased  his  longing  for  the  old 
familiar  scenes.  In  those  inimit- 
able school  exercises  preserved  in 
the  'Mus;u  Etonenses' — the  ode  Ad 
(r'enium  Loci,  the  elegiacs  on  the 
"Willow  of  Babylon,"  or  those  in 
which  he  takes  his  farewell — it  is 
difficult  to  know  whether  to  admire 
most  the  classic  beauty  of  the  verse, 
or  the  tenderness  of  the  feeling.  He 
was  buried  by  his  expressed  wish 
in  the  college  chapel,  where  his 
own  beautiful  Latin  lines*  record 
the  satisfaction  with  which  he  look- 
ed forward  to  resting  there.  Six 
weeping  willows  were  planted  by 
his  request  on  the  river-bank  in 
different  parts  of  the  playing-fields, 
and  a  bench  fixed  at  one  particular 
point  which  commanded  his  favour- 
ite view.  His  younger  brother, 
the  Great  Duke,  was  at  Eton  a  few 
years  afterwards, — a  shy  retiring 
boy,  who  left  the  school  before  he 
had  even  risen  into  the  Fifth  Form, 
and  in  whom  neither  masters  nor 
schoolfellows  seem  to  have  detected 
the  germs  of  future  greatness.  He, 
like  his  brother,  loved  his  old  school, 
and  took  his  two  sons  to  see  the 
place  where  he  had  cut  his  name 
on  the  kitchen-door  of  his  dame's 
house. 

Kichard  Porson  was  a  contempo- 
rary of  Lord  Wellesley,  entering  as 
a  colleger  four  years  subsequently, 
but  his  senior  in  age.  It  is  more 
singular  that  the  great  scholar 
should  have  failed  to  earn  any 
remarkable  distinction  there,  than 
that  the  future  hero  should  have 
passed  unnoticed.  They  "  thought 
nothing,"  wrote  one  of  his  school- 
fellows, "  of  the  Norfolk  boy,"  who 
had  come  there  with  such  an  alarm- 


*  "  Fortiuw  rerumquc  vagis  exercitus  undis, 

la  grciuimn  rodeo  serus,  Etona,  tuum  : 
Magna  si-qui,  ft  suniiuiu  iniruri  culmiua  famu*, 

Kt  ]>urum  antiqua-  lucis  adirc  jul>ar, 
Auspice  te  didici  purr,  atque  in  liminc  vitas 

I  often  uas  venv  laudis  amarc  vias. 
Si  qua  mcum  vita.-  doeursu  gloria  nomcn 

Auxerit,  aut  si  quis  nol>ihtnrit  honos, 
MuiU'ris,  Alma,  tui  eat;  altrix  da  terra  sepulclinmi, 

Suprcmam  lachryuiaiu  da,  latmort'inque  mei." 
VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXUII.  2  15 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


358 

ing  reputation.  But  Person's  early 
training  was  deficient,  though  _his 
powers  were  great  and  his  classical 
reading  voracious.  He  was  inaccu- 
rate in  his  prosody — a  fatal  defect  at 
Eton  ;*  and  his  Latin  verses,  almost 
the  only  road  to  distinction  there, 
were  never  remarkable.  In  that, 
as  in  other  points  of  elegant  scho- 
larship, Lord  Wellesley  was  far  his 
superior.  But  he  was  a  very  pop- 
ular boy,  ready  at  all  games,  and 
clever  at  schoolboy  satire— narrow- 
ly escaping  the  penalty  of  this  dan- 
gerous gift  in  the  shape  of  a  thrash- 
ing from  Charles  Simeon,  who, 
strange  to  say,  was  a  fop  at  school. 
Porson  addressed  an  ode  to  him 
as  "the  ugliest  boy  in  Dr  Davies's 
dominions;"  but  as  he  had  written 
it  with  his  left  hand,  Simeon  could 
never  bring  it  home  to  him.  The 
late  age  at  which  Porson  entered 
college  gave  him  no  chance  of  suc- 
cession to  King's.  He  retained  no 
great  love  for  Eton  in  after  life, 
perhaps  feeling  that  he  had  hardly 
his  fair  share  of  success  there. 
u  The  only  thing  he  recollected 
with  pleasure,"  he  said,  was  the  rat- 
hunting  in  Long  Chamber. 

Dr  Jonathan  Davies,  one  of  the 
assistant-masters,  succeeded  Foster 
at  this  time  in  the  head-mastership. 
He  ruled  for  nearly  twenty  years, 
when  (upon  his  election  to  the  pro- 
vostship)  Dr  George  Heath  suc- 
ceeded. The  school  continued  to 
nourish  under  both,  enjoying  the 
especial  favour  of  King  George  III., 
who  desired  that  the  boys  on  the 
foundation  should  be  henceforth 
called  "  The  King's  Scholars."  The 
numbers  slowly  rose,  with  occa- 
sional fluctuations,  reaching  489  in 
Heath's  second  year,  but  declining 
as  low  as  357  in  his  last.  Not  many 
details  of  the  administration  of 
either  of  these  masters  are  readily 


to  be  obtained  ;  but  the  Eton  names 
were  great  names  still — Grey,  Can- 
ning, Lamb  (Lord  Melbourne),  were 
all  Etonians,  as  were  a  host  of  those 
who  held  office  under  them  :  it  was 
pre-eminently  the  school  of  states- 
men, as  Westminster  had  been  of 
theologians. 

In  the  first  year  of  the  present 
century  Heath  resigned,  and  Joseph 
Goodall,  who  had  been  for  eighteen 
years  an  assistant  -  master,  was 
elected  in  his  place.  Under  him 
the  numbers  rose  to  511 — not  yet 
up  to  the  point  which  had  been 
reached  fifty  years  back  under 
Barnard.  Goodall  had  many  of  the 
best  qualifications  of  a  master.  A 
ripe  and  excellent  scholar  and  a 
thorough  gentleman,  he  commanded 
on  those  grounds  the  entire  respect 
of  his  pupils.  His  bearing  was 
dignified  and  courteous,  and  he 
looked  every  inch  the  head-master 
of  the  first  school  in  England ;  and 
no  man  more  fully  appreciated  the 
position.  Eton  was  his  all  in  all. 
But  there  was  a  lack  in  his  charac- 
ter of  some  of  the  harder  qualities 
which  his  office  required.  "There 
was  a  pleasant  joyousness  in  him," 
says  one  of  his  pupils,  "  which 
beamed  and  overflowed  in  his  face ; 
and  it  seemed  an  odd  caprice  of 
fortune  by  which  such  a  jovial 
spirit  was  invested  witli  the  solemn 
dignity  of  a  schoolmaster."  The 
blandness  and  good-natiire  which 
made  him  universally  popular  both 
as  schoolmaster  and  as  provost, 
were  an  element  of  weakness  when 
he  had  to  cope  with  the  turbulent 
spirits  who  will  always  be  found  in 
a  large  school ;  and  Eton  discipline 
did  not  improve  under  his  rule. 
His  rich  fund  of  anecdote,  sprightly 
wit,  and  genial  spirit,  made  Iris 
society  very  much  sought  in  days 
when  those  pleasant  qualifications 


*Pracd's  clever  lines  in  his  'Eve  of  Battle'  [Etonian],  allude  to  this  well-known 
Eton  test  in  the  happiest  way.  He  supposes  the  emancipated  schoolboy  eager 
for  the  fight — 

"  And  still,  in  spite  of  all  thy  care, 
False  quantities  will  haunt  thee  there  ; 
For  thou  wilt  make  amidst  the  throng 
Or  <Jiui)  short,  or  icAeos  long. " 


1865.] 


Etoniauft,  Ancient  ami  Modern. — Part  II. 


were  perhaps  more  valued  than  in 
our  more  practical  generation  :  and 
lie  was  a  great  personal  favourite 
with  the  King.  It  was  not  so 
much  the  fault  of  the  individual 
as  of  the  age,  if  (as  is  said)  he 
had  a  profound  respect  for  the 
peerage,  and  could  .see  few  defects 
of  scholarship  in  his  more  aristo- 
cratic pupils. 

There  was  considerable  licence 
in  Goodall's  days,  and  at  one  time 
heavy  complaints  were  made  as  to 
the  moral  habits  of  the  boys,  not 
without  too  much  foundation.  As- 
cot races  were  regularly  attended 
by  many  of  the  older  boys.  Hunt- 
ing and  tandem-driving  were  not 
uncommon.  Henry  Matthews, 
author  of  the  '  Diary  of  an  In- 
valid,' a  very  clever  and  eccentric 
boy,  drove  a  tandem  right  through 
Eton  and  Windsor.  Billiards  were 
very  popular,  not  only  with  the 
boys  but  with  their  masters.  At 
(!  ray's  rooms,  at  the  foot  of  the 
bridge,  says  a  player  of  those  days, 
"one  had  sometimes  to  give  up  the 
table  to  one's  tutor." 

The  lower-master  during  most  of 
Goodall's  time  was  John  Keate, 
who  ruled  his  own  department, 
literally  as  well  as  metaphorically, 
with  a  very  vigorous  hand.  On 
Dr  Goodall's  election  to  the  pro- 
vostship  in  1801),  Keate  succeeded 
as  head-master.  His  reign  was 
long  and  successful,  though  not 
always  peaceful  by  any  means. 
"  Keate' s  time  "  is  quoted  by 
those  who  remember  it,  with  vari- 
ous comments,  differing  probably 
very  much  with  the  character  of 
the  individuals  who  came  under 
his  rule,  but  always  as  important 
in  Eton's  history.  He  was  not  a 
weak  ruler,  at  all  events,  even  if 
he  were  not  always  a  judicious  one. 
There  were  times  when  he  was  ter- 
ribly unpopular,  and  when  the  boys 
rose  in  actual  rebellion  ;  but  his 
firmness  and  decision  carried  the 
school  through  more  than  one  dan- 
gerous crisis  without  serious  dam- 
age. Although  the  numbers  at 
Eton  were  larger  than  at  any  other 


public  school,  and  the  class  of  boys 
might  be  fairly  considered  to  stand 
more  upon  their  personal  indepen- 
dence, and  to  be  less  amenable  to 
rigid  discipline,  it  is  remarkable 
that  at  Eton  there  seems  to  have 
been  none  of  those  determined  out- 
breaks which,  in  their  consequences, 
were  almost  the  ruin  of  the  smaller 
schools  of  Winchester  and  Harrow, 
or  at  least  they  were  more  readily 
suppressed.  Possibly  the  very  se- 
verity of  Keate's  discipline,  so  far 
as  corporal  punishment  went,  acted 
as  a  safety-valve.  Boys  will  stand 
flogging,  and  have  no  absurd  no- 
tions of  injured  personal  honour  on 
that  score,  whatever  modern  the- 
orists may  hold.  It  is  anything 
like  interference  with  recognised 
privileges,  right  or  wrong,  which 
they  resent  as  an  indignity.  Their 
notions  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject 
are  as  lively  and  as  strongly  defined, 
however  absurd  the  definition  may 
sometimes  be,  as  those  of  any  in- 
dependent Englishman  of  riper 
years  ;  and  no  head-master  will 
rule  a  public  school  successfully, 
who  has  not  tact  enough  to  under- 
stand and  recognise  the  claim. 
Either  he  will  spoil  the  honesty 
and  the  manliness  of  his  boys,  or 
he  will  ruin  the  interests  of  his 
school.  School  rebellions  have 
been  caused,  not  by  severity  of  dis- 
cipline, but  by  its  laxity  or  ir- 
regularity, or  by  some  interference, 
real  or  imagined,  with  these  popu- 
lar rights. 

Dr  Keate's  personal  appearance 
has  been  graphically  described  by 
one  of  his  ablest  pupils — the 
well-known  author  of  '  Eothen.' 
The  sketch,  if  somewhat  broadly 
touched,  is  drawn  with  character- 
istic humour : — 

"He  was  little  more,  if  more  at  all, 
than  live  feet  in  height,  and  was  not 
very  great  in  girth  ;  but  within  this 
space  was  concentrated  the  pluck  of 
ten  battalions.  He  had  a  really  noble 
voice,  and  this  he  could  modulate  with 
great  skill  ;  but  he  hail  also  the  power 
of  quacking  like  an  angry  duck,  and  he 
almost  always  adopted  this  mode  of 
communication  in  order  to  inspire  re- 


360 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


[March, 


spect.  He  was  a  capital  scholar,  but 
his  ingenuous  learning  had  not  '  softened 
his  manners,'  and  had  'pei-mitted  them 
to  be  fierce' — tremendously  tierce.  He 
had  such  a  complete  command  over  his 
temper — I  mean  over  his  good  temper — 
that  he  scarcely  ever  allowed  it  to  ap- 
pear :  you  could  not  put  him  out  of 
humour — that  is,  out  of  the  ill-humour 
which  he  thought  to  be  fitting  for  a 
head-master.  His  red  shaggy  eyebrows 
were  so  prominent  that  he  habitually 
used  them  as  arms  and  hands,  for  the 
purpose  of  pointing  out  any  object  to- 
wards which  he  wished  to  direct  atten- 
tion; the  rest  of  his  features  were 
equally  striking  in  their  way,  and  were 
all  and  all  his  own.  He  wore  a  fancy 
dress,  partly  resembling  the  costume  of 
Napoleon,  and  partly  that  of  a  widow 
woman." 

The  resemblance  to  Napoleon  is 
to  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  all 
the  masters  at  Eton,  up  to  a  com- 
paratively recent  date,  wore  cocked- 
hats,  and  that  Keate  retained  the 
fashion  when  it  had  been  given  up 
by  others. 

But  in  spite  of  some  personal 
eccentricities,  and  in  spite  of  his 
vigorous  penal  discipline,  which 
led  to  the  schoolboy  derivation  of 
his  name  from  xeu>-aTr) — "  dispenser 
of  woe"  —  his  pupils  learned  to 
honour  and  respect  him  as  they 
grew  up,  for  what  one  of  them 
justly  calls  "  his  unbending  moral 
courage  and  conscientiousness ; " 
and  Eton  never  enjoyed  a  higher 
reputation  than  under  his  vigorous 
rule.  The  scene  at  his  taking  leave 
was  positively  affecting,  from  the 
hearty  enthusiasm  which  made  the 
school  ring  with  cheers  as  he  with- 
drew. 

Anecdotes  of  his  day  abound  in 
all  Eton  memories.  Practical  jokes 
were  more  common  then  than  now, 
and  there  was  perhaps  an  addi- 
tional enjoyment  of  them  by 
Keate's  pupils  from  the  certain 
explosion  of  rage  which  they  called 
forth  from  him  when  discovered. 
This  enjoyment  was  intense  when 
what  may  be  called  the  serious 
business  of  the  school  was  suddenly 
interrupted  by  the  disappearance  of 
the  flogging-block,  an  instrument 


of  indispensable  daily  use,  which 
the  young  Marquess  of  Waterford 
and  some  companions,  after  a  Fourth 
of  June  supper,  had  abstracted,  in 
some  mysterious  manner,  from 
that  chamber  of  horrors  known  as 
the  "  Library."  It  was  little  less 
than  sacrilege  in  Keate's  eyes,  and 
his  wrath  was  terrible  ;  but  it  was 
supposed  that  he  soon  found  out 
the  culprit,  and  as  he  was  one 
whose  escapades  were  to  a  certain 
degree  privileged,  the  matter  was 
allowed  to  drop.  Another  young 
nobleman,  disguised  in  an  old 
gown  and  cocked-hat,  so  as  to  pre- 
sent by  moonlight  a  passable  like- 
ness of  the  Doctor,  painted  Keate's 
door  a  brilliant  red  one  night,  be- 
fore the  very  eyes  of  the  college 
watchman,  who  stood  looking  on 
at  a  respectful  distance,  wondering 
what  the  Doctor  could  be  at,  but 
not  questioning  his  right  to  do 
what  he  would  with  his  own. 
Amongst  other  forbidden  indul- 
gences in  the  school,  Keate  had 
thought  proper  to  include  umbrel- 
las, which  he  regarded  as  signs  of 
modern  effeminacy.  Boys  are  per- 
verse ;  and  when  to  the  comfort  of 
an  umbrella  was  added  the  spice  of 
unlawfulness,  it  became  a  point  of 
honour  with  some  of  the  bigger 
boys  to  carry  one.  The  Doctor 
harangued  his  own  division  on  the 
subject  in  his  bitterest  style,  and 
ended  by  expressing  his  regret  to 
find  that  Eton  boys  had  degenerated 
into  "school-girls."  The  next  night 
a  party  made  an  expedition  to  the 
neighbouring  village  of  Upton,  took 
down  a  large  board  inscribed  in 
smart  gilt  letters  "  Seminary  for 
Young  Ladies,"  and  fixed  it  up 
over  the  great  west  entrance  into 
the  school  -  yard,  where  it  met 
Keate's  angry  eyes  in  the  morning. 
He  had  also  declared  war  against 
a  fashion,  creeping  in  among  the 
"  swells"  of  those  days,  of  sporting- 
cut  coats  with  brass  buttons,  which 
lie  denounced  as  against  the  stat- 
utes. One  morning  several  boys 
appeared  in  school  in  knee-breeches 
extemporised  out  of  flannel,  which 


1SG5.] 


Etuniana,  Ancient  an<l  Modern. — Part  If. 


tlicy    defended    as    strictly    statut- 
able. 

]>ut  few  stories  of  that  tlay  arc 
complete  without  a  flogging.  It  is 
said  that  on  one  occasion,  when  a 
confirmation  was  to  be  held  for  the 
school,  each  master  was  requested 
to  make  out  and  send  in  a  list  of 
the  candidates  in  his  own  form. 
One  of  them  wrote  down  the 
names  on  the  first  piece  of  paper 
which  came  to  hand,  which  hap- 
pened unluckily  to  be  one  of  the 
slips  of  well-known  size  and  shape 
used  as  flogging-bills,  and  sent  up 
regularly  with  the  names  of  delin- 
quents for  execution.  The  list  was 
put  into  Keate's  hands  without 
explanation  ;  he  sent  for  the  boys 
in  the  regular  course,  and  in  spite 
of  all  protestations  on  their  part, 
pointing  to  the  master's  signature 
to  the  fatal  "  bill,"  Hogged  them  all 
(so  the  story  goes)  there  and  then. 
Another  day,  a  culprit  who  was 
due  for  punishment  could  no  where 
be  found,  and  the  Doctor  was  kept 
waiting  on  the  scene  of  action  for 
some  time  in  a  state  of  consider- 
able exasperation.  In  an  evil  mo- 
ment for  himself,  a  namesake  of 
the  defaulter  passed  the  door  ;  he 
was  seized  at  once  by  Keate's  or- 
der, and  brought  to  the  block  as  a 
vicarious  sacrifice.  .Such  legends 
may  not  always  bear  the  strictest 
investigation  ;  but  they  have  at 
least  the  sort  of  truth  which  some 
Romanist  writers  claim  for  certain 
apocryphal  Acta  Sanctorum — they 
show  "  what  sort  of  deeds  were 
done."  Etonians  of  that  day  nar- 
rate them  with  a  kind  of  pride,  as 
savouring  of  the  heroic  ;  they  tell, 
with  something  of  the  gusto  with 
which  a  fox-hunter  talks  of  "  a  very 
fast  thing,"  of  the  number  of  boys 
whom  Keate  would  finish  off  (and 
in  workmanlike  style)  in  twenty 
minutes,  llapul  as  the  perform- 
ance was,  there  was  much  ceremo- 
nial etiquette  observed  ;  two  col- 
legers always  "assisted"  to  hold 
the  culprit  down  to  the  block — an 
ottice  which  did  not  tend  to  im- 
prove their  social  relations  with  the 


oppidans.   It  has,  very  properly,  long 

since  ceased  to  be  required  of  them. 
There  was  an  outbreak  at  one 
period  of  Keate's  rule — in  IMs — 
which  was  the  nearest  thing  to  a 
rebellion  ever  known  at  Eton.  For 
nearly  a  week  the  school  was  almost 
in  a  state  of  anarchy.  It  was 
caused  chiefly  by  impatience  of 
Keate's  general  bearing  and  lan- 
guage towards  the  boys,  but  the  im- 
mediate grievance  was  an  altera- 
tion in  the  hour  of  locking  up. 

''  You  ask  for  ;in  impartial  account 
of  it,"  writes  an  Etonian  frit-nil  who 
saw  it.  "  Well,  it  was  a  foolish  and 
ferocious  outbreak  on  the  part  of  the 
boys.  (Ircat  evils  had  arisen  from  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  (<>  I'.M.)  at  which 
they  were  locked  up  in  the  winter,  and 
Keate  resolved  to  mend  matters  l>y 
turning  the  key  at  live,  to  the  which  the 
school  generally  demurred.  Windsor 
Fair,  which  was  going  on  at  the  time, 
afforded  ample  means  for  supplying  the 
commissariat  with  eggs,  and  the  mu- 
tineers generally  witli  whistles,  crack- 
ers, and  detonating  lialls.  This  warfare, 
carried  on  in  the  dim  light  of  afternoon 
school,  lasted  for  several  days,  until  the 
more  audacious  of  the  rebels  entered 
the  school  and  smashed  the  head-mas- 
ter's desk,  exhibiting  him,  during  the 
next  lesson-time,  on  a  bare  scaffold, 
something  like  a  diminutive  Charles 
I.  An  unhappy  little  colleger  was 
pounced  upon  as  a  suspected  vedette  : 
he.  was  imprisoned  in  Chambers,  and, 
under  the  pressure  of  the  peine  furte  et 
(lure,  at  last  revealed  the  culprits.  They 
were  summarily  and  publicly  exj>elleil. 
There  was  something  solemn  in  the 
proceeding  ;  for  it  was  then  generally 
believed  that  expulsion  involved  ruin 
in  after  life — that  the  army,  navy,  and 
universities  rejected  the  exj>elled,  and 
that  the  follies  of  a  boy  were  to  be  more 
heavily  visited  than  the  sins  of  a  man. 
One  incident  I  well  remember:  as 
Keate  passed  sentence,  I  saw  the  tears 
rise  to  the  eyes  of  one  of  the  masters 
and  flow  down  his  cheeks.  He  is  the 
only  one  of  the  whole  staff  now  living — 
may  (Jod  bless  his  kindly  old  heart ! 
That  Keate  was  right  throughout  does 
not  admit  of  a  shadow  of  doubt;  but 
somehow  he  always  had  an  unlucky 
way  of  acting  right  in  a  wrong  manner. 
He  had,  as  Kinglake  truly  says,  'the 
pluck  of  ten  battalions,'  but  he  was 
always  parading  his  battalions;  he  al- 
ways acted  fiercely  as  well  as  tinuly ; 


362 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


[March, 


lie  was  an  utter  infidel  as  to  the  exist- 
ence of  chivalry  in  boys.  Still,  he  was  a 
great  scholar,  an  elegant  poet,  a  capital 
teacher  ;  and  we  mnst  not  hold  lightly 
the  man  who  has  Hogged  half  the 
ministers,  secretaries,  bishops,  gene- 
rals, and  dukes  of  the  present  century. 
"  There  has  been  but  stingy  recogni- 
tion of  Keate's  merits  as  a  head-master. 
On  examining  the  lists  of  Cambridge 
prizemen  from  181G  to  1826,  I  find  the 
following  results — and  we  must  remem- 
ber that  every  Eton  man  at  the  uni- 
versity between  those  dates  was  Keate- 
taught  ]_mr  ct  simple : — 

Total.    Eton. 


Browne's  Medallists, 


26 


Prize  Comp.,  Lat.  &  Eng. ,  15         5 

Chancellor's  Medal,      .       20         1 

Person  Prize,  10         2 

Chanc.  Eng.  Medal,      .       10         3 

Craven  Scholars,  .         7         2 

Battye  do.,  .         .         .         2         1 

or  considerably  more  than  one-third  of 

the  classical  prizes  which  were  open  to 

the  world." 

"  '  You  have  seen,'  said  an  old  school- 
fellow high  in  university  honours  and 
office,  '  only  the  rough  side  of  Keate. 
I  called  at  Hartley  not  long  ago,  and 
on  the  grass  in  front  of  the  house  stood 
the  old  man  with  his  coat  off,  sur- 
rounded by  a  parcel  of  happy  children, 
boys  and  girls,  playing  baby-cricket. 
The.  first  words  I  heard  were,  '  Mrs 
Keate,  that's  not  fair — petticoat  before 
wicket.'  "  * 

An  anecdote  which  Mr  Coleridge 
tells  in  his  evidence  before  the  late 
Commission  refers  to  an  earlier  out- 
break of  a  similar  character,  and 
speaks  strongly  for  Keate's  gener- 
osity. 

' '  A  boy  in  school  threw  a  large  stone 
at  the  head-master's  head  in  the  middle 
of  school-time.  What  the  master  would 
have  done  had  he  not  been  a  sensible  and 
generous  man,  I  do  not  know  :  it  would 


have  been  open  to  him  to  have  expelled 
the  boy  on  the  spot ;  but  he  knew  that 
to  have  adopted  such  a  course  would 
have  been  to  have  ruined  him  for  life. 
But  what  he  did  do  was  to  rise  from  his 
seat  and  say,  '  I  require  to  know  who 
the  individual  was  who  threw  that 
stone. '  It  was  a  boy  who  was  unknown 
to  him  [a  sou  of  Sir  George  Dallas] ;  and 
the  boy  stood  up  and  said,  '  It  was  I 
did  it,  sir,  and  I  beg  your  pardon  : '  and 
the  master  forgave  him  on  the  spot." 

Until  the  foundation  by  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle,  in  1829,  of  the  scholar- 
ship which  bears  his  name,  honours 
at  Eton  (and  indeed  the  school  ex- 
ercises in  great  measure)  were  con- 
fined to  Latin  verse.  Such  a  limi- 
tation is  not  to  be  defended;  but 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  conse- 
quence was  that  the  Eton  versifica- 
tion was  very  good  indeed.  The 
specimens  preserved  in  the  '  Musai 
Etonenses '  are  chiefly  those  exer- 
cises which,  from  their  excellence, 
were  laid  before  the  provost,  by  a 
time-honoured  custom,  as  a  claim 
for  the  weekly  half-holiday  called 
"  Play," — a  ceremony  which  some 
other  public  schools  have  borrowed. 
In  those  volumes  are  some  admir- 
able verses  by  Eton  celebrities  of 
many  generations — by  Fox  and  Can- 
ning, "Bobus"  Smith  and  Wil- 
liam Frere,  Henry  Hallam  and 
Lord  Derby ;  but  perhaps  none 
rivalling  in  beauty  those  by  the 
Marquess  Wellesley  already  men- 
tioned. The  average  Eton  educa- 
tion perhaps  was  not  high ;  but 
there  was  among  the  few  a  genuine 
love  of  elegant  scholarship  for  its 
own  sake,  not  always  found  in  our 
great  schools  at  present :  few  mo- 


*  Mrs  Keate  was  a  very  elegant  woman.  In  the  year  1814,  during  a  match  with 
Epsom,  the  Eton  champion,  John  Harding,  scored  74 — an  extraordinary  number 
in  those  days,  when  the  bowling  generally  beat  the  bat.  It  called  forth  a  poem 
from  a  clever  colleger  ("Marshal"  Stone),  in  which  were  the  following  lines. 
The  Doctor  saw  them,  and  was  vastly  amused  by  them  : — 

"  No  vulgar  wood  was  the  bat  of  might 
That  swung  in  the  grasp  of  Harcliug  wight; 
No  vulgar  maker's  name  it  wore, 
Nor  vulgar  was  the  name  it  bore. 
It  was  a  bat  full  fair  to  see, 
And  it  drove  the  balls  right  lustily  ; 
Without  a  flaw,  without  a  speck, 
Smooth  as  fair  Hebe's  ivory  neck — 
It  was  withal  so  light,  so  neat, 
The  Harding  called  it—MrsKcate." 


18G5.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — 1'art  11. 


dern  scholars  have  studied  Homer 
like  Gladstone,  and  certainly  none 
have  translated  him  like  Lord 
Derby. 

The  classical  work  was  very  much 
limited  to  Homer,  Horace,  and 
Virgil.  Attic  Greek  was  learned 
chiefly  in  a  sort  of  private  class, 
first  established  by  ])r  Goodall, 
consisting  of  the  Sixth,  and  a  few 
of  the  upper  division  of  the  Fifth. 
These  read  up  for  the  head-master 
some  extra  work,  called  "  Play," 
because  a  Greek  play  was  commonly 
the  subject.  This  was  almost  con- 
lined  to  collegers,  few  oppidans 
reaching  that  position  in  the  school. 
The  Sixth  Form  at  Eton  has  al- 
ways been  remarkably  small,  num- 
bering only  20  boys,  even  when  the 
total  numbers  exceed  800 — a  much 
smaller  proportion  than  at  any 
other  school.  It  now  always  con- 
sists of  ten  collegers  and  ten  oppi- 
dans ;  consequently,  very  few  of  the 
latter  have  any  chance  of  reaching 
it  —  a  manifest  disadvantage,  as 
cutting  off  a  very  legitimate  object 
of  ambition. 

The  numbers  at  Eton  fell  off 
considerably  during  the  last  year  of 
Dr  Keate's  long  mastership.  AVhen 
he  retired  after  his  twenty -five 
years'  service,  Ed  ward  Craven  Haw- 
trey,  one  of  the  assistant-masters, 
succeeded  him.  He  introduced 
into  the  school  reforms  which  both 
those  who  approved  and  those  who 
disapproved  agreed  in  pronouncing 
"  sweeping."  Keate,  who  was  con- 
sulted on  the  subject,  was  generous 
enough  to  recognise  the  courage 
and  the  wisdom  of  the  changes, 
which,  as  he  fairly  said,  he  had 
grown  too  old  to  think  of  introduc- 
ing. Hawtrey  at  once  subdivided 
the  overgrown  forms,  or  divisions, 
as  they  are  termed  at  Eton,  in 
which  above  one  hundred  boys  had 
worked  under  the  same  master. 
Keate,  when  head-master,  had  at 
one  time  in  his  own  division  nearly 
two  hundred — the  Sixth  and  the 
upper  division  of  the  Fifth — all  of 
whom  he  was  supposed  to  teach 
personally.  A  boy  might  reckon 


upon  being  called  up  twice  or  three 
times  during  the  whole  half-year. 
New  assistant-masters  were  gradu- 
ally added  in  some  proportion  to 
the  numbers  of  the  boys ;  the  pro- 
motion of  boys  in  college  (and 
consequently  the  regular  succes- 
sion to  King's)  was  made  to 
depend  more  upon  the  results  of 
the  examination  "  trials,"  and  not, 
as  before,  almost  entirely  upon 
seniority  of  admission.  Up  to  this 
time  a  boy's  place  on  the  founda- 
tion was  secured  to  him  once  for 
all  at  his  entrance,  unless  he  for- 
feited it  by  some  gross  idleness  or 
misconduct.  "Little  children  are 
sent  to  Eton,"  says  a  young  con- 
temporary writer  in  the  '  Etonian,' 
"  hardly  escaped  from  petticoats, 
and  in  a  sort  of  manner  predestin- 
ated for  King's  :  they  work  their 
way  upwards  by  degrees — by  re- 
moves." Even  if  a  boy  came  to  the 
school  at  first  as  an  oppidan,  as  was 
common, still, if  he  was  "entered  for 
college,''  upon  his  election  he  took 
his  place  above  all  those  who  were 
entered  subsequently ;  so  that  the 
object,  of  course,  was  to  enter  the 
school  as  early  as  possible,  if 
"King's"  was  an  object  of  ambi- 
tion. A  child  was  actually  admit- 
ted in  1820  as  an  oppidan,  when  he 
was  four  and  a  half  years  old. 

These  changes  made  Dr  Hawtrey 
unpopular  at  first  with  the  boys 
— schoolboys  are  wonderfully  con- 
servative— as  well  as  with  some  of 
the  older  masters.  There  were  tre- 
mendous hootings  when  the  new 
head  -  master  appeared  at  "  Ab- 
sence ;  "  and  such  of  the  assistant- 
masters  as  were  supposed  to  have 
aided  the  new  reforms  by  their  ad- 
vice and  support,  were  mobbed  on 
their  going  in  and  out  of  evening 
school  on  the  dark  winter  days, 
and  saluted  with  discharges  of 
squibs  and  crackers  intended  to  be 
anything  but  complimentary.  But 
the  feeling  soon  wore  away,  and  the 
school  grew  and  prospered.  The 
numbers,  in  184G,  reached  the  hith- 
erto unprecedented  mark  of  777. 

Of    lluwtrey's     successors,    Dr 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern.— Part  II. 


364 

Goodford  (now  provost)  and  Mr 
Balston,  this  chronicle  shall  be 
silent.  That  Eton's  reputation  has 
not  suffered  in  their  hands,  may 
be  sufficiently  gathered  from  there 
being  825  names  on  the  list. 

The    seventy    scholars    on    the 
foundation  are  elected  annually,  as 
vacancies    occur,   by   the  provost, 
vice -provost,  and   head-master  of 
Eton,   and    the   provost   and   two 
fellows     (called     "  posers  ")      of 
King's  College,  who  come  down  to 
Eton   for    the    purpose,   generally 
about  the  end  of  July.     Much  form 
and  ceremony  was  wont  to  be  ob- 
served on  the  occasion,  which  under 
the  freedom  of  modern  habits  has 
been  gradually  disused.     The  two 
provosts  used  to  meet  at  the  Col- 
lege  gates,  and   greet   each   other 
with   the    "kiss   of    peace,"   even 
within  present  memory,  and  many 
other  antique  courtesies  passed  be- 
tween   the   Eton    and   Cambridge 
electors.     The  senior  colleger  still 
welcomes  the  visitors,  as  at  Win- 
chester, with  a  Latin  oration  at  the 
gates.     The    election    itself,   until 
within  the  last  few  years,  had  be- 
come a  mere  matter  of  private  no- 
mination.    By  the  original  statutes 
it  was  to  be  entirely  open,  with  the 
exception   of   the  few  preferential 
claims  which  have  been  mentioned ; 
and  up  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  time, 
if  the  Latin  "  Consuetudinarium" 
then  drawn  up  is  to  be  trusted,  it 
had  continued   to   be  so.     Notice 
was  to  be  posted  on  the    college 
gates  seven  Aveeks  before  the  elec- 
tion, announcing  that    the    royal 
foundation   was    free   to   all   boys 
"  liiieralis  ingenii  et  eyregiceindolis," 
and  charging  the  electors  to  choose 
the  fittest  out  of  all  Britain.     But 
there  is  sufficient  record  that  from 
very    early   times — perhaps    even 
from   the   first — the  appointments 
were  looked  upon  more  or  less  as 
pieces  of  patronage,  for  which  in- 
terest was  continually  made.     The 
notice  was  put  up  as  usual ;  but  the 
election  came  to  this,  that  the  pro- 


[March, 


vost  of  Eton  nominated  to  the  first 
vacancy,  the  provost  of  King's  to 
the  second,  the  vice -provost  of 
Eton  to  the  third,  and  so  on 
through  the  four  other  electors, 
each  taking  his  proportion  of  pat- 
ronage according  to  this  amicable 
arrangement.  As  to  examination, 
there  was  an  examination  of  the 
candidates,  certainly;  and  this  is 
the  account  given  of  it  in  1811  by 
a  living  witness  : — 

"One  of  the  assistant-masters  '  coach- 
ed' the  boys  before  they  went  to  the 
examination.  Passages  were  selected 
from  those  books  which  we  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing — a  few  verses  from  'Far- 
naby, '  a  fable  of  /Esop,  a  piece  of  Caesar 
or  Ovid— but  they  were  all  prepared 
beforehand  with  the  passages.  The 
electors  had  copies  of  the  books  put  be- 
fore them,  and  the  junior  '  poser,'  who 
had  the  arrangement  and  labour  of  the 
election,  just  opened  the  book  and  turn- 
ed down  the  leaf  at  the  passage ;  A  was 
called  on  to  construe  a  line,  and  B  an- 
other, and  so  on.  Certain  questions 
were  then  asked  in  the  shape  of  pars- 
ing, and  that  was  the  amount  of  exami- 
nation for  those  boys  who  went  in  to 
college."  * 

There  were  seldom  more  candi- 
dates, however,  than  vacancies  in 
those  days,  owing  to  the  hardships 
and  discomforts  of  college.  The 
same  witness  remembers  one  case 
of  a  boy  being  rejected :  "it  was 
found  utterly  impossible  to  get  him 
to  decline  bonus,  and  on  that  occa- 
sion all  the  electors  were  of  opinion 
that  he  really  was  not  eligible." 
Attempts  at  a  reform  in  this  matter 
were  often  made  by  individuals, 
but  without  success  until  1820, 
when  the  examination  was  made 
rather  more  of  a  reality.  It  was 
not  until  Dr  Hawtrey's  reign,  how- 
ever, that  much  real  reform  took 
effect.  For  the  last  twenty  years 
the  election  has  been  by  a  perfectly 
open  competition,  and  the  number 
of  candidates  far  exceeds  the  va- 
cancies. The  result  is  that  the 
collegers  are  always,  in  point  of 
ability,  the  elite  of  the  school. 


*  Evidence  of  the  Provost  of  King's  Coll.     Public  Schools  Report,  iii.  p.  284. 


Eloniana,  Ancient  <tiul  Modern. — 1'art  II. 


A  similar  change  lias  taken  place 
in  the  flection  to  the  scholarships 
at  Kind's  College.  Tlie  King's 
scholars  (who  alone  are  eligible)  no 
longer  go  off  by  seniority  in  regu- 
lar rotation,  as  vacancies  occur,  but 
four  are  now  elected  annually  by  a 
strictly  competitive  examination. 

The  condition  of  the  collegers 
remained,  for  many  generations, 
apparently  little  altered  from  what 
it  had  -been  in  the  days  when  the 
complaint  was  made  to  Laud.  The 
Kton  witnesses  who  were  examined 
before  the  Koyal  Commission  only 
continued  the  account  of  it  which 
might  have  been  heard  from  every 
living  Etonian  who  had  suffered 
under  the  system.  Not  the  strong- 
est love  for  their  old  school,  nor  the 
peculiar  etprit  de  c<~irjn*  which  has 
always  marked  the  King's  scholars, 
could  check  the  unanimous  repro- 
bation with  which  they  spoke  of  the 
arrangements  which  were  allowed, 
by  the  neglect  and  indifference  (to 
say  no  worse)  of  those  in  author- 
ity, to  disgrace  a  liberal  foundation 
for  the  sons  of  gentlemen.  Things 
reached  their  worst  under  the  long 
provostship  of  Dr  Goodall.  It  is 
sad  to  remember  that,  during  the 
thirty  years  of  his  absolute  and  ir- 
responsible power,  he  should  have 
shown  himself  so  utterly  neglectful 
of  the  rights  and  interests  of  the 
scholars  of  the  noble  foundation 
over  which  he  presided.  While  their 
expenses  were  little  less  than  those 
of  the  oppidans  —  for  a  colleger's 
bills  amounted  to  .£80  or  £100  a- 
ycar,  when  the  oppidans  were  lower 
than  at  present — "  they  had,"  says  an 
Etonian  writer,  "all  the  discomfort 
and  degradation  of  charity-boys." 
Perhaps  this  is  rather  strong  lan- 
guage ;  but  the  discomforts,  at  any 
rate,  were  very  great — so  great,  that 
for  many  years  the  numbers  were 
not  kept  up.  Instead  of  70  scholars 
there  were  at  one  time  not  more 
than  :J3.  In  one  year  there  were 
but  six  candidates  for  forty  vacan- 
cies. Not  all  the  prospective  ad- 
vantages of  King's  could  induce 
parents  to  send  young  boys  to  en- 


counter such  hardships  and  depriva- 
tions. They  were  lodged,  as  they 
might  have  been  from  the  original 
foundation,  in  one  large  and  three 
small  chambers,  where  they  were 
supposed  to  live,  and  work,  and 
sleep.  They  hired  for  themselves, 
as  was  almost  a  necessity,  a  room 
somewhere  in  the  town  (of  course 
at  an  additional  expense),  where 
they  took  their  breakfast  and  tea, 
and  lodged  during  the  day.  These 
private  rooms  were  considered  sa- 
cred from  the  intrusion  of  any 
master  or  college  authority,  and 
their  occupants  were,  so  far,  not 
amenable  to  the  slightest  control. 
The  comfort  and  independence  of 
this  domicile  was  no  doubt  very 
highly  enjoyed.  There  was  no 
breakfast  at  all  provided  for  them 
in  college.  The  dinners  consist- 
ed entirely  of  mutton  until  about 
lS40,when  Provost  Hodgson  added 
roast  and  boiled  beef,  each  one  day 
in  the  week.  Though  the  mutton 
was  always  of  excellent  quality,  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  served  (to 
say  nothing  of  the  want  of  variety) 
made  it  often  impossible  for  a 
young  boy  who  had  not  a  robust 
appetite  to  get  any  dinner  at  all 
that  he  could  cat.  The  joints  were 
served  in  messes,  a  leg  or  a  shoul- 
der serving  for  eight  boys,  a  loin  or 
neck  for  six — the  best  joints  go- 
ing to  the  elder  boys.  They  were 
put  upon  the  table,  and  the  boys 
carved  for  themselves.  The  captain 
of  the  joint  cut  his  own  portion 
liberally  from  the  best  part  of  the 
joint,  and  passed  it  on  to  the  next 
in  seniority,  who  slashed  away  at 
it  after  his  own  taste.  It  may  be 
imagined  what  sort  of  chance  was 
left  for  the  junior,  if  the  joint  hap- 
pened to  be  a  loin  or  a  shoulder, 
and  he  had  not  appetite  enough  for 
the  fat  and  bones.  The  knives  and 
forks  often  ran  short,  and  he  was 
obliged  sometimes  to  be  content 
with  the  reversion  of  those  modern 
conveniences — which,  perhaps,  the 
authorities  might  have  argued  were 
not  contemplated  by  their  pious 
founder.  There  was  on  Sundays 


36G 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


the  addition,  for  such  as  could 
eat  it,  of  plum-pudding  of  a  pe- 
culiar construction,  made  of  un- 
choppecl  suet  and  unstoned  raisins. 
The  beer,  which  was  often  very  bad, 
was  drunk  out  of  painted  tin  mugs, 
which  gave  it  anything  but  a  relish. 
At  eight  o'clock  every  evening  the 
doors  of  the  lower  school  passage 
were  locked ;  and  from  that  time 
until  seven  in  the  morning,  or  half- 
past  in  the  winter,  when  they  were 
unlocked  again  for  school,  the  col- 
legers were  left  entirely  to  them- 
selves ;  for  the  masters,  who  ori- 
ginally slept  in  the  same  building, 
had  long  removed  into  their  pri- 
vate houses;  and  it  is  only  of  late 
years  that  a  special  assistant-master 
has  been  appointed  to  live  in  col- 
lege, and  exercise  some  sort  of 
domestic  superintendence  over  the 
boys.  It  may  be  imagined  that 
Long  Chamber  became  the  scene 
of  considerable  irregularities.  The 
Sixth  Form  did  just  as  they  pleased ; 
and  if  any  among  them  were  vicious 
or  tyrannical,  the  life  of  a  junior 
was  sometimes  very  miserable  in- 
deed. A  good  deal  of  his  ordinary 
life  was  passed  in  the  combined 
occupations  of  valet,  cook,  house- 
maid, and  shoeblack  to  his  master ; 
but  that  was  endurable  enough, 
if,  like  those  functionaries  in  the 
outer  world,  he  was  allowed  to 
have  his  meals  and  his  sleep  in 
peace,  which  was  a  blessing  by  no 
means  secure  to  him.  He  might 
have  to  sit  up  half  the  night 
to  arrange  and  attend  upon  a  late 
Sixth-form  supper  (frequently  in- 
cluding the  concoction  of  a  bowl  of 
punch) ;  or  if  he  had  the  luck  to  get 
into  his  bed  (where  he  found  scant 
bed-clothes  and  no  pillow)  in  toler- 
ably good  time,  he  had  a  good 
chance  of  being  awoke  by  the  sud- 
den tilting  of  his  bed,  and  finding 
himself  half-smothered,  heels  up- 
wards, in  the  darkness.  Many  of 
the  scenes  which  Long  Chamber 
saw  during  successive  generations 
of  occupants  it  may  be  well  to  bury 
in  oblivion  ;  but  its  reminiscences 
had  also  their  comic  side,  which,  if 


not  remarkably  edifying,  was  harm- 
less enough.  Never,  probably,  were 
performances  more  thoroughly  en- 
joyed, or  productive  of  more  up- 
roarious fun  both  to  actors  and 
audience,  than  the  theatricals  which 
were  there  got  up,  before  the  more 
ambitious  amateurs  set  up  their 
establishment  in  Datchet  Lane ; 
and  certainly  never  were  suppers 
more  enjoyed  than  those  which 
were  brought  in  surreptitiously 
through  "  lower-chamber  window  " 
from  the  old  "  Christopher."  There 
was  at  least  some  excuse  for  this 
contraband  supply ;  for  there  was 
no  such  meal  as  tea,  and  the  college 
supper  consisted  exclusively  of  fat 
breasts  of  mutton.  The  old  story 
of  the  sow  who  was  carried  up  to 
the  leads  of  the  roof  when  in  an 
"  interesting"  condition,  and  there 
fed  upon  the  fragments  of  the  hall 
dinners  until  every  one  of  her  young 
family  in  succession  supplied  roast 
pig  for  Long  Chamber  suppers,  may 
be  admitted  to  be  apocryphal  :  not 
so  the  fact  that  a  donkey — though 
with  what  possible  motive  is  hard 
now  to  conjecture,  as  there  could 
be  no  hope  of  suppers  from  that 
quarter — was  kept  in  chamber  for 
at  least  one  night,  and  regaled  with 
the  unaccustomed  luxury  of  veal- 
pie.  Ducks  and  fowls  were  fatten- 
ed to  perfection  there  by  the  fags, 
and  eaten  with  great  satisfaction 
by  their  masters. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  that, 
with  such  a  variety  of  occupants, 
Long  Chamber  stood  in  need  of  oc- 
casional purification.  It  was  nom- 
inally swept  out  by  the  college  ser- 
vants every  morning  ;  but  cobwebs 
hung  from  the  roof  in  picturesque 
profusion,  and  under  and  behind 
the  beds  disturbing  brush  or  broom 
seldom  penetrated.  Once  in  the 
year,  just  before  election  week, 
there  was  a  solemn  lustration.  All 
animal  lodgers,  except  the  boys, 
were  banished  by  authority,  and 
the  floor — which  was  never  known 
to  be  washed — was  polished  after  a 
highly  original  and  ingenious  fash- 
ion known  as  "  rug  -  riding."  A 


1865.1 


Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


strong  rug  from  one  of  the  beds 
was  gathered  up  in  the  fashion  of 
a  hammock,  with  a  folded  blanket 
for  a  seat,  and  a  rope  made  fast  to 
it,  to  which  were  attached,  at  due 
in tervals,twoor  three  cricket-stumps 
crosswise.  A  heavy  boy  sat,  or 
rather  lay  back,  in  the  hollow  of 
the  rug,  holding  on  by  each  side, 
while  a  team  of  four  or  six  others, 
laying  hold  of  the  stumps  to  pull 
by,  dragged  him  as  fast  as  they 
could  go  up  and  down  the  chamber. 
An  hour  or  so  of  this  process  left  a 
very  tolerable  polish  on  the  floor — 
and  upon  the  person  of  the  rug- 
rider.  The  beds  were  then  covered 
with  grand  green  cloth  rugs,  and  the 
room  decorated  with  green  boughs 
—  of  which  waggon  -  loads  were 
brought  from  Burnham  Beeches  and 
lledgerley  for  the  occasion — a  very 
ancient  mode  of  decoration,  allud- 
ed to  in  the  "  Consuetudinarium  " 
before  quoted,  and  common  to  other 
public  school  anniversaries.  In  this 
holiday  trim  it  wurf  supposed  to  be 
ready  for  the  inspection  of  visitors, 
who  then,  as  now,  thronged  Eton 
in  election  week. 

But  Long  Chamber,  with  all  its 
traditions,  good  or  evil,  is  now  a 
thing  of  the  past.  It  was  totally  al- 
tered in  1844,  and  now  the  scholars 
have  each  their  separate  room, where 
they  sleep  and  study,  except  a  few 
of  the  juniors,  who  occupy  a  small 
dormitory  partitioned  off  into  cu- 
bicles. The  invariable  mutton  has 
given  place  to  roa-st  beef  two  days 
in  the  week  :  the  head-master,  or 
his  deputy,  dines  in  hall ;  and  the 
breakf;ist  and  tea  are  a.s  comfortably 
arranged  as  in  the  oppidan  board- 
ing-houses. 

Formerly  these  houses  were  al- 
most entirely  kept  by  "  Dames"  or 
"  Dominies," — the  latter  being  the 
term  when  there  was  a  male  head 
of  the  establishment,  though  now 
the  term  "  Dame "  applies  to  all 
without  reference  to  sex.  Tutors 
and  assistant-masters  used  to  live 
in  most  of  these  houses,  but  had 
no  charge  over  the  boys.  Only  the 
lower-master,  and  some  of  the  senior 


assistant- masters,  kept  houses  of 
their  own.  There  are  now  twenty 
boarding-houses  kept  by  masters, 
and  ten  by  "Dames," — of  whom 
four  only  are  ladies.  Some  of  these 
latter  have  as  few  as  ten  boys  in 
their  house,  and  the  younger  ones 
take  all  their  meals  with  them,  and 
come  into  the  drawing-room  in  the 
evenings.  In  some  of  the  masters' 
houses  there  are  as  many  as  fifty. 
If  there  is  any  fault  with  the  com- 
missariat in  any  of  these  establish- 
ments, it  may  be  safely  said  to  be 
the  prevalent  modern  error  of  en- 
couraging boys  in  luxury. 

A  peculiarity  in  the  arrangements 
at  Eton  is,  that  the  school  is  prac- 
tically divided  into  two.  The  divi- 
sion seems  to  have  been  in  force 
from  the  very  earliest  times — the 
three  lower  forms  having  been  then, 
a.s  now,  under  the  charge  of  the 
ostiarius,  or,  as  he  is  now  called, 
the  lower- master,  who  has  the 
appointment  of  his  own  assistants, 
and  is  practically  independent  of 
the  head-master,  and  subject  only 
to  the  control  of  the  provost.  This 
lower  school  has  been  comparative- 
ly remodelled  of  late  years.  Very 
much  of  the  improvement  was 
due  to  Mr  Coleridge  while  lower- 
master,  and  it  has  continued  since. 
Boys  are  entered  in  this  depart- 
ment as  early  as  seven  years  old — 
in  fact,  as  soon  as  they  are  able 
to  read,  and  often  when  they  can 
hardly  write.  Though  nominally 
members  of  a  great  public  school, 
they  are  really  secured  from  most 
of  the  dangers  and  difficulties  which 
might  be  supposed  to  make  such  a 
school  objectionable  for  very  young 
boys.  Ever  since  1842  a  separate 
boarding-house  has  been  set  apart 
for  these,  and  they  have  even  a 
separate  playground  into  which  no 
upper-boy  may  intrude.  They  take 
all  their  meals  under  domestic  su- 
perintendence, and,  in  fact,  lead  a 
much  more  "home "-like  life  than 
at  many  schools  which  are  called 
private.  The  Eton  authorities  are 
probably  right  in  considering  that 
there  is  no  school  more  desirable 


568 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


[March, 


for  a  boy  in  delicate  health.  That 
the  arrangements  are  popular  with 
parents  may  be  concluded  from 
the  fact,  that  whereas  some  years 
ago — from  1834  to  1839 — the  num- 
bers in  this  lower  school  varied 
from  22  to  11,  they  have  lately 
reached  1 50.  It  is  intended  even- 
tually to  have  two  large  board- 
ing houses,  confined  exclusively  to 
these  boys,  so  as  to  take  in  all 
whose  friends  desire  it. 

The  jealousy  between  collegers 
and  oppidans  was  at  one  time  very 
strong,  and  led  to  a  very  reprehen- 
sible amount  of  ill-feeling.  It  seems 
to  have  been  at  its  height  about 
thirty  or  forty  years  ago  ;  for  be- 
fore that  time  they  appear  to  have 
mixed  together  much  more  ami- 
cably. There  was,  of  course,  some 
difference  of  social  position  be- 
tween the  t\vo  classes  in  many  in- 
dividual cases  ;  but  this  has  never 
been  sufficient  to  account  of  itself 
for  the  superiority  assumed  by  the 
oppidans  ;  for  there  have  always 
been  amongst  the  King's  scholars 
many  boys  of  good  and  well-known 
family.  The  traditionary  hardships 
and  roughnesses  of  their  life  in  col- 
lege may  seem  partly  the  explana- 
tion ;  and  the  slovenly  and  forlorn 
appearance  of  some  of  the  lower 
boys,  who  were  condemned  to  that 
life  at  an  early  age,  was  enough  to 
discredit  the  whole  body  in  the 
eyes  of  their  more  fortunate  school- 
fellows. But  in  the  schoolboy  life, 
the  mere  fact  of  a  distinctive  dress 
and  a  separate  domicile  is  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  a  good  deal  of 
antagonistic  feeling,  which  exists 
under  the  same  circumstances  at 
other  schools,  though  not  so  strong- 
ly developed.  The  animosity  used 
formerly  to  be  such  that  an  oppi- 
dan never  ventured,  of  his  own 
free  will,  into  the  college  hall  or 
into  Long  Chamber  :  though,  if  a 
lower  boy,  he  was  sometimes  called 
in  by  a  colleger  who  had  the  right 
to  fag  him,  and  employed  to  per- 
form some  menial  office,  in  retalia- 
tion for  the  insults  which  were 
continually  being  heaped  upon  the 


collegers  outside  their  own  do- 
main. The  snow -balling  fights 
between  the  two  bodies  had 
more  earnest  than  sport  in  them  : 
and  in  these  the  collegers'  gowns 
served  them  as  shields,  and  gave 
them  a  better  chance  of  holding 
their  own  against  superior  num- 
bers. At  present,  the  great  strug- 
gle is  at  the  annual  football  match 
"  at  the  wall,"  upon  St  Andrew's 
Day,  between  the  picked  elevens  of 
each  body.  In  this  fierce  contest 
a  good  deal  of  "  spite  "  is  shown—- 
more than  in  the  most  savage  days  of 
the  Sixth-form  match  at  Rugby — 
and  the  "chaff"  is  fast  and  furious. 
If  the  collegers  gain  the  victory, 
prudence  generally  counsels  a  re- 
treat as  soon  as  possible  into  their 
own  fastnesses  (especially  for  the 
younger  boys  who  have  been  cheer- 
ing on  their  champions)  in  order 
to  escape  vengeance  from  the  over- 
whelming numbers  of  their  irate 
antagonists.  But,  on  the  whole,  the 
relations  between  the  two  bodies 
have  become  much  more  peaceable, 
if  not  very  cordial,  of  late  :  and 
though  we  are  told  in  evidence 
that  it  is  still  "  almost  a  natural 
thing  for  a  small  oppidan  to  dislike 
a  small  colleger,"  yet,  as  boys  rise 
into  the  upper  part  of  the  school, 
this  feeling  wears  off. 

Fagging  at  Eton  has  now  become 
almost  nominal,  except  in  college. 
The  privilege  belongs  to  the  Sixth 
Form,  and  the  whole  of  the  Fifth 
except  the  lowest  division.  These 
last  hold  a  neutral  position  ;  and 
all  below  the  Fifth  (about  400)  are 
fags.  Unlike  most  other  public 
schools,  there  is  no  fagging  either 
at  football  or  cricket  ;  the  latter 
was  abolished  by  Dr  Hawtrey.  In 
the  boarding-houses  a  fag  has  little 
more  to  do  than  to  bring  up  the 
kettle  for  his  master's  breakfast, 
boil  his  eggs,  and  toast  his  bread — 
which  a  slovenly  lower  boy  is  some- 
times accused  of  doing  over  his 
lamp,  as  the  most  expeditious  me- 
thod of  at  least  blacking  it.  The 
same  services  are  required  from 
him  at  tea  ;  and,  with  the  excep- 


1SC5.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


3GO 


tion  of  carrying  an  occasional  mes- 
sage, this  is  about  the  amount  of 
work  which  an  oppidan  fag  has  to 
do  ;  and  this  only  lasts  until  he  gets 
into  the  Fifth  Form,  which  many 
lioys  do  now  within  their  first  year. 
Even  in  college,  the  life  of  a  fag 
is  liberty  itself  compared  with  older 
days.  A  junior  colleger  calls  his 
master  at  half-past  six  or  seven, 
makes  his  tea  and  toast,  and  some- 
times has  to  wait,  if  the  senior  be 
more  than  usually  exacting ;  and,  as 
he  has  also  to  attend  an  early  con- 
strue with  his  tutor,  this  may  have 
the  result  of  throwing  back  his 
own  breakfast  until  as  late  as  ten 
o'clock — the  only  real  hardship  in 
the  matter.  At  the  college  dinner 
three  lower  boys  (called  servitors) 
wait  to  hand  the  plates  and  pour 
out  beer :  their  dinner  is  half  an 
hour  later,  with  the  "  upper  servi- 
tor''— one  of  the  higher  boys,  who 
superintends  the  hall  economy.  The 
duties  fall  heavier  upon  individual 
fags  in  college,  owing  to  there  be- 
ing fewer  fags  in  proportion  to  the 
masters  :  there  are  seldom  more  than 
twelve  lower  boys,  whose  services 
are  divided  amongst  the  ten  of  the 
Sixth,  and  the  senior  Fifth-form 
colleger. 

One  form  of  punishment  used  by  a 
Sixth-form  boy  for  a  misdemeanour 
in  a  junior  is  peculiar  to  Eton,  and 
probably  dates  from  a  very  early 
period.  He  sets  the  offender  to 
compose  an  epigram  in  English, 
(Ireek,  or  Latin,  at  his  option — 
usually  of  four  lines.  The  amount 
of  point  required  from  the  unwil- 
ling poet  appears  to  be  indefinite  ; 
and  these  performances  have  prob- 
ably suffered  considerably  in  this 
respect,  since  one  very  tempting 
resource  has  been  cut  off.  It  was 
usual  for  the  author  to  turn  such 
wit  as  he  might  possess  against  the 
imposer  of  the  penalty — ami,  if 
fairly  done,  it  was  held  perfectly 
lawful  ;  but  this  kind  of  retaliation 
on  the  victim's  part  has  long  been 
forbidden. 

The  most  peculiar  and  striking 
of  all  old  Eton  customs  is  now  a 


thing  of  the  past — though  never  to 
be  forgotten  by  any  who  have  been 
present,  whether  as  actors  or  spec- 
tators— the  MONTEM,  or  more  proper- 
ly "  Ad  \fotitem,"  procession.  In  its 
later  phases,  as  known  to  any  now 
living,  it  was  a  muster  of  the  whole 
school  in  a  sort  of  semi-military 
array,  with  band  and  colours,  to 
march  out  to  a  mound  in  a  field 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  distant — the 
well-known  Salt-Hill — where  the 
"ensign"  waved  his  flag,  the  boys 
cheered,  and  the  ceremony  so  far 
was  over.  The  professed  object 
was  to  collect  from  the  crowds  of 
visitors  who  were  always  gathered 
on  the  occasion,  contributions  of 
money,  called  "  tialt"  to  supply  the 
"captain"  of  the  day — the  head 
colleger — with  funds  for  his  Cam- 
bridge expenses.  For  this  purpose 
two  "Salt-bearers" — usually  the  se- 
cond in  seniority  of  the  collegers 
and  the  captain  of  the  oppidans — 
assisted  by  some  ten  or  twelve 
"runners"  or  "servitors,"  and  all 
dressed  in  fancy  costumes,  scoured 
all  the  approaches  to  Windsor  and 
Eton,  within  the  county  of  Bucking- 
ham— for  the  collection  of  "  salt" 
was  confined,  for  some  traditionary 
reason,  to  those  limits — and  levied 
contributions,  by  a  sort  of  civil 
compulsion,  from  every  comer,  from 
the  nobleman  in  his  carriage-and- 
four,  to  the  rustic  on  foot.  The 
cry  was  "  Salt,  Salt ! "  for  which 
embroidered  bags  were  held  forth, 
and  anything  accepted,  from  six- 
pence to  a  fifty-pound  note.  In 
return,  the  donor  received  a  little 
blue  ticket,  with  a  Latin  motto  up- 
on it — "Mas  pro  Leye,"  and  "Pro 
Mure  et  Monte,'  were  latterly 
used  in  alternate  years  ;  and  this 
ticket,  stuck  in  the  hat,  or  other- 
wise shown,  protected  the  bearer 
for  the  rest  of  the  day  from  any 
further  demand.  The  salt-bearers 
and  their  satellites  carried  staves  of 
office,  on  which  were  also  inscribed 
mottoes,  more  or  less  appropriate, 
according  to  the  wit  or  fancy  of  the 
wearer — "  Mittnt  ipiailrata  rot  it  n- 
dis"  (the  square  ticket  for  the  round 


370 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Part  71. 


[March, 


coin)  —  "  F,£    (iXos    ay  pa"  •—"  Cum 

sale  panis,"  or  some  such  classical 
f  aceti;e.  The  sums  collected  varied 
very  much  in  amount ;  they  have 
been  known  to  amount  to  above 
£1000  ;  but  out  of  this  the  cap- 
tain had  to  pay  sundry  expenses 
for  the  day,  including  a  breakfast 
given  to  all  the  Sixth  and  Fifth 
Forms,  and  a  dinner  to  his  friends 
afterwards — seldom,  in  fact,  netting 
more  than  half  the  proceeds.  There 
was  also  a  custom  of  the  boys  par- 
ading after  Montem  in  the  gardens 
belonging  to  the  Windmill  Inn  at 
Salt-Hill,  where  the  "sergeants" 
and  "  corporals  "  fleshed  their 
maiden  swords  upon  the  shrubs 
and  flowers  ad  libitum :  for  these 
and  all  other  damages  the  captain 
had  to  pay  out  of  the  "  salt ;"  and, 
if  he  were  unpopular,  the  bill  was 
purposely  made  a  heavy  one.  In 
the  procession,  every  boy  in  the 
Sixth  Form  ranked  as  a  sergeant, 
and  every  Fifth-form  boy  as  cor- 
poral ;  there  were  also,  besides  the 
captain,  a  marshal,  colonel,  lieu- 
tenant, ensign,  and  sergeant-major. 
These  all  wore  an  officer's  red  dress- 
coat,  with  a  cocked-hat  and  sword ; 
and  the  appearance  of  some  of  the 
younger  and  slighter  boys  in  this 
costume  was  ludicrous  in  the  ex- 
treme. Not  so  the  fancy  dresses  of 
the  salt-bearers  and  servitors,  and  of 
the  "  servants,'"  as  they  were  called, 
who  followed  after  the  captain  and 
other  commissioned  officers  in  the 
procession  ;  these,  especially  in 
later  years  (for  at  one  time  they 
were  hired  from  some  theatrical 
warehouse),  were  often  exceedingly 
rich  and  tasteful.  Turks,  Alban- 
ians, courtiers  of  Charles  II.  and 
George  I.,  Highlanders  and  hidal- 
goes,  mixed  together  in  this  strange 
mid-day  masque,  with  the  hand- 
somest and  best-dressed  women  in 
London,  who  came  down  to  see 
their  sons  or  their  brothers  in  this 
ephemeral  glory,  made  the  gardens 
at  Salt-Hill  and  the  school-yard,  on 
a  bright  May  day,  one  of  the  gayest 
sights  that  can  well  be  imagined. 
The  lower  boys  followed  in  the  pro- 


cession, one  or  two  behind  each 
Fifth-form  "  corpora],"  as  "  pole- 
men,"  dressed  in  the  Eton  costume 
of  blue  jacket  and  white  trousers, 
and  carrying  long  thin  wands, 
which,  at  the  close  of  the  proces- 
sion in  the  school-yard,  were  cut 
in  two  by  the  swords  of  the  corpo- 
rals. George  III.,  for  nearly  forty 
years,  seldom  missed  being  present, 
which  gave  it  all  the  prestige  of 
royalty.  The  King  and  Queen  both 
took  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
proceedings,  and  his  Majesty's  con- 
tribution in  the  way  of  salt  was 
usually  fifty  guineas. 

But  besides  the  military  features 
of  the  day,  there  was,  in  earlier 
times,  a  very  curious  addition  to  the 
dramatis  personce — a  "parson"  and 
a  "  clerk,"  represented  by  two  of 
the  senior  boys — possibly  a  relic  of 
an  earlier  festival.  They  read  upon 
Salt-Hill  some  kind  of  burlesque 
Latin  service ;  and  when  it  was 
concluded,  the  "parson"  solemnly 
kicked  the  "  clerk  "  down  the  hill, 
to  the  intense  delight  of  the  rustic 
portion  of  the  spectators.  This  not 
very  edifying  proceeding  continued 
until  Queen  Charlotte's  first  visit  to 
the  festival ;  when  that  worthy  and 
decorous  lady  was  so  shocked  at 
the  uncanonical  behaviour  of  the 
representatives  of  the  Church,  that 
(to  her  great  credit)  she  made  it  a 
personal  request  that  the  conclud- 
ing ceremony  might  be  omitted  in 
future  programmes. 

The  earliest  account  of  a  Mon- 
tem that  we  have  been  able  to  find 
is  that  quoted  by  Brand  from  the 
'  Public  Advertiser  '  of  1778.  On 
that  occasion  Charles  Hayes  was 
captain  ;  Charles  Simeon  was  mar- 
shal ;  Sumpter  was  lieutenant ; 
Goodall  (afterwards  head-master 
and  provost)  was  ensign ;  Brown 
was  "captain  of  oppidans;"  and 
Barrow  was  "  parson,"  with  Reeves 
for  his  "  clerk."  The  Latin  service, 
whatever  it  was,  was  read  as  usual ; 
"  the  clerk  was  dressed  in  the  fa- 
shion of  '45,  and  created  great 
amusement."  The  King  and  Queen 
were  both  present,  and  gave  fifty 


1865-1 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  ^ffHlern. — Part  II. 


371 


guineas  each.  Tn  17!)3  it  was  held 
on  Whit-Tuesday;  they  then  inarch- 
ed round  the  school-yard,  and 
thence  into  "  stal tie-yard,"  where 
they  paraded  before  the  King  and 
Queen,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
others  of  the  royal  family,  and  so 
passed  on  ad  M»ntem,  through  the 
playing-fields.  The  motto  was 
"  J/o.s-  j>rn  Lfi/e,"  and  the  salt 
reached  I'lOOO.  The  salt-bearers 
and  runners  appeared  afterwards 
on  Windsor  Terrace,  in  their  fancy 
costumes.  "  and  were  noticed  by 
their  Majesties."  In  17!)(J,  the  next 
occasion,  the  royal  family  were 
again  present,  and  the  King  and 
the  Prince  met  the  procession,  on 
horseback,  at  Salt- Hill.  The  people 
crowded  too  much  upon  the  car- 
riage in  which  the  Queen  and 
Princesses  were,  and  the  King  called 
out  to  some  of  the  most  forward, 
and  asked  whether  they  were  "  Eto- 
nians"—  "he  did  not  remember 
their  faces,  and  wa.s  sure  that  Eto- 
nians were  better-behaved."  Henry 
Whitfield  was  the  captain  ;  and 
Ensign  Hatch  waved  his  flag  in 
such  "masterly  style''  (says  the 
'  Gentleman's  Magazine'),  as  to  se- 
cure "  the  satisfaction  of  every  per- 
son present."  In  1817  the  poor 
King  was  in  no  condition  to  at- 
tend, but  the  Queen  and  the  Prin- 
cesses attended. 

The  origin  of  this  peculiar  school 
festival  i.s  obscure.  The  Winchester 
statutes  (which  were  adopted  for 
Eton  in  almost  every  particular) 
made  provision  for  the  out-door  ex- 
ercise of  the  scholars,  by  a  daily 
procession  ad  Montem  to  St  Cath- 
erine's Hill,  outside  the  city  walls, 
which  is  still  known  as  "  going  on 
hills,"  and  takes  place  there  regu- 
larly on  half-holidays  ;  and  from 
this  there  can  be  little  doubt 
that  the  term  itself  was  borrowed. 
Some  peculiarities  in  the  Eton  fes- 
tival have  led  most  of  the  antiquar- 
ian authorities  to  conjecture  that 
it  was  originally  the  election  of  the 
Hoy-bishop  by  his  schoolfellows, 
enjoined  by  the  statutes  on  Decem- 
ber 6,  St  Nicholas's — still  kept  as 


Founder's  Day.  P>ut  the  "Con- 
suetudinarium"  of  15(5o  speaks  of 
that  custom  as  already  obsolete, 
while  it  describes  the  Mnntr-m  in 
considerable  detail.  At  that  time 
it  had  much  of  the  character  of  an 
initiation  of  new  boys  into  the  Eton 
mysteries. — "  The  boys  go  ad  m<»i- 
tem,  in  the  accustomed  fashion,  on 
some  day  fixed,  at  the  discretion  of 
the  master,  about  the  Conversion  of 
St  Paul  (January  25).  The  'hill' 
is  a  place  sacred  in  the  religion  of 
Etonians,  owing  to  the  beauty  of 
the  country,  the  pleasantness  of 
the  greensward,  the  coolness  of  its 
shade.  They  make  it  the  revered 
seat  of  Apollo  and  the  Muses. 
They  celebrate  it  in  their  verses, 
call  it  '  Tempe,'  prefer  it  to  Heli- 
con. Here  the  novices  or  freshmen, 
who  have  not  yet  learnt  to  stand 
up  manfully  and  vigorously  to  bear 
the  brunt  of  the  Eton  battle,  are 
first  seasoned  id  fit  nalt,  then  are 
humorously  described  in  verses 
which  have  as  much  salt  wit  and 
jest  in  them  as  can  be  contrived. 
Next  they  make  epigrams  on  the 
new  boys,  each  vying  with  the  other 
in  happy  turns  of  expression  and 
facetiousness.  Any  one  may  give 
vent  to  whateve'r  comes  into  his 
head,  provided  only  it  be  in  Latin, 
have  no  ungentlemanlike  expres- 
sions, nor  foul  or  scurrile  words. 
Lastly,  they  make  their  cheeks  run 
down  with  salt  tears  ;  and  then, 
when  all  is  over,  they  are  initiated 
into  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
veterans." — Something  of  the  bur- 
lesque military  character  of  the 
festival  appears  even  in  this  descrip- 
tion ;  and  a  "  Captain  of  Montem  ' 
(Knightly  Chetwood).  is  recorded 
as  early  as  I(i7().  The  constant 
allusions  to  fait,  in  all  forms,  is 
curious.  It  formed,  as  we  know, 
an  important  item  in  the  mystic 
symbols  of  pagan  initiations,  as  it 
was  also  used  in  the  Mosaic  sacri- 
fices, and  in  the  purification  of  new- 
born children.  It  has  long  been 
used  in  the  German  universities — 
much  as  it  appears  from  the  passage 
above  to  have  been  used  at  Eton — 


372 


Etoniana,  A  ncient  and  Modern. — Part  II. 


[March, 


for  the  burlesque  ceremonies  at 
the  admission  of  the  "  Beanus  "  or 
"  Fuclis "  (freshman),  to  the  full 
privileges  of  student-life  ;  and  at 
both  our  own  universities,  two  or 
three  generations  back,  it  was  used 
on  similar  occasions.* 

How  it  came  to  represent  money 
is  not  quite  so  clear ;  it  may  pos- 
sibly be  the  Roman  u  salarium. " 
If  Hugget's  account  is  to  be 
trusted,  the  two  Eton  salt-bearers 
used  in  his  time  to  be  dressed  in 
white,  and  to  carry  each  a  bag  of 
real  salt,  a  little  of  which  was  offer- 
ed to  each  contributor ;  thus  ad- 
mitting him,  it  would  seem,  by  this 
symbol,  to  the  full  privileges  of  an 
Etonian,  for  the  day  at  least,  when 
he  had  duly  "  paid  his  footing." 
Within  the  present  century,  each 
salt-bearer  was  followed  by  a  man 
dressed  in  the  conventional  ivliite 
costume,  who  gave,  to  every  one 
who  had  made  his  offering,  no  longer 
a  pinch  of  salt,  but  one  of  the  tickets 
already  mentioned.  The  time  of 
year  for  holding  the  Montem  con- 
tinued to  be  winter,  until  the  year 
1758,  when  it  was  changed  by  Dr 
Barnard,  then  head  -  master,  to 
Whitsun-Tuesday,  as  a  more  con- 
venient and  agreeable  time  of  year. 
Dr  Davies,  when  provost,  said  he 
remembered  a  passage  having  to  be 
cut  from  the  school-yard  to  Salt- 
Hill,  through  the  snow,  for  the 
march  of  the  procession.  The  date 
of  the  change  is  fixed,  beyond 
doubt,  by  a  copy  of  Latin  verses, 
written  by  Benjamin  Heath,  as 
captain  : — 

"  Jam   satis  instructas   solito   pro   more 

cohortes 
Tiirbidua  bybernis  terruit  imber  aquis  ; 

Lcetior  sestivo  tempore  pom  pa  nitet." 

From  an  annual  festival  it  had 
come  to  be  biennial,  and  was  some- 
times even  deferred  to  a  third  year. 
From  1778  it  was  regularly  trien- 
nial until  its  final  suppression,  to 


the  great  regret  of  most  old  Etoni- 
ans, in  1847. 

Prince  Albert  was  present  at  the 
last  celebration,  in  1844  :  his  car- 
riage \vas  stopped  on  Windsor 
Bridge,  and  he  gave  the  salt-bearer 
the  royal  donation  of  <£!()(). 

It  was  notwithoutconsiderable  he- 
sitation and  regret  that  Dr  Hawtrey 
decided  upon  a  step  which  brought 
upon  him  at  the  time  some  undeserv- 
ed unpopularity.  But  the  most  con- 
servative Etonians  who  look  back 
calmly  on  the  question  now  admit 
that  there  were  good  reasons  for  the 
suppression.  Not  to  lay  much  stress 
upon  the  fact  that  the  whole  thing 
had  become  little  more  than  a  bur- 
lesque, wholly  incongruous  with  the 
altered  habits  and  character  of  the 
times,  there  were  other  and  more 
serious  objections.  The  facilities 
of  railway  travelling  brought  down 
shoals  of  visitors,  who  not  only 
swamped  the  genuine  Eton  element, 
but  who  were  too  often  very  objec- 
tionable in  themselves,  and  serious- 
ly injured  the  moral  discipline  of 
the  school.  The  expenses  had  also 
increased  very  much  :  vested  inter- 
ests in  cheating  of  all  kinds,  and 
encroachments  on  the  natural  liber- 
ality of  the  captain,  swallowed  up 
the  larger  proportion  of  the  day's 
"  salt."  An  attempt  was  made  to 
check  some  of  these  evils  on  the 
last  celebration,  by  having  the 
dinner  on  Fellows'  Eyott,  within 
the  college  precincts,  instead  of  at 
Salt-Hill  ;  but  even  this  change 
failed  to  secure  any  reasonable 
amount  of  privacy.  It  ought  to 
be  known  and  remembered  that 
Dr  Hawtrey,  aided  by  some  Eton 
friends,  made  a  present  to  the  cap- 
tain-expectant of  1847,  of  the  sum 
which  he  had  ascertained  to  be  the 
average  of  a  captain's  net  receipts. 
The  senior  colleger  was  never 
sure  of  his  captaincy  until  twenty 
days  before  Montem.  Standing  as 
he  did  at  the  head  of  the  roll  for 


It  would  appear,  from  one  of  John  Owen's  epigrams,  that  pepper  was  used  at 
Winchester  for  the  purpose  :  — 


Oxonioe  srtlsus  (juvcnis  turn)  more  vetusto, 
Wintoniseque  (puer  turn.)  piperatus  eram." 


1865.] 


Tlie  Tuft-hunter. 


373 


succession  to  King's  College,  he 
might,  in  case  of  a  vacancy  there 
being  announced,  be  summoned 
from  Eton  to  Cambridge  at  any 
moment  ;  and  unless  he  presented 
himself  for  admission  within  twenty 
days,  he  forfeited  his  claim.  There- 
fore, the  night  which  followed  the 
twentieth  day  before  the  Montem 
was  called  Montem-sure-night,  and 
kept  a.s  high  festival  in  college. 
At  midnight,  at  the  last  stroke  of. 
twelve,  for  which  all  were  watch- 


ing, down  came  every  bed  in  Long 
Chamber  with  a  crash  upon  the 
oaken  floor,  shutters  were  banged 
to  with  all  possible  noise,  every  boy 
shouted  "  Montem  sure  !"  and  the 
captain  was  congratulated  by  his 
friends  upon  the  honour  which  was 
now  his  surely  and  indefeasibly. 
The  ceremony  was  kept  up  with  all 
formality  to  1841,  but  for  some 
reason  was  disused  in  the  year  of 
the  last  Montem,  1844. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE    TUFT  HUNTER. 

'•  A  word  for  an  ill  used  class." — O'Down. 

THEY  say  I'm  a  Tuft-hunter ;  but  I  say  the  Tuft  hunts  me, 
And  in  the  mutual  league  we've  made,  7'ra  needed  more  than  he. 
He  finds  the  wine,  I  find  the  wit :  we  both  are  well  requited; 
But  ask,  if  his  good  things  or  mine  have  most  the  guests  delighted. 
I  bring  it  to  this  issue,  and  there  cannot  be  a  plainer : 
At  last  night's  feast,  should  he,  or  1,  be  called  the  Entertainer  \ 


VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  i>.\<  nr. 


3  c 


374 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


PICCADILLY:  AN  EPISODE  OF  CONTEMPORANEOUS  AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

"  Sonic  make  love  in  poetry,  and  some— in  Piccadilly."— TENNYSON. 


IN  a  window,  a  few  doors  from 
Cambridge  House,  the  following 
placard  some  time  since  invited, 
apparently  without  much  effect,  the 
notice  of  the  passers-by  : — "  To  let, 
this  desirable  family  mansion/'' 
After  a  considerable  period  "  the 
desirable  family"  seem  to  have 
given  it  up  in  despair,  and  van- 
ished from  the  scene,  but  the  board 
in  the  window,  beginning  "  to  let  " 
remained,  while  the  "mansion"  it- 
self was  converted  upon  it  into 
"unfurnished  chambers." 

As  in  the  words  of  that  "  humble 
companion,"  whose  life  was  ren- 
dered a  burden  to  her  by  my  poor 
dear  mother,  "  Money  was  not  so 
much  an  object  as  a  comfortable 
home,"  I  did  not  hesitate  to  instal 
myself  in  the  first  floor,  which  pos- 
sessed the  advantage  of  a  bay-win- 
dow, with  a  double  sash  to  keep  out 
the  noise,  together  with  an  extensive 
view  of  Green  Park,  and  a  sailor 
without  legs  perpetually  drawing 
ships  upon  the  opposite  pavement, 
as  a  foreground.  My  friend,  Lord 
Grandon,who  is  an  Irish  Peer  with  a 
limited  income,  took  the  floor  above, 
as  I  was  desirous  of  securing  my- 
self against  thumping  overhead  ; 
moreover,  I  am  extremely  fond  of 
him.  When  I  say  that  the  position 
which  I  enjoy  socially  is  as  well 
adapted  for  seeing  life  as  the  lo- 
cality I  selected  for  my  residence, 
most  of  my  more  fashionable  readers 
will  intuitively  discover  who  I  am ; 
fortunately,  I  have  no  cause  to  de- 
sire to  maintain  an  incognito  which 
would  be  impossible,  though,  per 
haps,  I  ought  to  explain  the  mo- 
tives which  induce  me  now  to  bring 
myself  even  more  prominently  be- 
fore the  public  than  I  have  been  in 
the  habit  of  doing.  Sitting  in  my 
bay-window  the  other  evening,  and 
reading  the  '  History  of  Civilisa- 


PICCADILLY,  February  1865. 
tion,'  by  my  late  lamented  friend 
Mr  Buckle,  it  occurred  to  me  that 
I  also  would  write  a  history  of 
civilisation — after  having  seen  the 
world,  instead  of  before  doing  so,  as 
was  the  case  with  that  gifted  phi- 
losopher. Having  for  many  years 
past  devoted  myself  to  the  study  of 
my  fellow-men  in  all  countries,  I 
thought  the  time  had  come  when 
I  could,  with  profit  to  myself  and 
the  world,  give  it  the  benefit  of 
my  extended  experience  and  my 
quick  observation.  ~No  sooner  had 
I  arrived  at  this  determination, 
than  with  characteristic  prompti- 
tude I  proceeded  to  put  it  into  exe- 
cution ;  and  singular  though  it  may 
appear,  it  was  not  until  then  that 
I  found  myself  quite  incompetent 
to  carry  out  the  vast  project  I  had 
undertaken.  The  reason  was  at 
once  apparent  —  I  had  seen  and 
thought  too  much ;  and  was  in  the 
position  which  my  predecessor  had 
failed  to  reach,  of  experimentally 
discovering  that  the  task  was  be- 
yond the  human  power  of  accom- 
plishment. Not  easily  vanquished, 
I  then  thought  of  subdividing 
it,  and  dealing  exclusively  with  a 
single  branch  of  civilisation.  Mr 
Thomas  Taylor  Meadows,  thought  I, 
has  written  a  very  elaborate  chap- 
ter upon  the  progress  of  civilisation 
as  regarded  from  a  Chinese  point 
of  view,  why  should  not  I  look  up- 
on it  from  a  purely  Piccadillean  ? — 
so  I  immediately  looked  at  it.  The 
hour  11  P.M.;  a  long  string  of  car- 
riages advancing  under  my  win- 
dows to  Lady  Palmerston's ;  rain 
pelting ;  horses  with  ears  pressed 
back,  wincing  under  the  storm ; 
coachmen  and  footmen  presenting 
the  crowns  of  their  hats  to  it ; 
streams  running  down  their  water- 
proofs, and  causing  them  to  glitter 
in  the  gaslight ;  now  and  then  the 


18C5.1 


Contemporaneous  Autobiography. — I\tr(  I. 


flash  of  a  jewel  inside  the  carriages  ; 
nothing  visible  of  the  occupant* 
luit  flounces  surging  up  at  the  win- 
down,  as  if  they  were  made  of  some 
delirious  creamy  substance,  and 
were  going  to  overflow  into  the 
street  ;  policemen  in  large  capes, 
and,  if  1  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression, Jtehnet-ically  sealed  from 
the  wet,  keeping  order  ;  draggled 
women  on  foot  "moving"  rapidly 
on.  The  fine  ladies  in  their  car- 
riages moving  on  too,  but  not 
quite  so  fast. 

This  Piccadillean  view  of  the 
progress  of  civilisation  suggested 
to  me  many  serious  reflections  ; 
among  others,  that  if  I  intended 
to  go  to  Cambridge  House  myself, 
the  sooner  I  went  to  dress  the 
better.  Which  way  are  we  moving  ? 
I  mused,  as  I  made  the  smallest 
of  white  bows  immediately  over  a 
pearl  stud  in  my  neck.  I  give  up 
the  "history"  of  civilisation.  1  cer- 
tainly can't  call  it  "  the  progress" 
of  civilisation  ;  that  does  all  very 
well  for  Pekin,  not  for  London. 
Shall  I  do  the  Gibbon  business, 
and  call  it  "  the  decline  and  fall" 
of  civilisation  ? — and  I  absently 
thrust  two  right-hand  gloves  into 
my  pocket  by  mistake,  and,  scram- 
bling across  the  wet  pavement  into 
my  brougham,  drove  in  it  the  length 
of  the  file,  and  arrived  before  I  had 
settled  this  important  question. 

While  Lady  Veriphast,  having 
planted  me  en  (cte-u-tf-te  in  a  remote 
corner,  was  entertaining  me  with 
her  accustomed  vivacity,  I  am  con- 
scious of  having  gaxed  into  those 
large  swimming  eyes  with  a  vacant 
stare  so  utterly  at  variance  with 
my  usual  animated  expression,  that 
she  said  at  last,  rather  pettishly, 
"  What  are  you  thinking  about]" 

"  Civilisation,"  I  said,  abruptly. 

"  You  mean  Conventionalism," 
she  replied  ;  "  have  you  come  to  the 
conclusion,  as  I  have,  that  all  con- 
ventionalism is  vanity?" 

"  No  ;  only  that  it  is  'vexation  of 
spirit ;'  that  is  the  part  that  belongs 
to  us — we  leave  the  'vanity'  to  the 
women." 

"  Dear  me,  I  never  heard  you  so 


solemn  and  profound  before.  Are 
you  in  love  (" 

"  No,"  I  said  ;  "  I  am  thinking 
of  writing  a  book,  but  I  don't  see 
my  way  to  it," 

"  And  the  subject  is  the  Conven- 
tionalism which  you  call  civilisa- 
tion. Well,  1  don't  wonder  at  your 
looking  vacant.  You  are  not  quite 
up  to  it,  Lord  Frank.  Why  don't 
you  write  a  novel  /" 

"  My  imagination  is  too  vivid, 
and  would  run  away  with  me." 

"  Nothing  else  would,"  she  said, 
laughing;  "but  if  you  don't  like 
fiction,  you  can  always  fall  back 
upon  fact ;  be  the  hero  of  your  own 
romance,  publish  your  diary,  and 
call  it  '  The  Experiences  of  a  Pro- 
duct of  the  Highest  State  of  Civil- 
isation.' Thus  you  will  be  able  to 
write  about  civilisation  and  your- 
self at  the  same  time,  which  I  am 
sure  you  will  like.  I  want  some 
tea,  please  ;  do  you  know  you  are 
rather  dull  to-night  I"  And  Lady 
Yeriphast  walked  me  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  crowd,  and  abandoned  me 
abruptly  for  somebody  else,  with 
whom  she  returned  to  her  corner, 
and  I  went  and  had  tea  by  myself. 

Hut  Lady  Yeriphast  had  put  me 
on  the  right  track ;  why,  I  thought 
as  I  scrambled  back  again  from  my 
brougham  across  the  wet  pavement 
to  my  bay-window,  should  I  not 
begin  at  once  to  write  about  the 
civilisation  of  the  day  I  'The  Civil- 
isation of  the  British  Isles,  as  ex- 
hibited in  Piccadilly,  an  Episode  of 
Contemporaneous  Biography,'  that 
would  not  be  a  bad  title  ;  here  I 
squared  my  elbows  before  a  quantity 
of  foolscap,  dipped  my  pen  intheink, 
dashed  on"  the  introduction  as  above. 

Next  morning  I  got  up  and  be- 
gan again  a.s  follows  :  Why  should 
1  commit  the  ridiculous  error  of 
supposing  that  the  incidents  of  my 
daily  life  are  not  likely  to  interest 
the  world  at  large  I  Whether  I 
read  the  Diary  of  Mr  Pepys,  or 
of  Lady  Morgan — whether  t  wade 
through  the  Journal  of  Mr  Evelyn, 
or  plea-santly  while  away  an  hour 
with  the  memoirs  of  "  a  Lady  of 
Quality,"  I  am  equally  struck  with 


37G 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[March, 


this  traditional  practice  of  the  bores 
and  the  wits  of  society,  to  write 
at  length  the  records  of  their  daily 
life,  bottle  them  carefully  up  in  a 
series  of  MS.  volumes,  and  leave 
them  to  their  grandchildren  _tp 
publish,  and  to  posterity  to  criti- 
cise. Now,  it  has  always  appeared 
to  me  that  the  whole  fun  of  writ- 
ing was  to  watch  the  immediate 
effect  produced  by  one's  own  lite- 
rary genius.  If,  in  addition  to 
this,  it  is  possible  to  interest  the 
public  in  the  current  events  of 
one's  life,  what  nobler  object  of 
ambition  could  a  man  propose 
to  himself  ]  Thus,  though  the  cir- 
cle of  my  personal  acquaintances 
may  not  be  increased,  I  shall  feel 
my  sympathies  are  becoming  en- 
larged with  each  succeeding  mark 
of  confidence  I  bestow  upon  the 
numerous  readers  to  whom  I  will 
recount  the  most  intimate  relations 
of  my  life.  I  will  tell  them  of  my 
aspirations  and  my  failures — of  my 
hopes  and  fears,  of  my  friends  and 
my  enemies.  I  will  narrate  con- 
versations of  general  interest  as 
touching  current,  social,  and  politi- 
cal events,  and  of  a  private  charac- 
ter when  they  concern  nobody  but 
myself.  I  shall  not  shrink  from 
alluding  to  the  state  of  my  affec- 
tions ;  and  if  the  still  unfulfilled 
story  of  my  life  becomes  involved 
with  the  destiny  of  others,  and 
entangles  itself  in  an  inextricable 
manner,  that  is  no  concern  of  mine. 
I  shall  do  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of,  or  that  I  can't  tell;  and  if  truth 
turn  out  stranger  than  fiction,  so 
much  the  better  for  my  readers. 
It  may  be  that  I  shall  become  the 
hero  of  a  sensation  episode  in  real 
life,  for  the  future  looks  vague  and 
complicated  enough ;  but  it  is  much 
better  to  make  the  world  my  friend 
before  anything  serious  occurs,  than 
allow  posterity  to  misjudge  my  con- 
duct when  I  am  no  longer  alive  to 
explain  it.  Now  at  least  I  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
whatever  happens  I  shall  give  my 
version  of  the  story  first.  Should 
the  daily  tenor  of  my  life  be  undis- 
turbed, I  can  always  fall  back  upon 


the  exciting  character  of  my  opin- 
ions. Upon  most  subjects  these 
are  quite  original — or  where  by 
chance  I  am  commonplace,  there 
is  my  friend  Grandon  upstairs  who 
is  not.  What  I  want  my  readers 
to  understand  is  why  I  write  and 
what  I  am  going  to  write  about. 
I  am  going  to  write  about  myself 
and  everything  else  that  happens 
from  day  to  day,  and  to  publish  it 
periodically,  so  that  I  may  by  de- 
grees become  the  most  popular 
topic  in  railways  and  omnibuses. 
Thus  a  member  of  Parliament  and 
a  City  man,  quite  unknown  to  each 
other,  leaving  town  by  afternoon 
train,  will  open  a  conversation 
somewhat  in  this  strain  : — 
M.  P. — "Seentheeveningpapers1?" 

C.  M.  — "Only  the  'Pall  Mall 
Gazette,'  but  I  could  not  find  any 
news  in  it." 

M.  P. — "  Perhaps  nothing  has 
happened  since  it  was  started. 
What  do  you  think  of  these  peace 
negotiations  in  America]" 

C.  M. — "  They  can't  come  to  any- 
thing, though  there  is  a  report  in 
the  City  that  gold  went  up  just 
before  the  steamer  left  New  York, 
but  that  is  in  a  private  telegram. 
However,  the  Confederate  loan  rose 
two  in  consequence.  Do  you  think 
there  is  to  be  a  dissolution  of  Par- 
liament in  April  ]" 

M.  P. — "  Not  if  Palmerston  can 
help  it.  By  the  way,  I  see  he  came 
to  town  yesterday — from  Broad- 
lands.  Do  you  know  at  all  what 
Lord  Frank  Vanecove  [that's  me]  is 
doing  just  now  ]" 

C.  M.— "  Ah,  we  shan't  know  till 
the  first  of  next  month  :  there  was 
one  report  that  that  extraordinary 
adventure  of  his  ended  in  the  most 
singular  and  unexpected  manner  ; 
another  that  he  was  married  after 
all ;  and  a  third,  that  he  was  ill  of 
brain-fever.  The  fact  is,  the  sus- 
pense is  very  trying  to  everybody." 

M.  P.—"  Yes ;  the  odd  thing  is 
that  a  friend  of  mine  who  knows 
him  tells  me  that  you  would  never 
imagine  it  at  all  to  look  at  him.  Well, 
he  would  be  a  serious  loss  to  the 
country," — and  so  on.  But  though, 


Cvntemiwraneous  Autobiography. — Part  I. 


377 


of  course,  I  am  myself  my  own 
most  popular  topic,  1  fully  intend  to 
introduce  the  public  to  my  friends. 
I  have  not  asked  their  permission 
any  more  than  the  public's,  as  I 
know  it  will  be  a  mutual  benefit. 

I  don't  mean  that  I  shall  go 
through  the  ceremony  of  a  for- 
mal introduction,  accompanied  by 
a  prefatory  notice  of  each  after 
the  manner  of  Americans — they 
shall  speak  for  themselves  ;  several 
of  them  who  are  members  of  the 
present  Government  have,  indeed, 
already  done  this  to  a  considerable 
extent ;  still  it  too  often  happens 
that  a  certain  coldness  subsists  be- 
tween the  Cabinet  and  the  country, 
— they  don't  thoroughly  understand 
each  other ;  their  extra-parliamen- 
tary utterances,  for  example,  very 
often  require  a  key  :  this  article  it 
will  fall  to  me  to  supply.  Thus,  for 
instance,  if  our  Foreign  Minister 
makes  a  speech  in  a  Highland  val- 
ley, or  even  on  the  brow  of  a  sub- 
urban hill,  committing  the  country 
to  a  policy  of  which  i  do  not  ap- 
prove, how  consolatory  it  will  be 
to  the  public  when  I  am  enabled  to 
inform  them  on  the  first  of  the  fol- 
lowing month,  that  I  at  once  re- 
monstrated with  his  Lordship  on 
the  subject,  and  that  he  has  in  con- 
sequence entirely  altered  his  views, 
and  adopted  the  despatches  with 
the  drafts  of  which  I  had  sup- 
plied him,  and  which  I  may  pos- 
sibly find  it  necessary  to  publish 
myself.  It  shall  be  my  duty,  not 
only  to  put  my  friends  on  better 
terms  with  the  people  at  large,  but 
to  drawthose  together  whom  1  think 
congenial  spirits,  and  separate  those 
who  are  contracting  an  improper  or 
injurious  intimacy.  As  1  write,  the 
magnitude  of  the  task  I  propose  to 
myself  assumes  still  larger  propor- 
tions. I  yearn  to  develop  in  the 
world  at  large  those  organs  of  consci- 
entiousness and  benevolence  which 
we  all  possess  but  so  few  exercise. 
L  invoke  the  co-operation  of  my 
readers  in  this  great  work  :  I  im- 
plore them  to  accompany  me  step 
by  step  in  the  crusade  which  I  am 
about  to  preach  in  favour  of  the 


sacrifice  of  self  for  the  public  good. 
I  demand  their   sympathy  in  this 
monthly  record  of  my  trials  as  an 
uncompromising   exponent  of   the 
motives  of    the  day,  and  I  claim 
their    tender    solicitude    should  I 
writhe,    crushed    and    mangled    by 
the  iron  hand  of  a  social  tyranny 
dexterously  concealed  in  its  velvet 
glove.     I  will  begin  my  efforts  at 
reform  with  the  liench  of  Bishops  ; 
I  will  then  descend  to  the  parsonic 
body  of  the   Church  of  England, 
with  an  upward  digression  to  Cath- 
olicism, and  a  downward  cut  into 
Dissent;  1    will  branch  off  to  the 
present    Cabinet    and    analyse    it 
minutely  ;   I  will  cross  over  to  the 
Opposition,  and  dissect  the  motives 
which  actuate  their  policy  ;  1  will 
extend  the  sphere  of  my  operations 
into  the  ultra-Radical   ranks,   and 
mix  in  the  highest  circles  of  society 
in  the  spirit  of  a  missionary.   I  will 
endeavour  to  show  everybody  up  to 
everybody  else  in  the  spirit  of  love  ; 
and  if  they  end  by  quarrelling  with 
each  other  and  with  me,  I  shall  at 
lea-st  have  the  satisfaction  of  feel- 
ing myself  divested  of  all  further 
responsibility  in   the  matter.      In 
my  present  frame  of  mind  apathy 
would  be  culpable  and  weakness  a 
crime.         ..... 

Candour  compels  me  to  state 
that  when,  as  I  told  Lady  Veri- 
phast,  my  imagination  becomes 
heated,  my  pen  travels  with  a  velo- 
city which  fails  to  convey  any  ade- 
quate impression  of  the  seething 
thoughts  which  course  through  my 
brain.  I  lose  myself  in  my  subject, 
and  become  almost  insensible  to 
external  sensations;  thus  it  hap- 
pened that  I  did  not  hear  the  door 
open  as  I  was  writing  the  above, 
and  I  was  totally  unconscious  as  I 
was  reading  fervidly  aloud  the  last 
paragraph,  containing  those  aspira- 
tions which  I  promised  to  confide 
to  the  public,  that  1  had  already  a 
listener.  Judge  of  my  surprise — I 
may  say  dismay — when,  just  as  I 
had  finished,  and  was  biting  the 
end  of  my  pen  for  a  new  inspira- 
tion, 1  heard  the  deep-toned  voice 
of  Urandou  close  behind  my  chair. 


3^  Q 
I  O 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[March, 


"  Well,  considering,  my  dear 
Frank,  that  you  have  borrowed  all 
those  sentiments  from  your  friends, 
from  the  conversion  of  the  Ecclesi- 
astical Bfench  down  to  Missionary 
Enterprise  in  the  ball-room,  I  think 
you  have  put  it  as  forcibly  as  I  could 
have  wished.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that 
I  shall  not  only  have  the  benefit  of 
your  valuable  assistance  in  propa- 
gating my  views,  but  that  you  pro- 
pose enlisting  public  sympathy  in 
the  matter  as  well.  As  you  have 
so  boldly  begun  by  taking  the  pub- 
lic into  your  confidence,  perhaps 
you  will  go  on  to  tell  them  the  mode 
in  which  you  intend  commencing 
operations.  How,  for  instance,  do 
you  propose  to  open  the  campaign 
against  the  Bishops  1" 

If  there  is  one  quality  upon 
which  I  pride  myself  more  than 
another,  it  is  readiness.  I  certainly 
had  not  formed  the  slightest  con- 
ception of  how  any  of  these  burn- 
ing thoughts  of  mine — I  mean  my 
friends' — should  be  put  into  execu- 
tion ;  but  I  did  not  hesitate  a  se- 
cond in  my  answer.  "  I  shall  go 
down  to  one  and  stay  with  him  in 
his  palace,"  I  replied  promptly. 
"  Which  one  1"  said  Orandon. 
I  was  going  to  say  "  Oxford,"  as  he 
is  the  only  one  I  happen  to  know  ; 
but,  in  the  first  place,  I  am  a  little 
afraid  of  him  ;  and,  in  the  second, 
I  am  hardly  on  sufficiently  intimate 
terms  with  him  to  venture  to  pro- 
pose myself — so  I  said,  with  some  ef- 
frontery, "  Oh,  to  a  Colonial  bishop, 
whom  you  don't  know." 

"Nor  you  either,  I  suspect," 
laughed  Grandon.  "  Just  at  pre- 
sent colonial  bishops  are  rather 
scarce  articles,  and  I  have  never 
heard  of  one  in  England  with  a 
palace,  though  there  are  a  good 
many  of  them  dotted  about  in  snug 
livings,  retaining  only  their  lawn 
sleeves,  either  to  laugh  in  or  remind 
them  of  the  dignity  and  the  hard- 
ships of  which  they  did  not  die 
abroad.  Their  temptations  are  of 
a  totally  different  nature  from  those 
who  are  members  of  the  House  of 
Peers,  and  they  must  be  treated 
apart ;  in  fact,  we  will  take  them 


with  the  Missionaries  and  Colonial 
Clergy.  If  there  is  one  thing  that 
is  more  urgently  needed  than  a 
Missionary  to  the  ball-room,  it  is  a 
Missionary  to  the  Missionaries  ;  and 
as  you  have  had  so  much  experience 
of  their  operations  abroad,  you  might 
become  a  very  useful  labourer  in  the 
ecclesiastical  vineyard." 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  my  heart 
leaped  at  the  thought ;  it  was  a 
work  for  which  I  felt  myself  spe- 
cially qualified.  "Why,"  I  have 
thought,  "  should  there  be  a  set  of 
men  who  preach  to  others,  and 
are  never  preached  at  themselves  1 
Every  class  and  condition  of  life  has 
its  peculiar  snares  and  temptations, 
and  one  class  is  set  apart  to  point 
them  out — surely  there  should  be 
somebody  to  perform  that  kind  office 
for  them  which  they  do  for  others. 
He  who  is  paid  to  find  out  the 
mote  that  is  in  his  brother's  eye, 
and  devotes  his  energies  to  its  dis- 
covery, is  of  all  men  the  one  who 
requires  most  the  kind  and  faithful 
friend  to  show  him  the  beam  which 
is  in  his  own.  I  will  be  that  friend, 
an  d  ch  arge  nothin  g  f  or  it,"  th  ought  I . 
Grandon  saw  the  flush  of  enthu- 
siasm which  mounted  to  my  brow, 
and  looked  grave. 

"  My  impulsive  friend,"  he  said, 
"  this  is  a  very  serious  subject ;  we 
must  beware  lest  we  fall  into  the  er- 
ror which  we  blame  in  others  ;  it  is 
one  thing  to  see  the  need  of  the 
missionary,  it  is  another  to  rush 
headlong  upon  the  work.  How- 
ever, I  am  able  to  offer  you  an  op- 
portunity of  beginning  at  once,  for 
Dickiefield  has  given  us  a  joint  in- 
vitation to  go  down  to-morrow  to 
Dickiefield,  to  stay  till  Parliament 
opens;  we  shall  be  certain  to  find  a 
nondescript  heathen  society  in  that 
most  agreeable  of  country-houses, 
and  you  may  possibly  meet  the  iden- 
tical Colonial  Bishop  at  whose  palace 
you  proposed  staying.  The  three- 
o'clock  train  lands  us  exactly  in 
time  for  dinner.  Will  you  come  1" 
"  Well,  I'm  not  sure,"  said  I,  with 
some  hesitation,  not  having  of  course 
a  shadow  of  doubt  on  the  matter. 
"  I'll  try  and  get  off  my  visit  to  Joseph 


INGS.] 


Contemporaneous  A  utobiography. — 1'art  I. 


379 


Caribbee  Islands,  so  perhaps  you 
may  find  me  on  the  platform." 

On  our  arrival  at  Dickiefield  we 
found  the  party  consisted  of  old 
Lady  Broadbrim,  with  that  very 
aspirini;  young  nobleman,  her  son, 
the  young  Earl  (old  Lord  Broad- 
brim died  last  year),  and  his  sisters, 
Ladies  Bridget  and  Ursula Newlyte, 
neither  of  whom  1  had  seen  since 
they  emerged  from  the  nursery. 

Wlien  Grandon  and  1  entered  the 
drawing-room,  we  found  only  the 
deserted  apparatus  of  the  afternoon 
tea,  a  Bishop  and  a  blaek  man — 
Dickielield  is  the  most  careless 
fellow  in  this  sort  of  thing,  and 
only  turned  up  when  it  was  time 
to  dress  for  dinner — so  we  had  to 
introduce  ourselves.  The  Bishop 
had  a  beard  and  an  apron,  his  com- 
panion a  turban,  and  such  very 
large  shoes,  that  it  was  evident 
his  feet  were  unused  to  the  con- 
finement. The  Bishop  looked 
stern  and  determined  ;  perhaps 
there  was  just  a  dash  of  worldli- 
ness  about  the  twist  of  his  mus- 
tache. His  companion  looked  sub- 
dued and  unctuous  ;  his  face  was 
shaved  ;  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes 
very  bloodshot  and  yellow.  Nei- 
ther of  them  were  the  least  em- 
barrassed when  we  were  shown  in  ; 
Grandon  and  1  both  were  slightly. 
"  What  a  comfort  that  the  snow  is 
gone,"  said  I  to  the  Bishop. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  Lordship  ;  "  the 
weather  is  very  trying  to  me,  who 
have  just  arrived  from  the  Caribbee 
Islands." 

Joseph  himself,  thought  I,  with 
confusion,  as  Grandon  glanced 
slyly  at  me  ;  but  I  quickly  re- 
covered my  composure,  and  apolo- 
gised for  not  recollecting  him.  The 
Bishop  seemed  surprised,  but  was 
too  well-bred  to  repudiate  me,  and 
Grandon  came  to  the  rescue,  by 
asking  the  swarthy  individual  whe- 
ther he  had  also  come  from  the 
Caribbee  Islands. 

"  Xo,"  he  said  ;  "  he  had  arrived 
some  months  since  from  Bombay." 

"  Think  of  staying  long  in  Eng- 
land I"  said  ( Irandon. 

"  That   depends  upon  my  pros- 


pects at  the  next  general  election. 
I  am  looking  out  for  a  borough." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  CJrandon  ;  and 
we  all,  Bishop  included,  gazed  on 
him  with  astonishment. 

"  My  name  is  Chundango,"  la- 
went  on.  "  My  parents  were  both 
Hindoos.  Before  1  was  converted 
my  other  name  was  Juggonath  ; 
now  1  am  .John.  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  circle  of  dear  Chris- 
tian friends  in  Bombay,  during  my 
connection,  as  catechist,  with  the 
Church  Missionary  Society,  was 
peculiarly  favoured  in  some  mer- 
cantile transactions  into  which  I 
subsequently  entered,  in  connection 
with  cotton,  and  have  come  to 
spend  my  fortune,  and  enter  public 
life,  in  this  country.  I  was  just 
expressing  to  our  dear  friend  here," 
pointing  in  a  patronising  way  to- 
wards the  Bishop,  "  my  regret  at 
finding  that  he  shares  in  views 
which  are  becoming  so  prevalent 
in  the  Church,  and  are  likely  to 
taint  the  Protestantism  of  Great 
Britain  and  part  of  Ireland." 

"  Goodness,"  thought  I,  "  how 
this  complicates  matters  !  which  of 
these  two  now  stands  most  in  need 
of  my  services  as  a  Missionary  i" 
As  1  )ickiel5eld  was  lighting  me  up  to 
my  bedroom,  I  could  not  resist  con- 
gratulating him  upon  his  two  guests. 
u  A  good  specimen  of  the  '  unsound 
muscular,'  the  Bishop,"  said  L 

"  Yes,"  said  Dickiefield,  "but  he 
is  not  unique,  like  the  other.  I 
(latter  myself  I  have  under  my  roof 
the  only  well-authenticated  instance 
of  the  Hindoo  converted  millionaire. 
It  is  true  he  was  converted  when  he- 
was  a  poor  boy  of  fifteen,  and  began 
life  as  a  catechist ;  then  hesawa  good 
mercantile  opening,  and  went  into 
cotton,  out  of  which  he  has  realised 
an  immense  fortune,  and  now  is 
going  into  political  life  in  England, 
which  he  could  not  have  done 
without  becoming  a  Christian. 
Who  ever  heard  before  of  a  Bombay 
man  wanting  to  get  into  Parlia- 
ment, and  coming  home  with  a 
carte  <lu  pnys  all  arranged  before 
he  started  I  He  advocates  exten- 
sion of  the  franchise,  ballot,  and  the 


380 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[March, 


Evangelical  Alliance,  so  I  tli ought  I 
would  fasten  him  on  to  Broadbrim 
—they'll  help  to  float  each  other." 
And  my  warm-hearted  and  eccentric 
friend,  Lord  Dickiefield,  left  me  to 
my  meditations  and  my  toilet. 

"  I  shall  probably  have  to  take 
one  of  these  Broadbrim  girls  in  to 
dinner,"  thought  I,  as  I  followed 
the  rustle  of  their  crinolines  down- 
stairs back  to  the  drawing-room. 
So  I  ranged  myself  near  the  one 
with  dark  hair  and  blue  eyes — I 
like  the  combination — to  the  great 
annoyance  of  Juggonath,  who  had 
got  so  near  her  for  the  same  purpose 
that  his  great  foot  was  on  her  dress. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr  Jugger- 
naut/' said  I,  giving  him  a  slight 
shove,  "  I  think  you  are  stand- 
ing  " 

"  Chundango,  sir,  if  you  please," 
said  he,  unconsciously  making  way 
for  me,"  Juggonath  is  the  name  which 
my  poor  benighted  countrymen " 

"  Juggernaut  still  speaking,  as  they 
say  in  the  telegraphic  reports  from 
the  House  of  Commons,"  I  remarked 
to  Lady  Ursula,  as  I  carried  her  off 
triumphantly;  and  the  Indian's  voice 
was  lost  in  the  hum  of  the  general 
movement  towards  the  dining-room. 

I  have  promised  not  to  shrink 
from  alluding  to  those  tender  sensi- 
bilities which  an  ordinary  mortal 
jealously  preserves  from  the  rough 
contact  of  his  fellow-men  ;  but  I  am 
not  an  ordinary  mortal,  and  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying,  that  never  in  my 
life  have  I  gone  through  such  a  dis- 
tinct change  of  feeling  in  the  same 
period  as  during  the  two  hours  we  sat 
at  that  dinner.  Deeply  versed  as  I 
am  in  every  variety  of  the  sex,  mar- 
ried or  single,  how  was  I  to  know 
that  Lady  Ursula  was  as  little  like 
the  rest  of  the  species  as  our  Bom- 
bay friend  was  to  wealthy  Hindoos 
generally  ?  What  reason  had  I  to  sup- 
pose that  Lady  Broadbrim's  daugh- 
ter could  possibly  be  a  new  type  ] 

Having  been  tolerably  intimate 
at  Broadbrim  House  before  she  was 
out,  I  knew  well  the  atmosphere 
which  had  surrounded  her  youth, 
and  took  it  for  granted  that  she 
had  imbibed  the  family  views. 


"  Interesting  creature,  John  Chun- 
dango, Esq.,"  said  I,  for  I  thought 
she  had  looked  grave  at  the  flip- 
pancy of  my  last  remark  ;  "  he  has 
quite  the  appearance  of  a  '  Brand.'  " 

"  A  what  ] "  said  Lady  Ursula, 
as  she  looked  up  and  caught  him 
glaring  fixedly  at  her  with  his  great 
yellow  eyeballs  from  the  other  side 
of  the  table. 

"  Of  course  I  don't  mean  of  the 
'whipper-in'  of  the  Liberal  party,  but 
of  one  rescued  from  fire.  I  under- 
stand that  his  great  wealth,  so  far 
from  having  proved  a  snare  to  him, 
has  enabled  him  to  join  in  many 
companies  for  the  improvement  of 
Bombay,  and  that  his  theological 
views  are  quite  unexceptionable." 

"  If  his  conversion  leads  him  to 
avoid  discussing  either  his  neigh- 
bours or  their  theology,  Lord 
Frank,  I  think  he  is  a  person  whom 
we  may  all  envy." 

Is  that  a  hit  at  her  mother  or 
at  me  1  thought  I.  At  Broadbrim 
House,  society  and  doctrine  used 
to  be  the  only  topics  of  discussion. 
My  fair  friend  here  has  probably 
had  so  much  of  it  that  she  has 
gone  off  on  another  tack ;  perhaps 
she  is  a  "still  deep  fast"  one.  As 
I  thought  thus,  I  ran  over  in  my 
mind  my  young  lady  categories,  as 
(  The  wholly  worldly 
follows  :  first,  <  and 

(  The  worldly  holy. 

In  this  case  the  distinction  is 
very  fine;  but  though  they  are 
bracketed  together,  there  is  an 
appreciable  difference,  which,  per- 
haps, some  day  when  I  have  time,  I 
shall  discuss. 

Second,  "  The  still  deep  fast." 

This  may  seem  to  be  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms ;  but  the  fact  is,  while 
the  upper  surface  seems  tranquil 
enough,  there  is  a  strong  rapid  un- 
dercurrent. The  danger  is,  in  this 
case,  that  you  are  very  apt  to  go  in 
what  is  called  a  "  header."  The  mo- 
ment you  dive  you  get  caught  by  the 
undercurrent,  and  the  chances  are 
you  never  rise  to  the  surface  again. 

Third,  "The  rippling  glancing 
fast." 

This  is  less  fatal,  but  to  my  mind 


18C5.] 


Contemporaneous  AulolioyrajJti/. — Part  I. 


not  so  attractive  as  the  other.  The 
ripples  are  produced  by  quantities 
of  pebbles,  which  are  sure  to  give 
one  what  is  called  in  America  "  a 
rough  time."  The  glancing  is  only 
dangerous  to  youths  in  the  first 
stage,  and  is  perfectly  innocuous 
after  one  season. 

Fourth,  "The  rushing  gushing 
fast." 

This  speaks  for  itself,  and  may 
be  considered  perfectly  harmless. 

There  are  only  two  slows — the 
"  strong-minded  blue  slow,"  and 
"  the  heavy  slow." 

The  "  strong-minded  blue  slow  " 
includes  every  branch  of  learning. 
It  is  extremely  rare,  and  alarming 
to  the  youth  of  the  day.  I  am 
rather  partial  to  it  myself. 

The  "heavy  slow"  is,  alas!  too 
common. 

To  retuni  to  Lady  Ursula  :  not 
"worldly  holy,"  that  was  quite 
clear ;  certainly  neither  of  the 
"  slows,"  [  could  see  that  in  her  eye, 
to  say  nothing  of  her  retort;  not 
"  rippling  glancing,"  her  eye  was 
not  of  that  kind  either;  certainly 
not  "  rushing  gushing."  What  re- 
mained ?  Only  "  wholly  worldly," 
or  "  still  deep  fast." 

These  were  the  thoughts  that 
coursed  through  my  mind  as  I  pon- 
dered over  her  retort.  I  had  not 
forgotten  that  I  had  a  great  work 
to  accomplish.  The  missionary 
spirit  was  ever  burning  within  me, 
but  it  was  necessary  to  examine  the 
ground  before  attempting  to  pre- 
pare it  for  seed.  I'll  try  her  as 
"  still  deep,"  thought  I. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  mind  talk- 
ing about  people  who  are  mention- 
ed in  the  newspapers,"  said  I,  with 
rather  a  piqued  air ;  "  we  are  not 
called  upon  to  extend  our  charity 
to  those  we  don't  know." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Lady  Ursula,  "  I 
take  the  greatest  possible  interest 
in  politics,  and  in  the  events  which 
are  going  on  around  me.  The 
'  Times '  seems  as  necessary  to  me 
as  it  does  to  Broadbrim." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "there  is  a  good 
deal  of  curious  reading  in  its  col- 
umns. Singular  case  that  was  of 


Smith  r.  Smith,  in  which  Jones  was 
co-respondent.  I  can't  say  1  pitied 
Smith.  Did  you  (" 

I  was  helping  myself  to  potatoes 
as  I  made  this  observation  in  a 
tone  of  easy  indifference  ;  but  as 
she  did  not  immediately  answer, 
1  glanced  at  her,  and  was  at  once 
overcome  with  remorse  and  confu- 
sion ;  her  neck  and  face  were  suf- 
fused with  a  glow  which  produced 
the  immediate  effect  upon  my  sen- 
sitive nature  of  making  me  feel  a 
brute;  her  very  eyelids  trembled 
as  she  kept  them  steadily  lowered  : 
and  yet  what  had  I  said  which  I 
had  not  repeatedly  said  before  to 
both  the  "  slows,"  one  of  the 
"worldlys,"  and  all  the  "fasts"  I 
Even  some  of  the  "worldly  holys" 
rather  relish  this  style  of  conversa- 
tion, though  I  always  wait  for  them 
to  begin  it,  for  fear  of  accidents. 
Fortunately,  however  much  I  am 
moved,  I  never  lose  my  presence 
of  mind,  so  1  deliberately  upset  my 
champagne-glass  into  her  plate,  and, 
with  the  delicacy  and  tact  of  a  re- 
h'ned  nature,  so  worded  the  apolo- 
gies with  which  I  overwhelmed  her, 
that  she  forgave  my  h'rst  gaucherie 
in  laughing  over  the  second. 

She  can  be  nothing  now,  thought 
I,  but  "  wholly  worldly,"  but  she 
should  be  ticketed  like  broadcloth, 
"superfine;"  so  I  must  tread  cau- 
tiously. 

"  I  hear  Lord  Broadbrim  is  going 
to  make  his  political  dchut  in  a  few 
days,"  I  remarked,  after  a  pause. 
"  What  line  does  he  think  of  tak- 
ing?" 

"  He  has  not  told  me  exactly 
what  he  means  to  say,  as  I  am 
afraid  we  do  not  quite  agree  in 
what  philosophers  call  first  prin- 
ciples," she  replied,  with  a  smile 
and  a  slight  sigh. 

"  Ah  !"  I  said,  "  lean  guess  what 
it  is ;  he  is  a  little  too  Radical  for 
yu'.1,  but  you  must  not  mind  that ; 
depend  upon  it,  an  ambitious  young 
peer  can't  do  better  than  ally  him- 
self with  the  Manchester  school. 
They  have  plenty  of  talent,  but 
have  failed  as  yet  to  make  much 
impression  upon  the  country  for 


382 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[March, 


lack  of  an  aristocrat.  It  is  like  a 
bubble  company  in  the  City ;  they 
want  a  nobleman  as  chairman  to 
give  an  air  of  respectability  to  the 
direction.  He  might  perhaps  be  a 
prophet  without  honour  if  he  re- 
mained in  his  own  country,  so  he 
is  quite  right  to  go  to  Manchester. 
I  look  upon  cotton,  backed  by 
Exeter  Hull,  as  so  strong  a  combi- 
nation, that  they  would  give  an 
immense  start  in  public  life  to  a 
young  man  with  great  family  pres- 
tige, even  of  small  abilities ;  but  as 
Broadbrim  has  good  natural  talents, 
and  is  in  the  Upper  House  into  the 
bargain,  the  move,  in  a  strategical 
point  of  view,  so  far  as  his  future 
career  is  concerned,  is  perfect." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Lord  Frank," 
said  Lady  Ursula,  "  how  distressed 
I  am  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  way. 
As  a  woman,  I  suppose  I  am  not 
competent  to  discuss  politics  ;  and 
if  Broadbrim  conscientiously  be- 
lieves in  manhood-suffrage  and  the 
Low  Church,  and  considers  it  his 
duty  before  God  to  lose  no  oppor- 
tunity of  propagating  his  opinions, 
I  should  be  the  first  to  urge  his  using 
all  the  influence  which  his  name 
and  wealth  give  him  in  what  would 
then  become  a  sacred  duty;  but 
the  career  that  you  talk  about  is 
not  a  sacred  duty.  It  is  a  wretched 
Will-o'-the-wisp  that  tempts  men 
to  wade  through  mire  in  its  pursuit, 
not  the  bright  star  fixed  above  them 
in  the  heavens  to  light  up  their 
path.  I  firmly  believe,"  she  went 
on,  as  she  warmed  to  her  theme, 
"  that  that  one  word,  '  Career,'  has 
done  more  to  demoralise  public 
men  than  any  other  word  in  the 
language.  It  is  one  embodiment 
of  that  selfishness  which  we  are 
taught  from  our  cradles.  Boys  go 
to  school  with  strict  injunctions  if 
possible  to  put  self  at  the  top  of  it. 
They  take  the  highest  honours  at 
the  university  purely  for  the  sake 
of  self.  How  can  we  expect  when 
they  get  into  Parliament  that  they 
should  think  of  anything  but  self, 
until  at  last  the  most  conscientious 
of  them  is  only  conscientious  by 
contrast]  I  know  you  think  me 


foolish  and  unpractical,  and  will 
tell  me  mine  is  an  impossible 
standard  ;  but  I  don't  believe  in 
impossible  standards  where  public 
morality  is  concerned.  At  all  events, 
let  us  make  some  attempt  in  an  up- 
ward direction  ;  and  as  a  first  step 
I  propose  to  banish  from  the  voca- 
bulary that  most  pernicious  of  all 
words,  'A  Career.'  " 

She  stopped,  with  eyes  sparkling 
and  cheeks  flushed  ;  by  the  way,  I 
did  not  before  remark,  for  I  only 
now  discovered,  that  she  was  lovely 
— "  wholly  worldly  " — what  sacri- 
lege! say  rather  "  barely  mortal  ;" 
and  I  forthwith  instituted  a  new 
category.  My  own  ideas,  thought 
I,  expressed  in  feminine  language  ; 
she  is  converted  already,  and  stands 
in  no  need  of  a  missionary.  Gran- 
don  himself  could  not  take  higher 
ground ;  as  I  thought  of  him  I 
looked  up,  and  found  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  us.  "  My  friend  Grandon 
would  sympathise  most  cordially 
in  your  sentiments,"  I  said,  gene- 
rously ;  for  I  had  fallen  a  victim  in 
preparing  the  ground ;  I  had  myself 
tumbled  into  the  pit  which  I  had 
dug  for  her ;  for  had  I  not  endea- 
voured to  entrap  her  by  expressing 
the  most  unworthy  opinions,  in  the 
hope  that  by  assenting  to  them  she 
would  have  furnished  me  with  a 
text  to  preach  upon  1 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  tone, 
and  with  a  slight  tremor  in  her 
voice,  "  I  know  what  Lord  Gran- 
don's  views  are,  for  he  was  staying 
with  us  at  Broadbrim  a  few  weeks 
ago,  and  I  heard  him  upon  several 
occasions  discussing  the  subject 
with  my  brother." 

"  Failed  to  convert  him,  though, 
it  would  appear,"  said  I,  thinking 
what  a  delightful  field  for  mission- 
ary operations  Broadbrim  House 
would  be.  "  Perhaps  I  should  be 
more  successful.  Grandon  wants 
tact.  Young  men  sometimes  re- 
quire very  delicate  handling." 

"  So  do  young  women,"  said 
Lady  Ursula,  laughing.  "  Will  you 
please  look  under  the  table  for  my 
fan  ]  "  and  away  sailed  the  ladies, 
leaving  me  rather  red  from  having 


18G5.] 


Contemporaneous  A  utobiography. — 1'art  I. 


383 


got  under  the  table,  and  very  much 
in  love  indeed. 

I  was  roused  from  the  reverie  into 
which  I  instantly  fell  by  Dickic- 
lield  telling  me  to  pass  the  winr, 
and  asking  me  if  1  knew  my  next 
neighbour.  1  looked  round  and 
saw  a  young  man  with  long  Haxen 
hair,  blue  eyes,  and  an  unhealthy 
complexion,  dexterously  impaling 
pieces  of  apple  upon  his  knife,  and 
conveying  them  with  it  to  his 
mouth.  "Mr  Wog,'!  said  Dickie- 
field,  "  let  me  introduce  you  to 
Lord  Frank  Yanecove." 

"  Who  did  you  say,  sir  /  "  said  Mr 
Wog,  in  a  strong  American  accent, 
without  taking  the  slightest  notice 
of  me. 

"  Lord  Frank  Yanecove,"  said 
Dickiefield. 

''Lord  Frank  Yanecove,  sir,  how 
do  you  do,  sir  \ — proud  to  make 
your  acquaintance,  sir,"  said  Mr 
Wo_r.  "  I  have  come  over  here 
during  the  unhappy  crisis  through 
which  my  country  is  just  now  pass- 
ing, furnished  with  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  the  leading  members  of 
your  aristocracy,  to  report  upon  the 
.state  of  feeling  in  your  highest 
circles.  We  know  what  it  is  in 
yonr  middle  and  lower  classes, 
your  oppressed  classes,  I  may  say  ; 
but  some  misapprehension  exists 
with  reference  to  the  feeling  of  the 
British  aristocracy  in  connection 
with  our  country  which  1  should 
like  to  correct.  My  father,  sir,  you 
may  have  heard  of  by  name — Apol- 
lonius  T.  Wog,  the  founder,  and,  I 
may  say,  the  father  of  the  celebrated 
'  Pollywog  Convention,'  which  was 
named  after  him,  and  which  un- 
fortunately burst  up  just  in  time  to 
be  too  late  to  save  our  country  from 
bursting  up  too." 

I  expressed  to  Mr  Wog  my  con- 
dolences on  the  premature  decease 
of  the  Pollywog  Convention,  and 
asked  him  how  long  he  had  been  in 
England,  and  whom  he  had  seen. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  have  only 
been  here  a  few  days,  and  1  have 
seen  considerable  people  j  but  none 
of  them  were  noblemen,  and  they 
are  the  class  1  have  to  report  upon. 


The  Karl  of  Broadbrim  here  is  the 
first  with  whom  I  have  conversed, 
and  he  informs  me  that  he  has  just 
come  from  one  of  your  universities, 
and  that  the  sympathies  of  the 
great  majority  of  your  rising  youth 
are  entirely  with  the  North." 

"And  of  our  old  women  too," 
said  1.  "  You  may  report  to  your 
(Jovernment,  that  the  British  youth 
of  the  present  day,  hot  from  the 
university,  are  very  often  prigs." 

"  Most  certainly  I  will,"  said  Mr 
Wog;  "the  last  word,  however,  is 
an  Anglicism  with  which  1  am  not 
acquainted." 

"It  is  an  old  English  term  for 
profound  thinker,"  1  replied. 

Mr  Wog  took  out  a  pocketbook, 
and  made  a  note  ;  while  he  was 
doing  so,  lie  said,  with  a  sly  look, 
"  Have  you  an  old  English  term  for 
'  quite  a  fine  gurl  '  <  " 

"  No,"  1  said;  "they  are  a  modern 
invention." 

"  Well,  sir,  in  our  country  we 
sometimes  call  them  '  snorters,'  and 
1  can  tell  you  the  one  that  sat 
'twixt  you  and  me  at  dinner  would 
knock  the  spots  out  of  some  of  our 
Boston  belles." 

in  my  then  frame  of  mind  the 
remark  caused  me  such  acute  pain 
that  I  plunged  into  a  conversation 
that  was  going  on  between  (Iran- 
don  and  Dickiefield  on  the  present 
state  of  our  relations  with  Brazil, 
and  took  no  further  notice  of  Mr 
Wog  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  ; 
only,  as  my  readers  will  probably 
see  a  good  deal  of  him  in  so- 
ciety during  this  season,  I  have 
thought  it  right  to  introduce  him 
to  them  at  once. 

We  all  went  to  hear  Broadbrim's 
speech  next  day,  and  whatever 
might  have  been  our  private  opin- 
ion upon  the  matter,  we  all,  with 
the  exception  of  Cirandon  and  Lady 
Ursula,  warmly  congratulated  him 
upon  it  afterwards.  John  Chun- 
dango  and  Joseph  Caribbee  Islands 
both  made  most  effective  speeches, 
but  we  did  not  feel  the  least  called 
upon  to  congratulate  them  :  they 
each  alluded  with  great  alVection  to 
the  heathen  and  to  Lord  Broadbrim. 


384 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[March, 


Ckundango  drew  a  facetious  con- 
trast between  his  Lordship  and  an 
effeminate  young  Eastern  prince, 
which  was  highly  applauded  by  the 
audience  that  crowded  the  town- 
hall  of  Gullaby  ;  and  Joseph  made 
a  sort  of  grim  joke  about  the  pro- 
bable effect  of  the  "  Court  of  Final 
Appeal"  upon  the  theological  tenets 
of  the  Caribbee  Islanders,  that  made 
Lady  Broadbrim  cough  disappro- 
bation, and  everybody  else  on  the 
platform  feel  uncomfortable.  I  con- 
fess I  have  rather  a  weakness  for 
Joseph.  He  has  a  blunt  off-hand 
way  of  treating  the  most  sacred 
topics,  that  you  only  find  among 
those  who  are  professionally  fami- 
liar with  the  subject.  There  is 
something  refreshingly  muscular  in 
the  way  he  lounges  down  to  the 
smoking-room  in  an  old  grey  shoot- 
ing-coat, and  lights  the  short  black 
meerschaum,  which  he  tells  you  kept 
off  fever  in  the  Caribbee  Islands, 
while  the  smoke  loses  itself  in  the 
depths  of  his  thick  beard,  which 
he  is  obliged  to  wear  because  of  his 
delicate  throat.  There  is  a  force  and 
an  ease  in  his  mode  of  dealing  with 
inspiration  at  such  a  moment  which 
you  feel  must  give  him  an  immense 
ascendancy  over  the  native  mind. 

He  possesses  what  may  be  termed 
a  dry  ecclesiastical  humour,  differing 
entirely  from  Chundango's,  whose 
theological  fun  takes  rather  theform 
of  scriptural  riddles,  picked  up  while 
he  was  a  catechist.  Neither  he  nor 
Broadbrim  smoke,  so  we  had  Wog 
and  the  Bishop  to  ourselves  for  half 
an  hour  before  going  to  bed.  "  You 
must  come  and  breakfast  with  me 
some  morning  in  Piccadilly  to  meet 
my  interesting  friend,  Brother  Cry- 
sostom,  my  Lord,"  said  I. 

I  always  like  to  give  a  bishop 
his  title,  particularly  a  missionary 
bishop  ;  it  is  a  point  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal etiquette  about  which  I  have 
heard  that  the  propagators  of  Chris- 
tianity were  very  particular. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  sir,  I  will 
join  the  party,"  said  Mr  Wog,  be- 
fore the  Bishop  could  reply;  "  and 
as  I  don't  know  where  Piccadilly  is, 
I'll  just  ask  the  Bishop  to  bring  me 


along.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  law 
going  on  between  your  Bishops  just 
now,"  our  American  friend  went 
on,  "  and  I  should  like  to  know  the 
rights  of  it.  We  in  our  country 
consider  that  your  Ecclesiastical 
Court  is  a  most  remarkable  insti- 
tution for  a  Christian  land.  Why, 
sir,  law  is  strictly  prohibited  in  a 
certain  place  ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  might  as  well  talk  of  a 
good  devil  as  a  religious  court.  If 
it  is  wrong  for  a  layman  to  go  to 
law,  it  must  be  wrong  for  a  bishop. 
What's  sauce  for  the  goose  is  sauce 
for  the  gander  ;  that  proverb  holds 
good  in  your  country  as  well  as 
mine,  don't  it  V 

"  The  Ecclesiastical  Court  is  a 
court  of  discipline  and  doctrine  ra- 
ther than  of  law,"  said  Dickiefield. 

"  Well,  it's  a  court  anyhow  you 
fix  it ;  and  your  parsons  must  be  a 
bad  lot  to  want  a  set  of  lawyers 
reg'larly  trained  to  keep  them  in 
order." 

"  Perhaps  Parson  Brownlow  would 
have  been  the  better  of  a  court  of 
some  kind,"  said  the  Bishop.  "Just 
now  your  Church  in  America  is  for 
the  most  part  militant ;  however, 
as  you  have  been  so  good  as  to 
secure  my  services  to  pilot  you  to 
Lord  Frank's,  we  shall  have  plenty 
of  opportunity  of  discussing  the 
subject  when  we  get  to  town  ;"  and 
the  Bishop,  having  finished  his  pipe, 
stalked  off  to  bed. 

"Gentlemen — noblemen,  I  should 
say,"  remarked  Mr  Wog,  when  the 
Bishop  had  disappeared,  and  he 
lowered  his  voice  to  a  mysterious 
whisper,  "  I  have  waited  till  the 
Parson  was  gone,  for  in  our  country 
we  don't  place  much  reliance  upon 
'em,  to  read  to  you  quite  an  inter- 
esting document;"  here  Mr  Wog 
pulled  some  MS.  out  of  his  pocket, 
looking  like  an  official  despatch. 
"  Before  leaving  my  own  country," 
he  went  on,  "  I  had  an  interview 
with  Mr  Seward  at  Washington  on 
the  subject  of  my  mission,  and  he 
was  good  enough  to  read  me  the 
draft  of  the  despatch  he  is  about  to 
send  to  your  Foreign  Office  so  soon 
as  Mr  Lincoln  is  officially  declared 


1805.1 


Contemporaneous  Autobiography. — Part  I. 


385 


President  of  the  United  States. 
That  ceremony  takes  place,  as  I 
suppose  you  don't  know,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  members  of  both  the 
Houses  of  Congress  at  Washington 
about  the  llth  of  this  month,  and 
the  term  of  his  new  Presidency  be- 
gins on  the  4th  of  March  next. 
Well,  gentlemen,  while  I  was  talk- 
ing to  Mr  Reward  he  was  called 
suddenly  away,  and  left  the  draft 
on  the  table.  I  am  pretty  smart 
with  my  pen,  and  before  he  came 
back  I  took  a  copy  of  it.  With 
your  permission  I'll  read  it  to  you, 
•as  I  want  your  opinion  on  the  an- 
swer which  your  Minister  is  likely 
to  give  before  the  boat  leaves  for 
New  York.  I  shall  be  very  happy, 
in  exchange,  to  get  anything  done 
for  you  on  Wall  Street  you  may 
have  a  mind  to.  I  should  say  it  is 
customary,  in  announcing  a  new 
President,  to  write  direct  to  the  Fo- 
reign Minister,  otherwise  it  would 
have  been  addressed  to  Mr  Adams. 

"  '  WASHINGTON,  February. 
"  '  My  Lord, — I  have  the  honour 
respectfully  to  announce  to  the 
Government  of  Her  Majesty  Queen 
Victoria,  that  on  the  llth  of  this 
month  Abraham  Lincoln  was  re- 
elected  upon  the  majority  of  votes 
cast  for  him  in  the  electoral  col- 
leges as  President  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  from  the  4th  of 
March  next.  The  suggestion  has 
been  made  in  our  northern  papers, 
that  the  British  Government  will 
refuse  to  recognise  him  as  presiding 
over  States  which  have  not  voted 
for  him  at  all,  and  which  have 
elected  their  own  president.  I  am 
well  aware  that  this  idea  would 
never  have  occurred  to  you,  my 
Lord  ;  but  in  case  it  h;is  been 
brought  to  your  notice,  and  you 
may  be  inclined  to  adopt  it,  I 
think  it  right  to  inform  you  that 
any  refusal  to  acknowledge  Mr 
Lincoln  as  president  of  the  whole 
Union,  will  be  followed  by  an  im- 
mediate declaration  of  war  against 
England  by  the  Government  to 
which  I  belong,  and  that  the  con- 
quest of  Canada  and  the  annihila- 


tion of  British  commerce  will  be 
the  immediate  results.  1  have  the 
honour  to  be,  my  Lord,  yours  re- 
spectfully, &c.  ttc.' 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr  Wog, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  that  (  if  that 
don't  wake  up  your  canting,  no- 
souled,  bellows-winded  Parliament 
— excuse  me,  if  my  language  is  for- 
cible— 1  ain't  Apollonius's  son,  and 
1  give  up  the  Pollywog  Convention. 
What  answer  do  you  think  your  Fo- 
reign Minister  will  make  to  that  ?  " 

"  Think  !  my  dear  Mr  Wog,"  said 
I  ;  "  I  know  ! — One  advantage  of 
extreme  simplicity  in  the  conduct 
of  our  foreign  affairs  is,  that  we 
always  know  what  our  Foreign 
Minister  is  going  to  write  before 
he  writes  it,  as  well  as  he  does  him- 
self. For  instance,  in  this  case  he 
will  say, — 

"  '  Sir, — I  have  the  honour  to 
acknowledge  the  receipt  of  your 
despatch  of  the  —  ult.,  informing 
Her  Majesty's  Government  that 
Abraham  Lincoln  is  re-elected,' 
and  so  on,  quoting  all  that  stuff 
about  the  electoral  colleges,  word 
for  word  ;  then  he'll  go  on  like 
this  —  'And,  in  reply,  I  have  to 
state,  that  as  I  do  not  see  the  New 
York  papers,  the  idea  of  refusing 
to  recognise  Mr  Lincoln  as  Presi- 
dent of  the  whole  Union,  from  the 
4th  of  March,  did  not  occur  to  me 
until  I  read  it  in  the  forcible  terms 
stated  in  your  letter.  It  does  ap- 
pear to  me  that  you  have  shown  in 
the  clearest  possible  manner  the 
absurdity  which  this  Government 
would  commit  in  following  the 
course  required  of  it  in  your  de- 
spatch ;  at  the  same  time,  you  de- 
prive Her  Majesty's  Government 
of  the  power  to  pursue  that  which 
has  been  suggested  as  probable  in 
the  New  York  papers,  by  menaces 
of  a  description  calculated  to  strike 
terror  into  the  nation.  Permit  me 
to  remark  that  nothing  can  be  in 
worse  taste  than  threats  of  this 
kind.  Moreover,  I  have  invariably 
found  that  they  fail  in  accomplish- 
ing the  desired  end.  As,  however, 
they  have  produced  a  considerable 


3S6 


Piccadilly. — Part  I. 


[March,  1865. 


impression  upon  me,  I  will  comply 
with  your  request  to  recognise 
Mr  Lincoln,  and  at  the  same  time 
write  to  Lord  Cowley  to  suggest  to 
his  Majesty  the  Emperor,  the  expe- 
diency of  his  refusing  to  recognise 
him  as  President  of  the  seceded 
States,  upon  the  ground  that  such 
an  act  would  be  inconsistent  with 
the  Imperial  policy,  and  with  the 
principles  by  virtue  of  which  his 
Imperial  Majesty  occupies  his  own 
throne.  Thus  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  deprive  your  Government  of  any 
excuse  to  go  to  war  with  this 
country,  and  at  the  same  time  se- 
cure the  recognition  of  the  Southern 
States  by  a  Power  whose  policy  is 
logical  and  mysterious,  and  whose 
"  ideas  "  are  no  less  practical  than 
sentimental. — I  have  the  honour  to 
remain,  Sir,  with  great  truth  and 
regard,'  and  so  on." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Mr  Wog,  "  do 
you  really  calculate,  sir,  that  Earl 
Russell  will  be  'cute  enough  to  get 
the  Emperor  to  do  his  dirty  work 
for  him  1  Strikes  me  Napoleon 
ain't  that  kind." 

"  That  depends,"  said  Grandon, 
"  upon  which  is  the  dirtiest  work, 
— to  acknowledge  an  accomplished 
fact,  and  adhere  to  a  principle, 
thereby  securing  to  a  gallant  na- 
tion its  independence,  or,  through 
an  unworthy  sentiment  of  coward- 
ice and  self-interest,  to  consecrate 
by  an  official  act  on  the  part  of  our 
Government  the  solemn  farce  of 
calling  Mr  Lincoln  the  elected  pre- 
sident of  thirteen  States  who  have 
chosen  a  president  of  their  own. 
Even  from  a  selfish  point  of  view, 
it  is  a  short-sighted  policy,  as  a  war 
with  America  is  inevitable,  sooner 
or  later,  and  we  had  better  choose 
our  own  moment  for  making  it." 

"  Grandon,"  said  Dickiefield,who 
perceived  that  Mr  Wog  was  puffing 
volumes  of  indignation  in  the  form 
of  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke  during 
this  speech,  "  you  are  getting  oracu- 


lar and  dull ;  moreover,  my  friend 
Mr  Wog  is  sent  over  here  to  give  an 
accurate  picture  of  the  feelings  of 
the  British  aristocracy,  and  he  will 
get  a  wrong  impression  of  them  if 
he  takes  you  as  a  specimen,  so  per- 
haps we  had  better  go  to  bed,  more 
especially  as  some  of  us  are  to  start 
at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning." 

I  went  into  Grandon's  bedroom 
with  him  for  a  moment  before  going 
to  my  own.  "  We  must  leave  by 
the  early  train  to-morrow,  if  we 
want  to  get  to  town  in  time  for  the 
opening  of  Parliament,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  I  shall  stay  over  to-mor- 
row," I  answered.  "  Broadbrim  is 
going  up,  but  the  ladies  are  going  to 
stay  two  days  longer,  and  the  House 
can  open  very  well  without  me ;  be- 
sides, Chundango  and  the  Bishop 
are  going  to  stay  over  Sunday." 

"  That  is  an  inducement,  certain- 
ly," said  Grandon.  "Come,  you 
must  have  some  other  reason  !" 

"My  dear  old  fellow,"  said  I, 
putting  my  hand  on  Grandon's 
shoulder,  "  my  time  is  come  at  last. 
Haven't  you  remarked  what  low 
spirits  I  have  been  in  since  dinner  1 
I  can't  bear  it  for  another  twenty- 
four  hours  !  You  know  my  impul- 
sive sensitive  nature.  I  must  know 
my  fate  at  once  from  her  own  lips." 

"Whose  own  lips '?"  said  Grandon, 
with  his  eyes  very  wide  open. 

"Lady  Ursula's,  of  course!"  I 
replied.  "  I  knew  her  very  well  as 
a  child,  so  there  is  nothing  very 
sudden  about  it." 

"  Well,  considering  you  have 
never  seen  her  since,  I  don't  quite 
agree  with  you,"  he  said,  in  a  deeper 
tone  than  usual.  "  In  your  own 
interest,  wait  till  you  know  a  little 
more  of  her." 

"  Not  another  day !  Good  night ! " 
and  I  turned  from  him  abruptly. 

"  I'll  put  myself  out  of  suspense 
to-morrow,  and  keep  the  public  in 
it  for  a  month,"  thought  I,  as  I  fell 
into  a  troubled  sleep. 


Printed  ly  William  Blackwood  d:  Sons,  Edinluryh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDINBURGH     MAGAZINE 


Xo.  DXC1V. 


APRIL  ivS65. 


VOL.  XCVII. 


MISS    MARJORIBANKS. — PART    III. 


CUAlTKIt    IX. 


IT  was  not  till  Miss  Marjoribanks 
had  surmounted  to  a  certain  extent 
the  vexation  caused  her  by  her  un- 
lucky confidence  in  Tom,  that  that 
unhappy  young  man  took  the  step 
which  Lucilla  had  so  long  dreaded, 
but  which  she  trusted  to  her  own 
genius  to  hinder  him  from  carrying 
into  execution.  Miss  Marjoribanks 
had  extricated  herself  so  triumph- 
antly from  the  consequences  of  that 
unhappy  commencement  of  the 
very  charming  luncheons  which  she 
gave  in  after  times,  that  she  had 
begun  to  forget  the  culpability  of 
her  cousin.  She  had  defeated  the 
Rector  in  his  benevolent  intentions, 
and  she  had  taken  up  his  )>n>teyee 
just  at  the  moment  when  Mr  Bury 
was  most  disgusted  with  the  un- 
fortunate woman's  weakness.  Poor 
Mrs  Mortimer,  to  be  sure,  had 
fainted,  or  been  near  fainting,  at 
the  most  inopportune  moment,  and 
it  was  only  natural  that  the  Rector 
should  be  annoyed ;  but  as  for 
Lucilla,  who  was  always  prompt  in 
her  actions,  and  whose  good-nature 
and  liberality  were  undoubted,  she 
found  her  opportunity  in  the  failure 
of  Mr  Bury's  scheme.  After  the 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIV. 


Rector  had  gone  away,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks herself  conducted  the 
widow  home,  and  heard  all  her 
story  ;  and  by  this  time  Mrs  Morti- 
mer's prospects  were  beginning  to 
brighten  under  the  active  and  effi- 
cient patronage  of  her  new  friend. 
This  being  the  case,  Lucilla' s  good- 
humour  was  perfectly  restored,  and 
she  had  forgiven  Tom  his  mula- 
droitness.  "  He  cannot  help  it,  you 
know,"  she  said  privately  to  old  Mrs 
Chiley  :  "  I  suppose  some  people 
are  born  to  do  ridiculous  things." 
And  it  was  indeed  as  if  he  had  in- 
tended to  give  a  practical  illustra- 
tion of  the  truth  of  this  conclusion 
that  Tom  chose  the  particular  mo- 
ment he  did  for  driving  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks to  the  extremity  of  her 
patience.  The  upholsterers  were  in 
the  house,  and  indeed  had  just  fin- 
ished putting  up  the  pictures  on  the 
new  paper  in  the  drawing-room 
(which  was  green,  as  Lncilla  had 
determined  it  should  be,  of  the 
most  delicate  tint,  and  looked,  as 
she  flattered  herself,  exactly  like 
silk  hangings) ;  and  Mr  Holden  him- 
self waited  with  a  certain  complais- 
ance for  Miss  Marjoribanks's  opin- 
2  D 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  II I. 


[April, 


ion  of  the  effect,  lie  had  no  doubt 
on  the  subject  himself;  but  he  "was 
naturally  impressed,  as  most  people 
were,  with  that  confidence  in  Lucil- 
la's  judgment  which  so  much  facili- 
tates the  operations  of  those  persons 
who  are  born  to  greatness.  It  was 
precisely  at  this  moment  that  his 
evil  genius  persuaded  Tom  Marjori- 
banks to  interrupt  Thomas,  who 
was  carrying  Mr  Holden's  message 
to  his  young  mistress,  and  to  shut 
the  library  door  upon  the  external 
world.  Lucilla  had  taken  refuge 
in  the  library  during  the  renovation 
of  the  drawing-room ;  and  she  was 
aware  that  this  was  Tom's  last  day 
at  Carlingford,  and  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  unkind  to  him.  To 
tell  the  truth,  she  had  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart  a  certain  regard  and 
impiilse  of  protection  and  patronage 
towards  Tom,  of  which  something 
might  have  come  had  the  unlucky 
fellow  known  how  to  manage.  But, 
at  the  same  time,  Miss  Marjoribanks 
was  aware  that  things  must  be  ap- 
proaching a  crisis  up-stairs,  and  was 
listening  intently  to  the  movements 
overhead,  and  wondering  why  she 
was  not  sent  for.  This  was  the 
moment  of  all  others  at  which  Tom 
thought  fit  to  claim  a  hearing ;  and 
the  state  of  Lucilla's  feelings  may 
be  easily  imagined  when  she  saw 
him  plant  himself  by  her  side,  all 
trembling,  with  his  face  alternately 
red  and  Avhite,  and  all  the  signs  of 
a  desperate  resolution  in  his  coun- 
tenance. For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  a  certain  despair  took  posses- 
sion of  Miss  Marjoribanks' s  mind. 
The  sounds  had  suddenly  ceased 
up-stairs,  as  if  the  artists  there  were 
making  a  pause  to  contemplate  the 
effect  of  their  completed  work — 
which  indeed  was  precisely  the 
case — and  at  the  same  time  nobody 
came  to  call  her,  important  though 
the  occasion  was.  She  made  a  last 
effort  to  emancipate  herself  before 
it  was  too  late. 

"  Pting,  please,  Tom,"  she  said ; 
"  I  want  to  know  if  they  have  fin- 
ished up-stairs.  I  am  so  sorry  you 
are  .going  away ;  but  you  know  it  is 


one  of  my  principles  never  to  ne- 
glect my  duty.  I  am  sure  they 
must  be  waiting  for  me — if  you 
would  only  be  kind  enough  to 
ring." 

"  Lucilla,"  said  Tom,  "  you  know 
I  would  do  anything  in  the  world 
you  liked  to  tell  me;  but  don't  ask 
me  to  ring  just  now  :  I  am  going  to 
leave  you,  and  there  is  something  I 
must  say  to  you,  Lucilla/'  said  the 
young  man,  with  agitation.  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  seated  near  the 
window,  and  she  had  a  moral  cer- 
tainty that  if  any  of  the  Browns 
happened  to  be  in  that  ridiculous 
glass-house  where  they  did  their 
photography,  they  must  have  a  per- 
fectly good  view  of  her,  with  Tom 
in  the  background,  who  had  placed 
himself  so  as  to  shut  her  into  the 
recess  of  the  window.  This,  coupled 
with  the  evidence  of  her  senses 
that  the  workmen  up-stairs  had 
ceased  their  work,  and  that  a  slow 
footstep  traversing  the  floor  now 
and  then  was  all  that  was  audible, 
drove  Lucilla  to  despair. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  temporising  a 
little,  which  was  the  only  thing  she 
could  do,  "  I  am  sure  I  am  very 
sorry  ;  but  then,  you  know,  with 
the  house  in  such  a  condition ! 
Next  time  you  come  I  shall  be  able 
to  enjoy  your  society,"  said  the  de- 
signing young  woman;  "but  at 
present  I  am  so  busy.  It  is  one  of 
my  principles,  you  know,  that  things 
are  never  rightly  done  if  the  lady 
of  the  house  does  not  pay  proper 
attention.  They  are  sure  to  make 
some  dreadful  mistake  up-stairs  if 
I  don't  look  after  them.  I  shall 
see  you  again  before  you  go." 

"Lucilla,  don't  be  so  cruel !;' 
cried  the  unlucky  Tom,  and  he 
caught  her  hand  though  they  were 
at  the  window ;  "  do  stop  a  mo- 
ment and  listen  to  me.  Lucilla ! 
what  does  it  matter  about  furniture 
and  things  when  a  man's  heart  is 
bursting1?"  cried  the  unfortunate 
lover;  and  just  at  that  moment 
Miss  Marjoribanks  could  see  that 
the  curtain  was  drawn  aside  a  little 
— ever  so  little — in  the  glass-house. 


18G5.] 


J/ws  Jfarjoribanfo. — Part  III. 


389 


She  sat  down  again  with  a  sigh,  and 
drew  her  hand  away,  and  prepared 
herself  to  meet  her  fate  with  hero- 
ism at  least. 

"  What  in  the  world  can  yon 
have  been  doing  \  "  said  Lucilla,  in- 
nocently ;  "  you  used  always  to  tell 
me,  I  know,  when  you  got  into  any 
difficulty  ;  and  I  am  sure  if  1  can 

be  of  any  use  to  you,  Tom . 

But  as  for  furniture  and  things, 
they  matter  a  great  deal,  I  assure 
you,  to  people's  happiness  ;  and 
then,  you  know,  it  is  the  object  of 
my  life  to  be  a  comfort  to  dear 
papa." 

When  she  said  this,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  settled  herself  again  in 
the  recess  of  the  window,  so  that 
the  Miss  Browns  could  command  a 
full  view  if  they  chose  ;  for  Lucil- 
la's  courage  was  of  the  highest 
order,  and  nothing,  except,  perhaps, 
a  strategical  necessity  of  profound 
importance,  would  have  moved  her 
to  retreat  before  an  enemy.  As  for 
Tom,  he  was  bewildered,  to  start 
with,  by  this  solemn  repetition  of 
her  great  purpose. 

"  I  know  how  good  you  are, 
Lucilla,"  he  said,  with  humility  ; 
"  but  then  my  uncle,  you  know — 1 
don't  think  he  is  a  man  to  appreci- 
ate  .  Oh,  Lucilla  !  why  should 

you  go  and  sacrifice  to  him  the  hap- 
piness of  your  life  \ " 

"  Tom,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
with  some  solemnity,  "  I  wish  you 
would  not  talk  to  me  of  happiness. 
I  have  always  been  brought  up  to 
believe  that  duty  was  happiness ; 
and  everybody  has  known  for  a 
long  time  what  was  the  object  of 
my  life.  As  for  poor  papa,  it  is 
the  worse  for  him  if  he  does  not 
understand ;  but  that  does  not 
make  any  difference  to  my  duty," 
said  the  devoted  daughter.  She 
gave  a  little  sigh  as  she  spoke,  the 
sigh  of  a  great  soul,  whose  motives 
must  always  remain  to  some  ex- 
tent unappreciated  ;  and  the  sight 
of  her  resignation  and  beautiful 
perseverance  overwhelmed  her  un- 
lucky suitor  ;  for  indeed,  up  to  this 
moment,  Lucilla  still  entertained 


the  hope  of  preventing  Tom  from, 
as  she  herself  described  it,  "  saying 
the  very  words,"  which,  to  be  sure, 
are  awkward  words  to  hear  and  to 
say. 

'•  Lucilla,  when  you  are  so  good 
to  my  uncle,  you  ought  to  have  a 
little  pity  on  me,"  said  Tom,  driven 
to  the  deepest  despondency.  "  How 
do  you  think  I  can  bear  it,  to  see 
you  getting  everything  done  here, 
as  if  you  meant  to  stay  all  your 
life — when  you  know  1  love  you  ?  " 
said  the  unfortunate  young  man  ; 
"  when  you  know  I  have  always 
been  so  fond  of  you,  Lucilla,  and 
always  looked  forward  to  the  time 

;  and  now  it  is  very  hard  to 

see  you  care  so  little  for  me." 

"  Tom,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
with  indignant  surprise,  "  how  can 
you  say  I  care  little  for  you  ?  you 
know  J  was  always  very  fond  of 
you,  on  the  contrary.  I  am  sure  I 
always  stood  your  friend  at  home, 
whatever  happened,  and  never  said 
a  word  when  you  broke  that  pretty 
little  pearl  ring  I  was  so  fond  of, 
and  tore  the  scarf  my  aunt  gave 
me.  I  wonder,  for  my  part,  how 
you  can  be  so  unkind  as  to  say  so. 
We  have  always  been  the  very  best 
friends  in  the  world,''  said  Lucilla, 
with  an  air  of  injury.  "  I  always 
said  at  school  I  liked  you  the  best 
of  all  my  cousins ;  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  all  my  cousins."  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks concluded,  after  a  little 
pause  ;  "  it  is  so  unkind  to  tell  me 
that  I  don't  care  for  you." 

Poor  Tom  groaned  within  him- 
self as  he  listened.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  answer  to  Lucilla's 
aggrieved  yet  frank  confession  of 
her  fondness.  Naturally  it  would 
have  been  much  less  displeasing  to 
Tom  to  understand  that  she  hated 
him,  and  never  desired  to  see  him 
any  more.  But  Miss  Marjoribanks 
was  far  from  entertaining  any  such 
unchristian  sentiments.  She  even 
began  to  forget  her  anxiety  about 
what  was  going  on  up-stairs  in 
that  delightful  sense  of  power  and 
abundant  resources  with  which  she 
was  mastering  the  present  difficulty. 


390 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


She  reflected  in  herself  that  though 
it  was  excessively  annoying  to  be 
thus  occupied  at  such  a  moment, 
still  it  was  nearly  as  important  to 
make  an  end  of  Tom  as  to  see  that 
the  pictures  were  hung  rightly;  for, 
to  be  sure,  it  was  always  easy  to 
return  to  the  latter  subject.  Ac- 
cordingly, she  drew  her  chair  a  little 
nearer  to  the  window,  and  regarded 
Tom  with  a  calm  gaze  of  bene- 
volent interest  which  was  in  per- 
fect accordance  with  the  sentiments 
she  had  just  expressed ;  a  look  in 
which  a  little  gentle  reproach  was 
mingled.  "  I  have  always  been  like 
a  sister  to  you,"  said  Lucilla  ;  "how 
can  you  be  so  unkind  as  to  say  I 
don't  care  1 " 

As  for  the  unhappy  Tom,  he  got 
up,  as  was  natural,  and  took  a  little 
walk  in  front  of  the  table,  as  a 
young  man  in  trouble  is  apt  to  do. 
"  You  know  very  well  that  is  not 
what  I  mean,  Lucilla,"  he  said,  dis- 
consolately. "It  is  you  who  are 
unkind.  I  don't  know  why  it  is 
that  ladies  are  so  cruel ;  I  am  not 
such  a  snob  as  to  persecute  any- 
body. But  what  is  the  good  of 
pretending  not  to  know  what  I 
mean  ] " 

"  Tom,  listen  !  "  cried  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks,  rising  in  her  turn  ;  "  I 
feel  sure  they  must  have  finished. 
There  is  Mr  Holden  going  through 
the  garden.  And  everybody  knows 
that  hanging  pictures  is  just  the 
thing  of  all  others  that  requires  a 
person  of  taste.  If  they  have  spoil- 
ed the  room,  it  will  be  all  your 
fault." 

"  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  never 
mind  the  room  !  "  said  Tom.  "  I 
never  thought  you  would  have 
trifled  with  a  man,  Lucilla.  You 
know  quite  well  what  I  mean  ;  you 
know  it  isn't  a — a  new  thing,"  said 
the  lover,  beginning  to  stammer  and 
get  confused.  "  You  know  that  is 
what  I  have  been  thinking  of  all 
along,  as  soon  as  ever  I  had 
anything  to  live  on.  I  love  you, 
Lucilla ;  you  know  I  love  you  ! 
Low  can  you  trifle  with  me  so  1 " 

"  It   is   you   who    are   trifling," 


said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  "especi- 
ally when  you  know  I  have  really 
something  of  importance  to  do. 
You  can  come  up-stairs  with  me  if 
you  like.  Of  course  we  all  love 
each  other.  What  is  the  good  of 
being  relations  otherwise  ]  "  said 
Lucilla,  calmly ;  "  it  is  such  a  natural 
thing,  you  know.  I  suppose  it  is 
because  you  are  going  away  that 
you  are  so  affectionate  to-day.  It 
is  very  nice  of  you,  I  am  sure  ;  but, 
Tom,  I  feel  quite  certain  you  have 
not  packed  your  things/'  Miss 
Marjoribanks  added,  in  an  admoni- 
tory tone.  "  Come  along  with  me 
up-stairs." 

And  by  this  time  Lucilla's  curio- 
sity was  beginning  again  to  get  the 
upper  hand.  If  she  only  could  have 
escaped,  it  would  have  been  impos- 
sible for  her  cousin  to  have  renew- 
ed the  conversation  ;  and  luckily 
he  was  to  leave  Carlingford  the 
same  evening ;  but  then  a  man  is 
always  an  inconsequent  creature, 
and  not  to  be  calculated  on.  This 
time,  instead  of  obeying  as  usual, 
Tom — having,  as  Miss  Marjoribanks 
afterwards  described  (but  only  in 
the  strictest  confidence),  "  worked 
himself  up  to  it" — set  himself 
directly  in  her  way,  and  seized  upon 
both  her  hands. 

"  Lucilla,"  cried  the  unlucky 
fellow,  "is  it  possible  that  you 
really  have  misunderstood  me  all 
this  time  ]  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  don't  know  ?  Oh,  Lucilla, 
listen  just  five  minutes.  It  isn't 
because  I  am  your  cousin.  I  wish 
to  heaven  I  was  not  your  cousin, 
but  some  one  you  had  never  seen 
before.  I  mean  I  want  you  to 
consent  to — to — to — marry  me,  Lu- 
cilla. That  is  what  I  mean.  I 
am  called  to  the  bar,  and  I  can 
work  for  you,  and  make  a  reputa- 
tion. Lucilla,  listen  to  what  I 
have  got  to  say." 

Miss  Marjoribanks  left  her  hands 
in  his  with  a  calmness  which  froze 
poor  Tom's  heart  in  his  breast. 
She  did  not  even  take  the  trouble 
to  draw  them  away.  "  Have  you 
gone  out  of  your  senses,  Tom]"  she 


1865.] 


M  arjorilanka. — Part  III. 


391 


asked,  in  her  sensible  way  ;  and 
she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  of 
the  poor  young  fellow  who  was  in 
love,  with  an  inquiring  look,  as  if 
sliu  felt  a  little  anxious  about  him. 
"  If  you  have  any  feeling  as  if 
fever  was  coining  on,"  said  Lueilla, 
"  I  think  you  should  go  up-stairs 
and  lie  down  a  little  till  papa 
comes  in.  I  heard  there  had  been 
some  cases  down  about  the  canal. 
I  hope  it  is  not  the  assizes  that  have 
been  too  much  for  you."  When  Miss 
Marjoribanka  said  this,  she  herself 
took  fast  hold  of  Tom's  hands  with 
a  motherly  grasp  to  feel  if  they 
were  hot,  and  looked  into  his  eyes 
•with  a  certain  serious  inspection, 
which,  under  the  circumstances, 
poor  fellow !  was  enough  to  drive 
him  out  of  the  little  rationality  he 
had  left. 

Tom  was  so  far  carried  away  by 
his  frenzy  that  he  gave  her  a  little 
shake  in  his  impatience.  "  You 
are  trying  to  drive  me  mad,  Lu- 
cilla!"  cried  the  young  man.  "I 
have  got  no  fever.  It  is  only  you 
who  are  driving  me  out  of  my 
senses.  This  time  you  must  hear 
me.  I  will  not  let  you  go  till  you 
have  given  me  an  answer.  I  am 
called  to  the  bar,  and  I  have  begun 
my  Career,"  said  Tom,  making  a 
pause  for  breath.  "  I  knew  you 
would  have  laughed  at  me  when  1 
was  depending  on  my  mother ;  but 
now  all  that  is  over,  Lueilla.  I 
have  loved  you  as  long  as  I  can 
remember ;  and  I  always  thought — 
that  you — cared  for  me  a  little.  If 
you  will  have  me,  there  is  nothing 
I  could  not  do,"  said  Tom,  who 
thoroughly  believed  what  he  was 
saying  ;  "  and  if  you  will  not  have 
me,  I  will  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences. If  I  go  oft'  to  India,  or  if 
1  go  to  the  bad " 

"  Tom,"  said  Lueilla,  solemnly, 
and  this  time  she  drew  away  her 
hands,  "  if  you  ever  want  to  get 
married,  I  think  the  very  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  to  India. 
As  for  marrying  just  now  at  your 
age,  you  know  you  might  as  well 
jump  into  the  sea.  You  need  not 


be  vexed,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
in  her  motherly  way.  "  1  would 
not  speak  so  if  I  was  not  your 
best  friend,  Tom.  As  for  marry- 
ing me,  you  know  it  is  ridiculous. 
1  have  not  the  least  intention 
of  marrying  anybody.  If  I  had 
thought  of  that,  I  need  never  have 
come  home  at  all.  As  for  your 
going  to  the  bad,  I  am  not  afraid 
of  that.  If  1  were  to  let  you  carry 
on  with  such  a  ridiculous  idea,  I 
should  never  forgive  myself.  It 
would  be  just  as  sensible  to  go  into 
a  lunatic  asylum  at  once.  It  is 
very  lucky  for  you  that  you  said 
this  to  me,"  Lueilla  went  on,  "  and 
not  to  one  of  the  girls  that  think 
it  great  fun  to  be  married.  And 
if  I  were  you,  Tom,  I  would  go 
and  pack  my  things.  You  know 
you  are  always  too  late  ;  and  don't 
jump  on  your  portmanteau  and 
make  such  a  dreadful  noise  if  it 
won't  shut,  but  ring  the  bell  for 
Thomas.  You  know  we  are  to 
dine  at  half -past  five  to-day,  to  give 
you  time  for  the  train." 

These  Avere  the  last  words  Tom 
Marjoribanks  heard  as  Lueilla  left 
the  room.  She  ran  up  to  the  draw- 
ing-room without  losing  a  minute, 
and  burst  in  upon  the  vacant  place 
where  Mr  Holden  had  stood  so  long 
waiting  for  her.  To  be  sure,  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  forebodings  were 
so  far  fulfilled  that  the  St  Cecilia, 
which  she  meant  to  have  over  the 
piano,  was  hung  quite  in  the  other 
corner  of  the  room,  by  reason  of 
being  just  the  same  size  as  another 
picture  at  the  opposite  angle,  which 
the  workmen,  sternly  symmetrical, 
thought  it  necessary  to  "  match." 
But,  after  all,  that  was  a  trifling 
defect.  She  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  surveyed  the  walls, 
well  pleased,  with  a  heart  which 
kept  beating  very  steadily  in  her 
bosom.  On  the  whole,  perhaps, 
she  was  not  sorry  to  have  had  it 
out  with  Tom.  So  far  as  he  was 
personally  concerned,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks, being  a  physician's 
daughter,  had  great  faith  in  the 
ris  metlicatrijr,  and  was  not  afraid 


392 

for  her  cousin's  health  or  his  morals, 
as  a  less  experienced  woman  might 
have  been.  If  she  was  angry  with 
anybody,  it  was  with  herself,  who 
had  not  taken  sufficient  precautions 
to  avoid  the  explanation.  "  But, 
after  all,  everything  is  for  the  best," 
Lucilla  said  to  herself,  with  that 
beautiful  confidence  which  is  com- 
mon to  people  who  have  things 
their  own  way;  and  she  devoted 
her  mind  to  the  St  Cecilia,  and 
paid  no  more  attention  to  Tom. 
It  was  not  till  more  than  an  hoiir 
after  that  a  succession  of  dreadful 
thumps  were  not  only  heard  but 
felt  throughout  the  house.  It  was 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


Tom,  but  he  was  not  doing  any 
harm  to  himself.  He  was  not 
blowing  out  his  brains  or  knocking 
his  head  against  the  wall.  He  was 
only  jumping  on  his  portmanteau, 
notwithstanding  that  Lucilla  had 
warned  him  against  such  a  proceed- 
ing— and  in  his  state  of  mind  the 
jumps  were  naturally  more  frantic 
than  usual.  When  Lucilla  heard 
it,  she  rang  the  bell,  and  told 
Thomas  to  go  and  help  Mr  Tom 
with  his  packing  ;  from  which  it 
will  be  seen  that  Miss  Marjoribanks 
bore  no  grudge  against  her  cousin, 
but  was  disposed  to  send  him  forth 
in  friendship  and  peace. 


CHAPTER  X. 


It  was  nearly  six  weeks  after  this 
when  all  Miss  Marjoribanks' s  ar- 
rangements were  completed,  and 
she  was  able  with  satisfaction  to 
herself  to  begin  her  campaign.  It 
was  just  before  Christmas,  at  the 
time  above  all  others  when  society 
has  need  of  a  ruling  spirit.  For 
example,  Mrs  Chiley  expected  the 
Colonel's  niece,  Mary  Chiley,  who 
had  been  married  about  six  months 
before,  and  who  was  not  fond  of 
her  husband's  friends,  and  at  the 
same  time  had  no  home  of  her  own 
to  go  to,  being  an  orphan.  The  Col- 
onel had  invited  the  young  couple 
by  way  of  doing  a  kind  thing,  but  he 
grumbled  a  little  at  the  necessity, 
and  had  never  liked  the  fellow,  he 
said — and  then  what  were  two  old 
people  to  do  to  amuse  them  1  Then 
Mrs  Centum  had  her  two  eldestboys 
home  from  school,  and  was  driven 
out  of  her  senses  by  the  noise  and 
the  racket,  as  she  confided  to  her 
visitors.  "It  is  all  very  well  to 
make  pretty  pictures  about  Christ- 
mas," said  the  exasperated  mother, 
"  but  I  should  like  to  know  how 
one  can  enjoy  anything  with  such 
a  commotion  going  on.  I  get  up 
every  morning  with  a  headache, 
I  assure  you  ;  and  then  Mr  Centum 
expects  me  to  be  cheerful  when  he 
comes  in  to  dinner;  men  are  so 


unreasonable.  I  should  like  to 
know  what  they  would  do  if  they 
had  what  we  have  to  go  through  : 
to  look  after  all  the  servants — and 
they  are  always  out  of  their  senses 
at  Christmas — and  to  see  that  the 
children  don't  have  too  much  pud- 
ding, and  to  support  all  the  noise. 
The  holidays  are  the  hardest  work 
a  poor  woman  can  have,"  she 
concluded,  with  a  sigh  ;  and  when 
it  is  taken  into  consideration  that 
this  particular  Christmas  was  a  wet 
Christmas,  without  any  frost  or 
possibility  of  amusement  out  of 
doors,  English  matrons  in  general 
will  not  refuse  their  sympathy  to 
Mrs  Centum.  Mrs  Woodburn  per- 
haps was  equally  to  be  pitied  in  a 
different  way.  She  had  to  receive 
several  members  of  her  husband's 
family,  who  were,  like  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks, without  any  sense  of 
humour,  and  who  stared,  and  did 
not  in  the  least  understand  her 
when  she  "  took  off"  any  of  her 
neighbours  ;  not  to  say  that  some 
of  them  were  Low  Church,  and 
thought  the  practice  sinful.  Un- 
der these  circumstances  it  will  be 
readily  believed  that  the  com- 
mencement of  Lucilla's  operations 
was  looked  upon  with  great  inter- 
est in  Carlingf  ord.  It  was  so  oppor- 
tune that  society  forgot  its  visual 


1865.] 


Marjoribanks. — Part  Iff. 


393 


instincts  of  criticism,  and  forgave 
Miss  Marjoribanks  fur  being  more 
enlightened  and  enterprising  than 
her  neighbours ;  and  then  most 
people  were  very  anxious  to  see  the 
drawing-room,  now  it  had  been  re- 
stored. This  was  a  privilege,  how- 
ever, not  accorded  to  the  crowd. 
Mrs  Chiley  had  .seen  it  under  a 
vow  of  secrecy,  and  Mr  Cavendish 
owned  to  having  made  a  run  up- 
stairs one  evening  after  one  of  Dr 
Marjoribanks'a  little  dinners,  when 
the  other  coni-it-es  were  in  the 
library,  where  Lucilla  had  erect- 
ed her  temporary  throne.  But 
this  clandestine  inspection  met 
with  the  failure  it  deserved,  for 
there  was  no  light  in  the  room 
except  the  moonlight,  which  made 
three  white  blotches  on  the  carpet 
where  the  windows  were,  burying 
everything  else  in  the  profoundest 
darkness  ;  and  the  spy  knocked  his 
foot  against  something  which  re- 
duced him  to  sudden  and  well- 
merited  agony.  As  for  Mrs  Chiley, 
she  was  discretion  itself,  and  would 
say  nothing  even  to  her  niece.  "  I 
mean  to  work  her  a  footstool  in 
water-lilies,  my  dear,  like  the  one  I 
did  for  you  when  you  were  mar- 
ried," the  old  lady  said  ;  and  that 
was  the  only  light  she  would  throw 
on  the  subject,  j"  My  opinion  is 
that  it  must  be  in  crimson,''  Mrs 
Woodburn  said,  when  she  heard 
this,  "  for  I  know  your  aunt's  water- 
lilies.  When  I  see  them  growing,  I 
always  think  of  you.  It  would  be 
quite  like  Lucilla  Marjoribanks  to 
have  it  in  crimson — for  it  is  a  cheer- 
ful colour,  you  know,  and  quite 
different  from  the'  old  furniture ; 
and  that  would  always  be  a  com- 
fort to  her  dear  papa."  From  this 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  curiosity  of 
Carlingford  was  excited  to  a  lively 
extent.  Many  people  even  went  so 
far  as  to  give  the  Browns  a  sitting 
in  their  glass-house,  with  the  hope 
of  having  a  peep  at  the  colour  of 
the  hangings  at  least.  But  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  too  sensible  a 
woman  to  leave  her  virgin  drawing- 
room  exposed  to  the  sun  when 


there  was  any,  and  to  the  photo- 
graphers, who  were  perhaps  more 
dangerous.  "  I  think  it  is  blue, 
for  my  part,"  said  Miss  Brown, 
who  had  got  into  the  habit  of 
rising  early  in  hopes  of  finding  the 
Doctor's  household  otf  its  guard. 
''  Lucilla  was  always  a  great  one 
for  blue  ;  she  thinks  it  is  becoming 
to  her  complexion  ; "  which,  indeed, 
as  the  readers  of  this  history  are 
awaiv,  was  a  matter  of  fact.  As  for 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  she  did  her 
best  to  keep  up  this  agreeable 
mystery.  "  For  my  part,  I  am 
fond  of  neutral  tints,"  she  herself 
said,  when  she  was  questioned  on 
the  subject  ;  "  anybody  who  knows 
me  can  easily  guess  my  taste.  I 
should  have  been  born  a  Quaker, 
you  know,  I  do  so  like  the  drabs 
and  greys,  and  all  those  soft  colours. 
You  can  have  as  much  red  and 
green  as  you  like  abroad,  where 
the  sun  is  strong,  but  here  it 
would  be  bad  style,"  said  Lu- 
cilla; from  which  the  most  simple- 
minded  of  her  auditors  drew  the 
natural  conclusion.  Thus  all  the 
world  contemplated  with  excite- 
ment the  first  Thursday  which  was 
to  open  this  enchanted  chamber  to 
their  admiring  eyes.  "  Don't  ex- 
pect any  regular  invitation,"  Miss 
Marjoribanks  said.  "  I  hope  you 
will  all  come,  or  as  many  of  you  as 
can.  Papa  has  always  some  men 
to  dinner  with  him  that  day,  you 
know,  and  it  is  so  dreadfully  slow 
for  me  with  a  heap  of  men.  That 
is  why  I  fixed  on  Thursday.  I 
want  you  to  come  every  week,  so 
it  would  be  absurd  to  send  an  in- 
vitation ;  and  remember  it  is  not  a 
party,  only  an  Evening,"  said  Lu- 
cilla. "  I  shall  wear  a  white  frock 
high,  as  I  always  do.  Now  be  sure 
you  come." 

"  But  we  can't  all  go  in  high 
white  frocks,"  said  Mrs  Chiley's 
niece,  Mary,  who,  if  her  (rous.teau 
had  been  subtracted  from  the  joys 
of  marriage,  would  not,  poor  soul ! 
have  found  very  much  left.  This 
intimation  dismayed  the  bride  a 
little ;  for,  to  be  sure,  she  had  de- 


394 


Jfiss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April; 


cidecl  which  dress  she  was  to  wear 
before  Lucilla  spoke. 

"But,  my  dear,  you  are  mar- 
ried," said  Miss  Marjoribanks ; "  that 
makes  it  quite  different :  come  in 
that  pretty  pink  that  is  so  becom- 
ing. I  don't  want  to  have  any 
dowdies,  for  my  part;  and  don't 
forget  that  I  shall  expect  you  all  at 
nine  o'clock." 

When  she  had  said  this,  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks proceeded  on  her  way, 
sowing  invitations  and  gratification 
round  her.  She  asked  the  youngest 
Miss  Brown  to  bring  her  music,  in 
recognition  of  her  ancient  claims  as 
the  songstress  of  society  in  Car- 
lingford; for  Lucilla  had  all  that 
regard  for  constituted  rights  which 
is  so  necessary  to  a  revolutionary 
of  the  highest  class.  She  had  no 
desire  to  shock  anybody's  preju- 
dices or  wound  anybody's  feelings. 
"  And  she  has  a  nice  little  voice,'' 
Lucilla  said  to  herself,  with  the 
most  friendly  and  tolerant  feelings. 
Thus  Miss  Marjoribanks  prepared 
to  establish  her  kingdom  with  a 
benevolence  which  was  almost  Uto- 
pian, not  upon  the  ruins  of  other 
thrones,  but  with  the  goodwill  and 
co-operation  of  the  lesser  powers, 
who  were,  to  be  sure,  too  feeble  to 
resist  her  advance,  but  whose  rights 
she  was  quite  ready  to  recognise, 
and  even  to  promote,  in  her  own 
way. 

At  the  same  time  it  is  necessary 
here  to  indicate  a  certain  vague 
and  not  disagreeable  danger,  which 
appeared  to  some  experienced  per- 
sons to  shadow  Lucilla's  conquer- 
ing way.  Mr  Cavendish,  who  was 
a  young  man  of  refinement,  not  to 
say  that  he  had  a  very  nice  pro- 
perty, had  begun  to  pay  attention 
to  Miss  Marjoribanks  in  what  Mrs 
Chiley  thought  quite  a  marked 
way.  To  be  sure,  he  could  not  pre- 
tend to  the  honour  of  taking  her 
in  to  dinner,  which  was  not  his 
place,  being  a  young  man ;  but  he 
did  what  was  next  best,  and  man- 
oeuvred to  get  the  place  on  her  left 
hand,  which,  in  a  party  composed 
chiefly  of  men,  was  not  difficult  to 


manage.  For,  to  tell  the  truth, 
most  of  the  gentlemen  present  were 
at  that  special  moment  more  in- 
terested in  the  dinner  than  in 
Lticilla.  And  after  dinner  it  was 
Mr  Cavendish  who  was  the  first  to 
leave  the  room  ;  and  to  hear  the 
two  talking  about  all  the  places 
they  had  been  to,  and  all  the  people 
they  had  met,  was  as  good  as  a 
play,  Mrs  Chiley  said.  Mr  Caven- 
dish confided  to  Lucilla  his  opin- 
ions upon  things  in  general,  and 
accepted  the  reproofs  which  she 
administered  (for  Miss  Marjoribanks 
was  quite  unquestionable  in  her 
orthodoxy,  and  thought  it  a  duty, 
as  she  said,  always  to  speak  with 
respect  of  religion)  when  his  senti- 
ments were  too  speculative,  and 
said,  "  How  charming  is  divine  phi- 
losophy !  "  so  as,  for  the  moment,  to 
dazzle  Lucilla  herself,  who  thought 
it  a  very  pretty  compliment.  He 
came  to  her  assistance  when  she 
made  tea,  and  generally  fulfilled  all 
the  duties  which  are  expected  of  a 
man  who  is  paying  attention  to  a 
young  lady.  Old  Mrs  Chiley  watched 
the  nascent  regard  with  her  kind 
old  grandmotherly  eyes.  She  cal- 
culated over  in  her  own  mind  the 
details  of  his  possessions,  so  far  as 
the  public  was  aware  of  them,  and 
found  them  on  the  whole  satisfac- 
tory. He  had  a  nice  property,  and 
then  he  was  a  very  nice,  indeed  an 
unexceptionable  young  man  ;  and 
to  add  to  this,  it  had  been  agreed  be- 
tween Colonel  Chiley  and  Mr  Cen- 
tum, and  several  other  of  the  leading 
people  in  Carlingford,  that  he  was 
the  most  likely  man  to  represent 
the  borough  when  old  Mr  Chiltern, 
who  was  always  threatening  to  re- 
tire, fulfilled  his  promise.  Mr  Caven- 
dish had  a  very  handsome  house  a 
little  out  of  Carlingford,  where  a 
lady  would  be  next  thing  to  a  county 
lady — indeed  quite  a  county  lady, 
if  her  husband  was  the  Member  for 
Carlingford.  All  these  thoughts 
passed  through  Mrs  Chiley's  mind, 
and,  as  was  natural,  in  the  precious 
moments  after  dinner,  were  suggest- 
ed in  occasional  words  of  meaning 


18(55.] 


Marjoribanla. — Part  III. 


305 


to  the  understanding  ear  of  Miss 
Marjoribauks.  "  My  dear  Lucilla, 
it  is  just  the  position  that  would 
suit  you — with  your  talents  !  "  the 
old  lady  said;  and  Miss  Marjori- 
banks did  not  say  No.  To  be  sure, 
she  had  not  at  the  present  moment 
the  least  inclination  to  get  married, 
as  she  truly  said ;  it  would,  indeed, 
to  tell  the  truth,  disturb  her  plans 
considerably  ;  but  still,  if  such  was 
the  intention  of  Providence,  and 
if  it  was  to  the  Member  for  Car- 
lingford, Lucilla  felt  that  it  was 
still  credible  that  everything  might 
be  for  the  best.  "  But  it  is  a  great 
deal  too  soon  to  think  of  anything 
of  that  sort,'''  Miss  Marjoribanks 
would  reply.  "  If  I  had  thought 
of  that,  I  need  never  have  eome 
home  at  all,  and  especially  when 
papa  has  been  so  good  about  every- 
thing." Yet  for  all  that  she  was 
not  ungracious  to  Mr  Cavendish 
when  he  came  in  first  as  usual.  To 
marry  a  man  in  his  position  would 
not,  after  all,  be  deranging  her  plans 
to  any  serious  extent.  Indeed,  it 
would,  if  his  hopes  were  realised, 
constitute  Lucilla  a  kind  of  queen 
in  Carlingford,  and  she  could  not 
but  feel  that,  under  these  circum- 
stances, it  might  be  a  kind  of  duty 
to  reconsider  her  resolution.  And 
thus  the  time  passed  while  the  draw- 
ing-room was  undergoing  renova- 
tion. Mr  Cavendish  had  been  much 
tantalised,  as  he  said,  by  the  ab- 
sence of  the  piano,  which  prevented 
them  from  having  any  music,  and 
Lucilla  had  even  been  tempted  into 
a  few  snatches  of  song,  which,  to 
tell  the  truth,  some  of  the  gentle- 
men present,  especially  the  Doctor 
himself  and  Colonel  Chiley,  being 
old-fashioned,  preferred  without 
the  accompaniment.  And  thus  it 
was,  under  the  most  brilliant  aus- 
pices, and  with  the  full  confidence 
of  all  her  future  constituency,  that 
Miss  Marjoribanks  superintended 
the  arrangement  of  the  drawing- 
roc -in  on  that  momentous  Thurs- 
day, which  was  to  be  the  real 
beginning  of  her  great  work  in 
Carlingford. 


<;  My  dear,  you  must  leave  your- 
self entirely  in  my  hands,"  Lucilla 
said  to  Barbara  Lake  on  the  morn- 
ing of  that  eventful  day.  "  Don't 
get  impatient.  I  daresay  you 
don't  know  many  people,  and  it 
may  be  a  little  slow  for  you  at 
first ;  but  everybody  has  to  put  up 
with  that,  you  know,  for  a  begin- 
ning. And,  by  the  by,  what  are 
you  going  to  wear  {" 

"  J  have  not  thought  about  it," 
said  Barbara,  who  had  the  painful 
pride  of  poverty,  aggravated  much 
by  a  sense  that  the  comforts  of 
other  people  were  an  injury  to  her. 
Poor  soul  !  she  had  been  thinking 
of  little  else  for  at  least  a  week  past ; 
and  then  she  had  not  very  much 
choice  in  her  wardrobe ;  but  her 
temperament  was  one  which  re- 
jected sympathy,  and  she  thought 
it  would  look  best  to  pretend  to  be 
indifferent.  At  the  same  time,  she 
said  this  with  a  dull  colour  on  her 
cheeks, the  colour  of  irritation  ;  and 
she  could  not  help  asking  herself 
why  Lucilla,  who  was  not  so  hand- 
some as  she  was,  had  the  power  to 
array  herself  in  gorgeous  apparel, 
while  she,  Barbara,  had  nothing  but 
a  white  frock.  There  are  differences 
even  in  white  frocks,  though  the 
masculine  mind  may  be  unaware 
of  them.  Barbara's  muslin  had 
been  washed  six  times,  and  had  a 
very  different  air  from  the  vestal 
robes  of  her  patroness.  To  be 
sure,  Lucilla  was  not  taken  in,  in 
the  least,  by  her  companion's  look 
of  indifference,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  would  have  been  delighted 
to  bestow  a  pretty  dress  upon  Bar- 
bara, if  that  had  been  a  possible 
thing  to  do. 

"  There  will  be  no  dress,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  with  solemnity. 
"  I  have  insisted  upon  that.  You 
know  it  is  not  a  party,  it  is  only  an 
Evening.  A  white  frock,  hi<jh — 
that  is  all  I  mean  to  wear  ;  and 
mind  you  don't  lose  patience.  I 
shall  keep  my  eye  on  you  ;  and 
after  the  first,  I  feel  sure  you  will 
enjoy  yourself.  Good-bye  for  the 
present.'1  Miss  Marjoribanks  went 


396 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


away  to  pursue  licr  preparations, 
and  Barbara  proceeded  to  get  out 
her  dress  and  examine  it.  It  was 
as  important  to  her  as  all  the  com- 
plicated paraphernalia  of  the  even- 
ing's arrangements  were  to  Lucilla. 
To  be  sure,  there  were  greater  in- 
terests involved  in  the  case  of  the 
leader;  but  then  Barbara  was  the 
soldier  of  fortune  Avho  had  to  open 
the  oyster  with  her  sword,  and 
she  was  feeling  the  point  of  it 
metaphorically  while  she  pulled 
out  the  breadths  of  her  white 
dress,  and  tried  to  think  that  they 
would  not  look  limp  at  night ;  and 
what  her  sentiments  lost  in  breadth, 
as  compared  with  Lucilla's,  they 
gained  in  intensity,  for — for  any- 
thing she  could  tell — her  life  might 
change  colour  by  means  of  this 
Thursday  Evening;  and  such,  in- 
deed, was  her  hope.  Barbara  pre- 
pared for  her  first  appearance  in 
Grange  Lane,  with  a  mind  wound 
up  to  any  degree  of  daring.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  that  she  required 
to  keep  faith  with  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  in  anything  except  the  duet. 
For  other  matters  Barbara  was 
quite  unscrupulous,  for  at  the  bot- 
tom she  could  not  but  feel  that  any 
one  who  was  kind  to  her  was  taking 
an  unwarrantable  liberty.  What 
right  had  Lucilla  Marjoribanks  to 
be  kind  to  her  ?  as  if  she  was  not 
as  good  as  Lucilla  any  day!  and 
though  it  might  be  worth  her  while 
to  take  advantage  of  it  for  the 
moment,  it  was  still  an  insult,  in  its 
way,  to  be  avenged  if  an  opportu- 
nity ever  should  arise. 

The  evening  came,  as  evenings 
do  come  quite  indifferently  whether 
people  are  glad  or  sorry;  and  it  was 
with  a  calmness  which  the  other 
ladies  regarded  as  next  to  miracul- 
ous, that  Miss  Marjoribanks  took 
Colonel  Chiley's  arm  to  go  to  the 
dining-room.  We  say  the  other 
ladies,  for  on  this  great  occasion 
Mrs  Centum  and  Mrs  Woodburn 
were  both  among  the  dinner-guests. 
"To  see  her  eat  her  dinner  as  if 
she  had  nothing  on  her  mind!" 
Mrs  Centum  said  in  amazement: 


"  as  for  me,  though  nobody  can 
blame  me  if  anything  goes  wrong, 
I  could  enjoy  nothing  for  thinking 
of  it.  And  I  must  say  I  was  dis- 
appointed with  the  dinner,"  she 
added,  with  a  certain  air  of  satis- 
faction, in  Mrs  Woodbiirn's  ear.  It 
was  when  they  were  going  up- 
stairs, and  Lucilla  was  behind  with 
Mrs  Chiley.  "  The  fuss  the  men 
have  always  made  about  these  din- 
ners !  and  except  for  a  few  made 
dishes  that  were  really  nothing,  you 
know,  I  can't  say  /  saw  anything 
particular  in  it.  But  as  for  Lucilla, 
I  can't  think  she  has  any  feeling," 
said  the  banker's  wife. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  it  is  because  you 
don't  understand,"  said  Mrs  Wood- 
burn.  "  She  is  kept  up,  you  know, 
by  a  sense  of  duty.  It  is  all  be- 
cause she  has  set  her  heart  on  being 
a  comfort  to  her  dear  papa  !" 

Such,  it  is  true,  were  the  com- 
ments that  were  made  upon  the 
public-spirited  young  woman  who 
was  doing  so  much  for  Carlingf ord  ; 
but  then  Lucilla  only  shared  the 
fate  of  all  the  great  benefactors  of 
the  world.  An  hour  later  the  glories 
of  the  furniture  were  veiled  and 
hidden  in  a  radiant  flood  of  society, 
embracing  all  that  was  most  fair 
and  all  that  was  most  distinguished 
in  Carlingford.  No  doubt  this  was 
a  world  of  heterogeneous  elements  ; 
but  then  if  there  had  not  been  dif- 
ficulties where  would  have  been  the 
use  of  Miss  Marjoribanks's  genius  1 
Mr  Bury  and  his  sister,  who  had 
been  unconsciously  mollified  by  the 
admirable  dinner  provided  for  them 
down-stairs,  found  some  stray  lambs 
in  the  assembly  who  were  in  need 
of  them,  and  thus  had  the  double 
satisfaction  of  combining  pleasure 
with  duty  ;  and  though  there  were 
several  people  in  the  room  whose 
lives  were  a  burden  to  them  in  con- 
sequence of  Mrs  Woodburn's  re- 
markable gift,  even  they  found  it 
impossible  not  to  be  amused  by  an 
occasional  representation  of  an  ab- 
sent individual,  or  by  the  dashing 
sketch  of  Lucilla,  which  she  gave 
at  intervals  in  her  corner,  amid  the 


1865.] 


Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


307 


smothered  laughter  of  the  audience, 
who  were  half  ashamed  of  them- 
selves. *'  She  is  never  ill-tempered, 
you  know,"  the  persons  who  felt 
themselves  threatened  in  their  turn 
said  to  each  other  with  a  certain 
piteous  resignation;  and  oddly 
enough  it  was  in  general  the  most 
insignificant  people  about  who  were 
afraid  of  Mrs  Woodburn.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  such  a  dread 
never  entered  the  serene  intelli- 
gence of  Miss  Marjoribanks,  who 
believed  in  herself  with  a  reason- 
able and  steady  faith.  As  for  old 
Mrs  Chiley,  who  had  so  many  funny 
little  ways,  and  whom  the  mimic 
executed  to  perfection,  she  also 
was  quite  calm  on  the  subject. 
"  You  know  there  is  nothing  to 
take  off  in  me,"  the  old  lady  would 
say  ;  "  I  always  was  a  simple  body : 
and  then  I  am  old  enough  to  be 
all  your  grandmothers,  my  dear ;" 
which  was  a  saying  calculated,  as 
Miss  Marjoribanks  justly  observed, 
to  melt  a  heart  of  stone.  Then 
the  Miss  JJrowns  had  brought  their 
photographs,  in  which  most  people 
in  Grange  Lane  were  caricatured 
hideously,  but  with  such  a  charm- 
ing equality  that  the  most  e.rigeant 
forgave  the  wrong  to  himself  in 
laughing  at  his  neighbours.  Miss 
Brown  had  brought  her  music  too, 
and  sang  her  feeble  little  strain 
to  the  applause  of  her  immediate 
neighbours,  and  to  the  delight  of 
those  who  were  at  a  distance,  and 
who  could  talk  louder  and  flirt 
more  openly  under  cover  of  the 
music;  and  there  were  other  young 
ladies  who  had  also  come  prepared 
with  a  little  roll  of  songs  or 
"  pieces."  Lucilla,  with  her  finger 
as  it  were  upon  the  pulse  of  the 
company,  let  them  all  exhibit  their 
powers  with  that  enlightened  im- 
partiality which  we  have  already 
remarked  in  her.  When  Mr  Caven- 
dish came  to  her  in  his  ingratiat- 
ing way,  and  asked  her  how  she 
could  possibly  let  all  the  sparrows 
chirp  like  that  when  the  nightin- 
gale was  present,  Miss  Marjori- 
banks proved  herself  proof  to  the 


Hattery.  She  said,  "  Do  go  away, 
like  a  good  man,  and  make  your- 
self agreeable.  There  are  so  few 
men,  you  know,  who  can  flirt  in 
( 'arlingford.  1  have  always  reck- 
oned upon  you  as  such  a  valuable 
assistant.  It  is  always  such  an  ad- 
vantage to  have  a  man  who  flirts," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks.  This  was 
a  sentiment  perhaps  too  large  and 
enlightened,  in  the  truest  sense  of 
the  word,  to  meet,  as  it  ought  to 
have  done,  with  the  applause  of 
her  audience.  Most  of  the  per- 
suiis  immediately  surrounding  her 
thought,  indeed,  that  it  was  a  mere 
IJOH  -  mot  to  which  Lucilla  had 
given  utterance,  and  laughed  ac- 
cordingly; but  it  is  needless  to  ex- 
plain that  these  were  persons  unable 
to  understand  her  genius.  All  this 
time  she  was  keeping  her  eyes  upon 
a  figure  in  the  corner  of  a  sofa,  which 
looked  as  if  it  was  glued  there, 
and  kept  staring  defiance  at  the 
world  in  general  from  under  black 
and  level  brows.  Lucilla,  it  is  true, 
had  introduced  Barbara  Lake  in 
the  most  flattering  way  to  Mrs 
Chiley,  and  to  some  of  the  young 
ladies  present ;  but  then  she  was 
a  stranger,  and  an  intruder  into 
those  regions  of  the  blest,  and  she 
could  not  help  feeling  so.  If  her 
present  companions  had  not  whis- 
pered among  themselves,  "  Miss 
Lake  !  what  Miss  Lake  ]  Good 
gracious !  Lake  the  drawing-master's 
daughter!"  she  herself  would  still 
have  reminded  herself  of  her  humble 
paternity.  Barbara  sat  as  if  she 
could  not  move  from  that  corner, 
looking  out  upon  everybody  with 
scared  eyes,  which  expressed  no- 
thing but  defiance,  and  in  her  own 
mind  making  the  reflections  of 
bitter  poverty  upon  the  airy  pretty 
figures  round  her,  in  all  the  varia- 
tions of  that  costume  which  Miss 
Marjoribanks  had  announced  as  the 
standard  of  dress  for  the  evening. 
Barbara's  muslin,  six  times  washed, 
was  not  more  different  from  the 
spotless  lightness  of  all  the  draperies 
round  her,  than  was  her  air  of 
fright,  and  at  the  same  time  of  de- 


398 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


fiance,  from  the  gay  babble  and  plea- 
sant looks  of  the  group  which,  by 
a  chance  combination,  she  seemed 
to  form  part  of.     She  began  to  say 
to  herself  that  she  had  much  bet- 
ter go  away,  and  that  there  never 
could  be  anything  in  common  be- 
tween those  frivolous  creatures  and 
her,  who  was  a  poor  man's  daughter ; 
and  she  began   to  get   dreadfully 
exasperated  with  Lucilla,  who  had 
beguiled    her  into    this   scene   to 
make  game  of  her,  as  poor  Barbara 
said ;  though,  so  far  from  making 
game  of  her,  nobody  took   much 
notice,  after  the  first  unsuccessful 
attempt  at  conversation,  of  the  un- 
fortunate young  woman.      It  was 
when  she  was  in  this  unhappy  hu- 
mour that  her  eye  fell  upon  Mr 
Cavendish,  who  was  in  the  act  of 
making  the  appeal  to  Lucilla  which 
we   have   already  recorded.      Bar- 
bara had  never  as  yet  had  a  lover, 
but   she   had  read    an    unlimited 
number  of  novels,  which  came  to 
nearly  the  same  thing,  and  she  saw 
at  a  glance  that  this  was  somebody 
who   resembled  the   indispensable 
hero.     She  looked  at  him  with  a 
certain  fierce  interest,  and  remem- 
bered at  that  instant  how  often  in 
books  it  is  the  humble  heroine,  be- 
hind backs,  whom   all   the  young 
ladies  snub,  who  wins  the  hero  at 
the  last.     And  then  Miss  Marjori- 
banks, though  she  sent  him  away, 
smiled  benignantly  upon  him.  The 
colour  flushed  to  Barbara's  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes,  which  had  grown  dull 
and  fixed  between  fright  and  spite, 
took  sudden  expression  under  her 
straight  brows.  An  intention,  which 
was  not  so  much  an  intention  as  an 
instinct,  suddenly  sprang  into  life 
within  her  ;  and  without  knowing, 
she  drew  a  long  breath  of  eagerness 
and  impotence.     He  was  standing 
quite  near  by  this  time,  doing  his 
duty   according  to   Miss    Marjori- 
banks's   orders,   and    flirting  with 
all  his  might  ;  and  Barbara  looked 
at  him  just  as  a  hungry  schoolboy 
might  be   supposed   to   look  at  a 
tempting  apple  just  out  of  his  reach. 
How  was  she  to  get  at  this  suitor 


of  Lucilla' s  1  It  would  have  given 
her  so  pure  a  delight  to  tear  down 
the  golden  apple,  and  tread  on  it, 
and  trample  it  to  nothing  ;  and  then 
it  came  into  her  head  that  it  might 
be  good  to  eat  as  well. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  who  was  in  six  places 
at  once,  suddenly  touched  Bar- 
bara's shoulder.  "  Come  with  me  a 
minute  ;  I  waiit  to  show  you  some- 
thing," she  said  loud  out.  Barbara, 
on  her  side,  looked  round  with  a 
crimson  countenance,  feeling  that 
her  secret  thoughts  must  be  written 
in  her  guilty  eyes.  But  then  these 
were  eyes  which  could  be  utterly 
destitute  of  expression  when  they 
pleased,  though  their  owner,  at  pre- 
sent just  at  the  beginning  of  her 
experience,  was  not  quite  aware  of 
the  fact.  She  stumbled  to  her 
feet  with  all  the  awkwardness 
natural  to  that  form  of  shyness 
which  her  temper  and  her  tempera- 
ment united  to  produce  in  her. 
She  did  all  but  put  her  foot  through 
Miss  Brown's  delicate  skirt,  and  she 
had  neither  the  natural  disposition 
nor  the  acquired  grace  which  can 
carry  off  one  of  those  trifling  of- 
fences against  society.  Neverthe- 
less, as  she  stood  beside  Lucilla  at 
the  piano,  the  company  in  general 
owned  a  little  thrill  of  curiosity. 
Who  was  she  ]  A  girl  with  splen- 
did black  hair,  with  brows  as  level 
as  if  they  had  been  made  with  a 
line,  with  intense  eyes  Avhich  look- 
ed a  little  oblique  under  that 
straight  bar  of  shadow.  Her  dress 
was  limp,  but  she  was  not  such  a 
figure  as  can  be  passed  over  even 
at  an  evening  party ;  and  then 
her  face  was  a  little  flushed,  and 
her  eyes  lit  up  with  excitement. 
She  seemed  to  survey  everybody 
with  that  defiant  look  which  was 
chiefly  awkwardness  and  temper, 
but  which  looked  like  pride  when 
she  was  standing  up  at  her  full 
height,  and  in  a  conspicuous  posi- 
tion, where  everybody  could  see  her. 
Most  people  concluded  she  was  an 
Italian  whom  Lucilla  had  picked 
up  somewhere  in  her  travels.  As- 


1865.1 


Marjoribankt, — Part  III. 


3<)9 


for  Mr  Cavendish,  he  stopped  short 
altogether  in  the  occupation  which 
Miss  Marjoribanks  hud  allotted  to 
him,  and  drew  close  to  the  piano. 
He  thought  he  had  seen  the  face 
somewhere  under  a  .shabby  bonnet 
in  some  by-street  of  Carlingford, 
and  he  was  even  sufficiently  learned 
in  female  apparel  to  observe  the 
limpness  of  her  dress. 

This  preface  of  curiosity  had  all 
been  foreseen  by  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
and  she  paused  a  moment,  under 
pretence  of  selecting  her  music,  to 
take  the  full  advantage  of  it  ;  for 
Lucilla,  like  most  persons  of  ele- 
vated aims,  was  content  to  sacrifice 
herself  to  the  success  of  her  work  ; 
and  then  all  at  once,  before  the 
Carlingford  people  knew  what  they 
were  doing,  the  two  voices  rose, 
bursting  upon  the  astonished  com- 
munity like  a  sudden  revelation. 
For  it  must  be  remembered  that 
nobody  in  Carlingford,  except  the 
members  of  Dr  Marjoribanks's  din- 
ner-party, had  ever  heard  Lucilla 
sing,  much  less  her  companion  ; 
and  the  account  which  these  gentle- 
men had  carried  home  to  their  wives 
had  been  generally  pooh-poohed  and 
put  down.  "  Mr  Centum  never 
listens  to  a  note  if  he  can  help  it," 
said  the  banker's  wife,  "  and  how 
could  he  know  whether  she  had  a 
nice  voice  or  not  (''  which,  indeed, 
was  a  powerful  argument.  But 
this  evening  there  could  be  no  mis- 
take about  it.  The  words  were 
arrested  on  the  very  lips  of  the 
talkers  ;  Mrs  Woodburn  paused 
in  the  midst  of  doing  Lucilla,  and, 
as  we  have  before  said,  Mr  Caven- 
dish broke  a  flirtation  clean  off  at 
its  most  interesting  moment.  It 
is  impossible  to  record  what  they 
sang,  for  those  events,  as  everybody 
is  aware,  happened  a  good  many 
years  ago,  and  the  chances  are  that 
the  present  generation  has  alto- 
gether forgotten  the  duet  which 
made  so  extraordinary  an  impres- 
sion on  the  inhabitants  of  Grange 
Laiie.  The  applause  with  whicli 
the  performance  was  received  reach- 
ed the  length  of  a  perfect  ovation. 


Barbara,  for  her  part,  who  was  not 
conscious  of  having  ever  been  ap- 
plauded before,  flushed  into  splen- 
did crimson,  and  shone  out  from 
under  her  straight  eyebrows,  in- 
toxicated into  absolute  beauty.  As 
for  Miss  Marjoribanks,  she  took  it 
more  calmly.  Lucilla  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  knowing  what  she  could 
do,  and  accordingly  she  was  not 
surprised  when  people  found  it 
remarkable.  She  consented,  on 
urgent  persuasion,  to  repeat  the 
last  verse  of  the  duet,  but  when 
that  was  over,  was  smilingly  ob- 
durate. '*  Almost  everybody  can 
sing,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  with 
a  magnificent  depreciation  of  her 
own  gift.  "Perhaps  Miss  Brown  will 
sing  us  something  ;  but  as  for  me, 
you  know,  I  am  the  mistress  of  the 
house."  She  had  to  go  away  to 
attend  to  her  guests,  and  she  left 
Barbara  still  crimson  and  splendid, 
triumphing  over  her  limp  dress  and 
all  her  disadvantages  by  the  piano. 
Fortunately,  for  that  evening  Bar- 
bara's pride  and  her  shyness  pre- 
vented her  from  yielding  to  the 
repeated  demands  addressed  to  her 
by  the  admiring  audience.  She 
said  to  Mr  Cavendish,  with  a  dis- 
loyalty which  that  gentleman 
thought  piquant,  that  "  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks would  not  be  pleased  :  " 
and  the  future  Member  for  Car- 
lingford thought  he  could  not  do 
better  than  obey  the  injunctions  of 
the  mistress  of  the  feast  by  a  little 
flirtation  with  the  gifted  unknown. 
To  be  sure,  Barbara  was  not  gifted 
in  talk,  and  she  was  still  defiant 
and  contradictory ;  but  then  her 
eyes  were  blazing  with  excitement 
under  her  level  eyebrows,  and  she 
was  as  willing  to  be  flirted  with  as 
if  she  had  known  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter. And  then  Mr  Cavendish  had 
a  weakness  for  a  contralto.  \Vhile 
this  little  by-play  was  going  on, 
Lucilla  was  moving  about,  the 
centre  of  a  perfect  tumult  of  ap- 
plause. No  more  complete  success 
could  be  imagined  than  that  of  this 
first  Thursday  Evening,  which  was 
remarkable  in  the  records  of  Car- 


400 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


lingford;  and  yet  perhaps  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks, like  other  conquerors, 
was  destined  to  build  her  victory 
upon  sacrifice.  She  did  not  feel 
any  alarm  at  the  present  moment ; 
but  even  if  she  had,  that  would 
have  made  no  difference  to  Lucilla's 


proceedings.  She  was  not  the 
woman  to  shrink  from  a  sacrifice 
when  it  was  for  the  promotion  of 
the  great  object  of  her  life  ;  and 
that,  as  everybody  knew  who  knew 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  was  to  be  a 
comfort  to  her  dear  papa. 


CHAPTER   XI. 


"  You  have  never  told  us  who 
your  unknown  was,"  said  Mr  Caven- 
dish. "  I  suppose  she  is  profes- 
sional. Carlingford  could  not  pos- 
sibly possess  two  such  voices  in 
private  life." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  two 
such  voices,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks; "her  voice  suits  mine,  you 
know.  It  is  always  a  great  thing 
to  find  two  voices  that  suit.  I 
never  would  chose  to  have  profes- 
sional singers,  for  my  part.  You 
have  to  give  yourself  up  to  music 
when  you  do  such  a  thing,  and  that 
is  not  my  idea  of  society.  I  am 
very  fond  of  music,"  said  Lucilla — 
"  excessively  fond  of  it ;  but  then 
everybody  is  not  of  my  opinion — 
and  one  has  to  take  so  many  things 
into  consideration.  For  people  who 
give  one  party  in  the  year  it  does 
very  well — but  then  I  hate  parties  : 
the  only  pleasure  in  society  is 
when  one's  friends  come  to  see  one 
without  any  ado." 

"In  white  frocks,  high^'^aid  Mrs 
Woodburn,  who  could  not  help  as- 
suming Lucilla's  manner  for  the 
moment,  even  while  addressing 
herself ;  but  as  the  possibility  of 
such  a  lese-majeste  did  not  even 
occur  to  Miss  Marjoribanks,  she 
accepted  the  observation  in  good 
faith. 

"  Yes  ;  I  hate  a  grand  toilette 
when  it  is  only  a  meeting  of 
friends,"  she  said — "  for  the  girls, 
you  know;  of  course  you  married 
ladies  can  always  do  what  you  like. 
You  have  your  husbands  to  please," 
said  Lucilla.  And  this  was  a  little 
hard  upon  her  satirist,  for,  to  tell 
the  truth,  that  was  a  particular  of 
domestic  duty  to  which  Mrs  Wood- 


burn  did  not  much  devote  herself, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  Grange 
Lane. 

"  But  about  the  contralto,"  said 
Mr  Cavendish,  who  had  come  to 
call  on  Miss  Marjoribanks  under 
his  sister's  wing,  and  desired  above 
all  things  to  keep  the  peace  be- 
tween the  two  ladies,  as  indeed  is 
a  man's  duty  under  such  circum- 
stances. "You  are  always  states- 
manlike in  you  views  ;  but  I  can- 
not understand  why  you  let  poor 
little  Molly  Brown  carry  on  her 
chirping  when  you  had  such  an 
astonishing  force  in  reserve.  She 
must  have  been  covered  with  con- 
fusion, the  poor  little  soul." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Mrs 
Woodburn,  pursuing  her  favourite 
occupation  as  usual.  "  Sheonlysaid, 
'  Goodness  me !  how  high  Lucilla 
goes  !  Do  you  like  that  dreadfully 
high  music  1 '  and  made  little  eye- 
brows." To  be  sure,  the  mimic 
made  Miss  Brown's  eyebrows,  and 
spoke  in  her  voice,  so  that  even 
Lucilla  found  it  a  little  difficult  to 
keep  her  gravity.  But  then  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  defended  by  her 
mission,  and  she  felt  in  her  heart 
that,  representing  public  interest 
as  she  did,  it  was  her  duty  to  avoid 
all  complicity  in  any  attack  upon  an 
individual ;  and  consequently,  to  a 
certain  extent,  it  was  her  duty  also 
to  put  Mrs  Woodburn  down. 

"  Molly  Brown  has  a  very  nice 
little  voice,"  said  Lucilla,  with 
most  disheartening  gravity.  "  I 
like  to  hear  her  sing,  for  my  part — 
the  only  thing  is  that  she  wants 
cultivation  a  little.  It  doesn't 
matter  much,  you  know,  whether  or 
not  you  have  a  voice  to  begin  with. 


18C5.] 


Miss  Marjorvbankf. — Part  III. 


401 


It  is  cultivation  that  is  the  tiling," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  deliber- 
ately. "  I  hope  you  really  thought 
it  was  a  pleasant  evening.  Of 
course  everybody  said  so  to  me  ; 
but  then  one  can  never  put  any 
faith  in  that.  I  have  said  it  my- 
self ever  so  many  times  when  I  am 
sure  1  did  not  mean  it.  For  my- 
self, 1  don't  give  any  importance  to 
the  first  evening.  Anybody  can  do 
a  thing  once,  you  know ;  the  second 
and  the  third,  and  so  on — that  is  the 
real  test.  But  1  hope  you  thought 
it  pleasant  so  far  as  it  went." 

"  It  was  a  great  deal  more  than 
pleasant,"  said  Mr  Cavendish;  "and 
as  for  your  conception  of  social 
politics,  it  is  masterly,"  the  future 
M.P.  added,  in  a  tone  which  struck 
Lucilla  as  very  significant ;  not  that 
she  cared  particularly  about  Mr 
Cavendish's  meaning,  but  still,  when 
a  young  man  who  intends  to  go 
into  Parliament  congratulates  a 
young  lady  upon  her  statesmanlike 
views  and  her  conception  of  poli- 
tics, it  must  be  confessed  that  it 
looks  a  little  particular;  and  then, 
if  that  was  what  he  meant,  it  was 
no  doubt  Lucilla' s  duty  to  make 
up  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  you  know,  I  went  through 
a  course  of  political  economy  at 
Mount  Pleasant,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh  ;  "  one  of  the  Miss  Blounts 
was  dreadfully  strong-minded.  I 
wonder,  for  my  part,  that  she  did 
not  make  me  literary  ;  but  for- 
tunately I  escaped  that." 

"Heaven  be  praised!"  said  Mr 
Cavendish.  "  I  think  you  ought  to 
be  Prime-minister.  That  contralto 
of  yours  is  charming  raw  material ; 
but  if  I  were  you,  I  would  put  her 
through  an  elementary  course.  She 
knows  how  to  sing,  but  she  does 
not  know  how  to  move ;  and  as  for 
talking,  she  seems  to  expect  to  be 
insulted.  If  you  make  a  pretty- 
behaved  young  lady  out  of  that, 
you  will  beat  Adam  Smith." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  much  about 
Adam  Smith,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks.  "  I  think  Miss  Martha 
thought  him  rather  old-fashioned. 


As  for  poor  Barbara,  she  is  only  a 
little  shy,  but  that  will  soon  wear 
oil'.  I  don't  see  what  need  she  has 
to  talk — or  to  move  either,  for  that 
matter.  I  thought  she  did  very  well 
indeed  for  a  girl  who  never  goes 
into  society.  Was  it  not  clever  of 
me  to  find  her  out  the  very  first  day 
I  was  in  Carlingford  i  It  has  always 
been  so  difficult  to  find  a  voice  that 
went  perfectly  with  mine." 

"  For  my  part,  I  think  it  was  a 
groat  deal  more  than  clever,"  said 
Mr  Cavendish  ;  for  Mrs  Woodburn, 
finding  herself  unappreciated,  was 
silent  and  making  notes.  "  It  was 
a  stroke  of  genius.  So  her  name 
is  Barbara  1  1  wonder  if  it  would 
be  indiscreet  to  ask  where  Madem- 
oiseDe  Barbara  comes  from,  or  if  she 
belongs  to  anybody,  or  lives  any- 
where. My  own  impression  is  that 
you  mean  to  keep  her  shut  up  in  a 
box  all  the  week  through,  and  pro- 
duce her  only  on  the  Thursday 
evenings.  I  have  a  weakness  for  a 
fine  contralto.  If  she  had  been  ex- 
isting in  an  ordinary  habitation  like 
other  people  in  Carlingford,  I  should 
have  heard  her,  or  heard  of  her.  It 
is  clear  to  me  that  you  keep  her 
shut  up  in  a  box." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Lucilla.  "  I  don't 
mean  to  tell  you  anything  about 
her.  You  may  be  sure,  now  I  have 
found  her  out,  I  mean  to  keep  her 
for  myself.  Her  box  is  quite  a 
pretty  one,  like  what  Gulliver  had 
somewhere.  It  is  just  time  for 
lunch,  and  you  are  both  going  to 
stay,  I  hope ;  and  there  is  poor 
Mary  Chiley  and  her  husband  com- 
ing through  the  garden.  What  a 
pity  it  is  he  is  such  a  goose ! " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  know  she  never 
would  take  her  uncle's  advice,  my 
dear,"  said  the  incorrigible  mimic, 
putting  on  Mrs  Chile/ s  face;  "and 
being  an  orphan,  what  could  any- 
body do  ?  And  then  she  does  not 
get  on  with  his  family.  By  the 
way,"  Mrs  Woodburn  said,  falling 
into  her  natural  tone,  if  indeed 
she  could  be  said  to  have  a  natural 
tone — "I  wonder  if  anybody  ever 
does  get  on  with  her  husband's 


402 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


family."  The  question  was  one 
which  was  a  little  grave  to  herself 
at  the  moment ;  and  this  was  the 
reason  why  she  returned  to  her 
identity — for  there  was  no  telling 
how  long  the  Woodburns,  who  had 
come  for  Christmas,  meant  to  stay. 
"I  shall  be  quite  interested  to 
watch  you,  Lucilla,  when  it  comes 
to  be  your  turn,  and  see  how  you 
manage,"  she  went  on,  with  a  keen 
look  at  Miss  Marjoribanks  ;  and 
Mr  Cavendish  laughed.  He  too 
looked  at  her,  and  Lucilla  felt 
herself  in  rather  a  delicate  posi- 
tion :  not  that  she  was  agitated, 
as  might  have  been  the  case  had 
the  future  M.P.  for  Carlingford 
"  engaged  her  affections,"  as  she 
herself  would  have  said.  Fortun- 
ately these  young  affections  were 
quite  free  as  yet ;  but  nevertheless 
Miss  Marjoribanks  felt  that  the 
question  was  a  serious  one,  as  com- 
ing from  the  sister  of  a  gentleman 
who  was  undeniably  paying  her 
attention.  She  did  not  in  the  least 
wish  to  alarm  a  leading  member  of 
a  family  into  which  it  was  possible 
she  might  enter ;  and  then  at  the 
same  time  she  intended  to  reserve 
fully  all  her  individual  rights. 

"  I  always  make  it  a  point  never 
to  shock  anybody's  prejudices," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks.  "  I  should 
do  just  the  same  with  tltem  as  with 
other  people  ;  all  you  have  to  do  is 
to  show  from  the  first  that  you 
mean  to  be  good  friends  with 
everybody.  But  then  I  am  so  lucky: 
I  can  always  get  on  with  people," 
said  Lucilla,  rising  to  greet  the  two 
unfortunates  who  had  come  to 
Colonel  Chiley's  to  spend  a  merry 
Christmas,  and  who  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  themselves.  And 
then  they  all  went  down-stairs  and 
lunched  together  very  pleasantly. 
As  for  Mr  Cavendish,  he  was 
"  quite  devoted,"  as  poor  Mary 
Chiley  said,  with  a  touch  of  envy. 
To  be  sure,  her  trousseau  was  still  in 
its  full  glory ;  but  yet  life  under 
the  conditions  of  marriage  was  not 
nearly  such  fun  as  it  had  been  when 
she  was  a  young  lady,  and  had 


some  one  paying  attention  to  her  : 
and  she  rather  grudged  Lucilla  that 
climax  of  existence,  notwithstand- 
ing her  own  superior  standing  and 
dignity  as  a  married  lady.  And 
Mrs  Woodburn  too  awoke  from  her 
study  of  the  stupid  young  husband 
to  remark  upon  her  brother's  be- 
haviour :  she  had  not  seen  the  two 
together  so  often  as  Mrs  Chiley 
had  done,  and  consequently  this 
was  the  first  time  that  the  thought 
had  occurred  to  her.  She  too  had 
been  born  "  one  of  the  Caven- 
dishes," as  it  was  common  to  say 
in  Carlingford,  with  a  certain  im- 
posing yet  vague  grandeur,  and 
she  was  a  little  shocked,  like  any 
good  sister,  at  the  first  idea.  She 
watched  Lucilla's  movements  and 
looks  with  a  quite  different  kind 
of  attention  after  this  idea  struck 
her,  and  made  a  rapid  private  cal- 
culation as  to  who  Dr  Marjori- 
banks's  connections  were,  and  what 
he  would  be  likely  to  give  his 
daughter  ;  so  that  it  is  evident  that 
Lucilla  did  not  deceive  herself,  but 
that  Mr  Cavendish's  attentions 
must  have  been  marked  indeed. 

This  was  the  little  cloud  which 
arose,  as  we  have  said,  no  bigger 
than  a  man's  hand,  over  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's  prosperous  way.  When 
the  luncheon  was  over  and  they 
had  all  gone,  Lucilla  took  a  few 
minutes  to  think  it  over  before  she 
went  out.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
unduly  nattered  by  Mr  Cavendish's 
attentions,  as  might  have  happened 
to  an  inexperienced  young  woman  ; 
for  Lucilla,  with  her  attractions 
and  genius,  had  not  reached  the 
mature  age  of  nineteen  without 
receiving  the  natural  homage  of 
mankind  on  several  clearly-defined 
occasions.  But  then  the  present 
case  had  various  features  peculiar 
to  itself,  which  prevented  Lucilla 
from  crushing  it  in  the  bud,  as  she 
had  meant  to  do  with  her  cousin's 
ill-fated  passion.  She  had  to  con- 
sider, in  the  first  place,  her  mission 
in  Carlingford,  which  was  more 
important  than  anything  else  ;  but 
though  Miss  Marjoribanks  had 


Miss  JJarjoribanks. — Part  III. 


vowed  herself  to  the  reorganisation 
of  society  in  her  native  town,  she 
had  not  by  any  means  vowed  that  it 
was  absolutely  as  Miss  Marjori banks 
that  she  was  to  accomplish  that  re- 
novation. And  then  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  very  idea  of  being 
M.P.  for  Carlingford  which  moved 
the  mind  of  Lucilla.  It  was  a 
perfectly  ideal  position  for  a  wo- 
man of  her  views,  and  seemed 
to  offer  the  very  field  that  was 
necessary  for  her  ambition.  This 
was  the  reason,  of  all  others,  which 
made  her  less  careful  to  prevent 
Mr  Cavendish  from  "saying  the 
words "  than  she  had  been  with 
Tom.  To  be  sure,  it  would  be  a 
trial  to  leave  the  drawing-room 
after  it  had  just  been  furnished  so 
entirely  to  her  liking — not  to  say 
to  her  complexion  ;  but  still  it  was 
a  sacrifice  which  might  be  made. 
It  was  in  this  way  that  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  prepared  herself  for  the 
possible  modifications  which  cir- 
cumstances might  impose.  She  did 
not  make  any  rash  resolution  to 
resist  a  change  which,  on  the  whole, 
might  possibly  be  "  for  the  best," 
but  prepared  herself  to  take  every- 
thing into  consideration,  and  pos- 
sibly to  draw  from  it  a  superior 
good  :  in  short,  she  looked  upon 
the  matter  as  a  superior  mind, 
trained  in  sound  principles  of  poli- 
tical economy,  might  be  expected  to 
look  upon  the  possible  vicissitudes 
of  fortune,  with  an  enlightened 
regard  to  the  uses  of  all  things, 
and  to  the  comparative  values  on 
either  side. 

Barbara  Lake,  as  it  happened,  was 
out  walking  at  the  very  moment 
when  Miss  Marjoribanks  sat  down 
to  consider  this  question.  She  had 
gone  to  the  School  of  Design  to 
meet  Hose,  with  an  amiability  very 
unusual  in  her.  Kose  had  made 
such  progress,  after  leaving  Mount 
Pleasant,  under  her  father's  care, 
and  by  the  help  of  that  fine  feeling 
for  art  which  has  been  mentioned 
in  the  earlier  part  of  this  history, 
that  the  charge  of  the  female 
pupils  in  the  School  of  Design  had 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIV. 


been  confided  to  her,  with  a  tiny 
little  salary,  which  served  Mr  Lake 
as  an  excuse  for  keeping  his  favour- 
ite little  daughter  with  him.     No- 
thing could  be  supposed  more  un- 
like   Barbara    than    her    younger 
sister,  who  just   came    up   to   her 
shoulder,  and  was  twice  as  service- 
able   and   active   and   "  nice,"    ac- 
cording  to    the    testimony   of   all 
the  children.     Barbara  had  led  her 
father   a   hard  life,  poor  man !  the 
time    that     Hose    was    at    Mount 
Pleasant  ;  but  now  that  his  assist- 
ant had  come  back  again,  the  poor 
drawing-master  had   recovered  all 
his  old  spirits.     She  was  just  coin- 
ing out  of  the    School  of   Design, 
with  her  portfolio  under  her  arm, 
when    Barbara    met    her.      There 
were  not  many  pupils,  it  is  true, 
but  still  there  were  enough  to  worry 
poor  Hose,  who  was  not  an  impos- 
ing personage,  and  who  was  daily 
wounded    by    the    discovery    that 
after  all   there  are   but  a   limited 
number  of  persons  in  this  world, 
especially  in  the  poorer  classes  of 
the  community,  and  under  the  age 
of  sixteen,  who  have  a  feeling  for 
art.     It  was  utterly  inconceivable 
to  the  young  teacher  how  her  girls 
could   be  so  clever  as  "to   find  out 
each   a   different   way   of    putting 
the    sublime    features    of   the  Bel- 
veder  Apollo  out  of  drawing,  and 
she    was   still   revolving  this  ditli- 
cult  problem  when  her  sister  joined 
her.     Barbara,   for    her   part,  was 
occupied  with  thoughts  of  a  hero 
much  more  interesting  than  he  of 
Olympus.      She   was   flushed   and 
eager,  and  looking  very  handsome 
under  her  shabby  bonnet  ;  and  her 
anxiety  to  have  a  confidant  was  so 
great   that    she    made    a   dart   at 
Kose,  and  grasped  her  by  the  arm 
under  which  she  was  carrying  her 
portfolio,  to  the  great  discomposure 
of  the   young   artist.     She   asked, 
with  a  little  anxiety,  <;  \Vhat  is  the 
matter  I  is   there   anything   wrong 
at    home?"    and     made    a    rapid 
movement  to  £bt  to  the  other  side. 
"Oh,  Rose,"  said  Barbara,  pant- 
ing with  haste  and  agitation.  "  only 
2  K 


404 


Miss  Marjoribanfa. — Part  III. 


[April, 


fancy  ;  I  have  just  seen  him.  I 
met  him  right  in  front  of  Masters's, 
and  he  took  off  his  hat  to  me.  I 
feel  in  such  a  way — I  can  scarcely 
speak." 

"Met — who?"  said  Rose — for 
she  was  imperfect  in  her  grammar, 
like  most  people  in  a  moment  of 
emergency ;  and  besides,  she  shared 
to  some  extent  Miss  Marjoribanks's 
reluctance  to  shock  the  prejudices 
of  society,  and  was  disturbed  by 
the  idea  that  somebody  might  pass 
and  see  Barbara  in  her  present 
state  of  excitement,  and  perhaps 
attribute  it  to  its  true  cause. 

"  Oh  you  stupid  little  thing  ! " 
said  Barbara,  giving  her  "  a  shake" 
by  her  disengaged  arm.  "I  tell 
you,  him  ! — the  gentleman  I  met 
at  Lucilla  Marjoribanks's.  He 
looked  as  if  he  was  quite  delighted 
to  see  me  again ;  and  I  am  sure  he 
turned  round  to  see  where  I  was 
going.  He  couldn't  speak  to  me, 
you  know,  the  first  time ;  though 
indeed  I  shouldn't  be  the  least  sur- 
prised if  he  had  followed — at  a  dis- 
tance, you  know,  only  to  see  where 
I  live,"  said  Barbara,  turning  round 
and  searching  into  the  distance  with 
her  eager  eyes.  But  there  was  no- 
body to  be  "seen  in  the  street,  ex- 
cept some  of  Rose's  pupils  lingering 
along  in  the  sunshine,  and  very 
probably  exchanging  similar  confi- 
dences. ^Barbara  turned  back  again 
with  a  touch  of  disappointment. 
"  I  am  quite  sure  he  will  find  out 
before  long ;  and  don't  forget  I 
said  so,"  she  added,  with  a  little 
nod  of  her  head. 

"  I  don't  see  what  it  matters  if 
he  found  out  directly,"  said  Rose. 
"  Papa  would  not  let  anybody 
come  to  our  house  that  he  did  not 
approve  of ;  and  then,  you  know, 
he  will  never  have  anything  to  say 
to  people  who  are  patronising.  I 
don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about 
your  fine  gentleman.  If  you  were 
worried  as  I  am,  you  would  think 
much  more  of  getting  home  than 
of  anybody  bowing  to  you  in  the 
street.  One  of  the  gentlemen  from 
Marlborough  House  once  took  off 


his  hat  to  me,"  said  Rose,  with  a 
certain  solemnity.  "  Of  course  I 
was  pleased  ;  but  then  I  knew  it 
was  my  design  he  was  thinking 
of  —  my  Honiton  flounce,  you 
know.  I  suppose  this  other  one 
must  have  thought  you  had  a  pretty 
voice." 

This  time,  however,  it  was  an 
angry  shake  that  Barbara  gave  to 
her  sister.  "  I  wish  you  would  not 
be  such  a  goose,"  she  said  ;  "  who 
cares  about  your  Honiton  flounce  ] 
He  took  off  his  hat  because — be- 
cause he  admired  me,  I  suppose 
— and  then  it  was  a  great  deal 
more  than  just  taking  off  his  hat. 
He  gave  me  such  a  look !  Papa 
has  no  sense,  though  I  suppose 
you  will  blaze  up  when  I  say  so. 
He  ought  to  think  of  us  a  little. 
As  for  patronising,  I  should  soon 
change  that,  I  can  tell  you.  But 
then  papa  thinks  of  nothing  but 
paying  his  bills  and  keeping  out  of 
debt,  as  he  says — as  if  everybody 
was  not  in  debt ;  and  how  do  you 
suppose  we  are  ever  to  get  settled 
in  life  1  It  would  be  far  more  sen- 
sible to  spend  a  little  more,  and 
go  into  society  a  little,  and  do  us 
justice.  Only  think  all  that  that 
old  Doctor  is  doing  for  Lucilla ; 
and  there  are  four  of  us  when  the 
little  ones  grow  up,"  said  Barbara, 
in  a  tone  of  injury.  "  I  should  like 
to  know  what  papa  is  thinking 
of  ?  If  mamma  had  not  died  when 
she  did " 

"It  was  not  poor  mamma's  fault," 
said  Rose.  "  I  daresay  she  would 
have  lived  if  she  could  for  all  our 
sakes.  But  then  you  have  always 
taken  a  false  view  of  our  position, 
Barbara.  We  are  a  family  of  art- 
ists," said  the  little  mistress  of  the 
School  of  Design.  She  had  pretty 
eyes,  very  dewy  and  clear,  and  they 
woke  up  under  the  excitement  of 
this  proud  claim.  "  When  papa 
is  appreciated  as  he  deserves,  and 
when  Willie  has  made  a  name" 
said  Rose,  with  modest  confidence, 
"  things  will  be  different.  But  the 
true  strength  of  our  position  is  that 
we  are  a  family  of  artists.  We  are 


1805.1 


Miss  ^farj<>r^banks. — Part  III. 


406 


everybody's  equal,  and  we  are  no- 
body's equal.  We  have  a  rank  of 
our  own.  If  you  would  only  re- 
member this,  you  would  not  grudge 
anything  to  Lucilla  Marjoribanka  ; 
iind  then  I  am  sure  she  has  been 
very  kind  to  you." 

"  Oh,  bother ! "  said  the  unfeeling 
Barbara.  "  You  do  nothing  but 
encourage  papa  with  your  nonsense. 
And  I  should  like  to  know  what 
right  Lucilla  Marjoribanka  has  to 
be  kind  to  me  ?  If  I  am  not  as 
good  as  she,  it  is  a  very  strange 
thing.  I  should  never  take  the 
trouble  to  think  about  him  if  it 
was  not  that  Lucilla  believes  he  is 
paying  her  attention — that  is  the 
great  fun.  It  would  be  delicious  to 
take  him  from  her,  and  make  game 
of  her  and  her  kindness.  Good- 
ness !  there  he  is  again.  I  felt  sure 
that  he  would  try  to  find  out  the 
house." 

And  Barbara  crimsoned  higher 
than  ever,  and  held  Rose  fast  by 
the  arm,  and  called  her  attention  by 
the  most  visible  and  indeed  tangible 
signs  to  the  elegant  apparition,  like 
any  other  underbred  young  woman. 
As  for  Rose,  she  was  a  little  gentle- 
woman born,  and  had  a  horror  un- 
speakable of  her  sister's  bad  man- 
ners. When  Mr  Cavendish  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  address  Barbara, 
it  was  the  pretty  grey  eyes  of  Rose 
lifted  to  his  face  with  a  look  of 


straightforward  surprise  and  inquiry 
which  made  him  retire  so  hastily. 
He  took  oil'  his  hat  again  more  re- 
spectfully than  before,  and  pursued 
his  walk  along  Grove  Street,  as  if 
he  had  no  ulterior  intention  in 
visiting  that  humble  part  of  the 
town.  As  for  Barbara,  she  held 
Rose  faster  than  ever,  and  almost 
pinched  her  arm  to  move  her  at- 
tention. 44I  knew  he  was  trying  to 
find  out  the  house,"  she  said,  in  an 
exultant  whisper.  "  And  Lucilla 
thinks  he  is  paying  her  attention!" 
For  to  be  sure  when  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  took  to  being  kind  to  Bar- 
bara, she  conferred  upon  the  con- 
tralto at  the  same  moment  a  pal- 
pable injury  and  grievance,  which 
was  what  the  drawing  -  master's 
daughter  had  been  looking  for,  for 
several  years  of  her  life.  And  na- 
turally Lucilla,  who  was  at  this 
moment  thinking  it  all  over  under 
the  soft  green  shadows  from  her 
new  hangings,  was  deprived  of 
the  light  which  might  have  been 
thrown  on  her  reflections,  had  she 
seen  what  was  going  on  in  Grove 
Street  But  the  conditions  of  hu- 
manity are  such  that  even  a  woman 
of  genius  cannot  altogether  over- 
step them.  And  Lucilla  still  con- 
tinued to  think  that  Mr  Cavendish 
was  paying  her  attention,  which, 
indeed,  was  also  the  general  opinion 
in  Grange  Lane. 


rilAPTKR   XIL 


The  second  of  her  Thursday  even- 
ings found  Miss  Marjoribanka, 
though  secure,  perhaps  more  anxi- 
ous than  on  the  former  occasion. 
The  charm  of  the  first  novelty  was 
gone,  and  Lucilla  did  not  feel  quite 
sure  that  her  subjects  had  the  good 
sense  to  recognise  all  the  benefits 
which  she  was  going  to  confer  up- 
on them.  "  It  is  the  second  time 
that  counts,"  she  said  in  confidence 
to  Mrs  Chiley.  "Last  Thursday 
they  wanted  to  see  the  drawing- 
room,  and  they  wanted  to  know 
what  sort  of  thing  it  was  to  be. 


Dear  Mrs  Chiley,  it  is  to-night  that 
is  the  test,"  said  Lucilla,  giving  a 
nervous  pressure  to  her  old  friend's 
hand ;  at  least  a  pressure  that  would 
have  betokened  the  existence  of 
nerves  in  any  one  else  but  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  whose  magnificent 
organisation  was  beyond  any  sus- 
picion of  such  weakness.  But, 
nevertheless,  Mrs  Chiley,  who  watch- 
ed her  with  grandmotherly  interest, 
was  comforted  to  perceive  that 
Lucilla,  as  on  the  former  occasion, 
had  strength  of  mind  to  eat  her 
dinner.  "  She  wants  a  little  sup- 


406 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


port,  poor  dear,"  the  old  lady  said 
in  her  heart;  for  she  was  a  kinder 
critic  than  the  younger  matrons, 
who  felt  instinctively  that  Miss 
Marjoribanks  was  doing  what  they 
ought  to  have  done.  She  took  her 
favourite's  arm  in  hers  as  they  went 
np-stairs,  and  gave  Mr  Cavendish  a 
kindly  nod  as  he  opened  the  door 
for  them.  "  He  will  come  and  give 
you  his  assistance  as  soon  as  ever  he 
can  get  away  from  the  gentlemen," 
said  Mrs  Chiley,  in  her  consolatory 
tone ;  "  but,  good  gracious,  Lucilla, 
what  is  the  matter?"  The  cause 
of  this  exclamation  was  a  universal 
hum  and  rustle  as  of  many  dresses 
and  many  voices ;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  when  Miss  Marjoribanks  and 
her  companion  reached  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  they  found  themselves 
lost  in  a  laughing  crowd,  which 
had  taken  refuge  on  the  landing. 
"  There  is  no  room,  Lucilla.  Lu- 
cilla, everybody  in  Carlingford  is 
here.  Do  make  a  little  room  for 
us  in  the  drawing-room,"  cried  this 
overplus  of  society.  If  there  was 
an  enviable  woman  in  Carlingford 
at  that  moment,  it  certainly  Avas 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  standing  on  the 
top  of  her  own  stairs,  scarcely  able 
to  penetrate  through  the  throng  of 
her  guests.  Her  self-possession  did 
not  forsake  her  at  this  supreme 
moment.  She  grasped  Mrs  Chiley 
once  again  with  a  little  significant 
gesture  which  pleased  the  old  lady, 
for  she  could  not  but  feel  that  she 
was  Lucilla's  only  confidante  in  her 
brilliant  but  perilous  undertaking. 
"  They  will  not  be  able  to  get  in 
when  they  come  up- stairs,"  said 
Miss  Marjoribanks;  and  whether 
the  faint  inflection  in  her  voice 
meant  exultation  or  disappoint- 
ment, her  old  friend  could  not 
make  up  her  mind.  But  the  scene 
changed  when  the  rightful  sovereign 
entered  the  gay  but  disorganised 
dominion  where  her  subjects  at- 
tended her.  Before  any  one  knew 
how  it  was  done,  Miss  Marjoribanks 
had  re-established  order,  and,  what 
was  still  more  important,  made 
room.  She  said,  "You  girls  have 


no  business  to  get  into  corners. 
The  corners  are  for  the  people  that 
can  talk.  It  is  one  of  my  principles 
always  to  flirt  in  the  middle  of  the 
company,"  said  Lucilla;  and  again, 
as  happened  so  often,  ignorant 
people  laughed  and  thought  it  a 
bon  mot.  But  it  is  needless  to  in- 
form the  more  intelligent  persons 
who  understand  Miss  Marjoribanks, 
that  it  was  by  no  means  a  bon  mot, 
but  expressed  Lucilla's  convictions 
with  the  utmost  sincerity.  Thus  it 
happened  that  the  second  Thurs- 
day was  more  brilliant  and  infinite- 
ly more  gratifying  than  the  first 
had  been.  For  one  thing,  she  felt 
sure  that  it  was  not  to  see  the  new 
furniture,  nor  to  criticise  this  new 
sort  of  entertainment,  but  with  the 
sincerest  intention  of  enjoyingthem- 
selves,  that[all  the  people  had  come; 
and  there  are  moments  when  the 
egotism  of  the  public  conveys  the 
highest  compliment  that  can  be 
paid  to  the  great  minds  which  take 
in  hand  to  rule  and  to  amuse  it. 
The  only  drawback  was,  that  Bar- 
bara Lake  did  not  show  the  same 
modesty  and  reticence  as  on  the 
former  occasion.  Far  from  being 
sensibly  silent,  which  she  had  been 
so  prudent  as  to  be  on  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks's  first  Thursday,  she  forgot 
herself  so  far  as  to  occupy  a  great 
deal  of  Mr  Cavendish's  valuable 
time,  which  he  might  have  employ- 
ed much  more  usefully.  She  not 
only  sang  by  herself  when  he  asked 
her,  having  brought  some  music 
with  her  unseen  by  Lucilla,  but  she 
kept  sitting  upon  the  stool  before 
the  piano  ever  so  long  afterwards, 
detaining  him,  and,  as  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks had  very  little  doubt,  mak- 
ing an  exhibition  of  herself;  for 
the  fact  was,  that  Barbara,  having 
received  one  good  gift  from  nature, 
had  been  refused  the  other,  and  could 
not  talk.  When  Lucilla,  arrested 
in  the  midst  of  her  many  occupa- 
tions, heard  her  protegee's  voice 
rising  alone,  she  stopped  quite  short 
with  an  anxiety  which  it  was  touch- 
ing to  behold.  It  was  not  the 
jealousy  of  a  rival  cantatrice  whick 


1865.] 


Mist  Marjoribanks. — Part  JII. 


407 


inspired  Miss  Marjoribanks's  coun- 
tenance, but  the  far  broader  and 
grander  anxiety  of  an  accomplished 
statesman,  who  sees  a  rash  and 
untrained  hand  meddling  with  his 
most  delicate  machinery.  Lucilla 
ignored  everything  for  the  moment 
— her  own  voice,  and  Mr  Caven- 
dish's attentions,  and  every  merely 
secondary  and  personal  emotion. 
All  these  details  were  swallowed  up 
in  the  fear  that  Barbara  would  not 
acquit  herself  as  it  was  necessary 
for  the  credit  of  the  house  that 
she  should  acquit  herself;  that  she 
should  not  sing  well  enough,  or 
that  she  should  sing  too  much. 
Once  more  Miss  Marjoribunks  put 
her  finger  upon  the  pulse  of  the 
community  as  she  and  they  listened 
together.  Fortunately,  things  went 
so  far  well  that  Barbara  sang  her 
very  best,  and  kept  up  her  i>restiye: 
but  it  was  different  in  the  second 
particular ;  for,  unluckily,  the  con- 
tralto knew  a  j?reat  many  songs, 
and  showed  no  inclination  to  stop. 
Nothing  remained  for  it  but  a 
bold  coup,  which  Lucilla  execut- 
ed with  all  her  natural  coolness 
and  talent.  "My  dear  Barbara," 
she  said,  putting  her  hands  on 
the  singer's  shoulders  as  she  fin- 
ished her  strain,  "  that  is  enough 
for  to-night.  Mr  Cavendish  will 
take  yon  down-stairs  and  get  you  a 
cup  of  tea ;  for  you  know  there  is 
no  room  to-night  to  serve  it  up- 
stairs." Thus  Miss  Marjoribanks 
proved  herself  capable  of  preferring 
her  great  work  to  her  personal  sen- 
timents, which  is  generally  consid- 
ered next  to  impossible  for  a  wo- 
man. She  did  what  perhaps  no- 
body else  in  the  room  was  capable 
of  doing  :  she  sent  away  the  gentle- 
man who  was  paying  attention  to 
her,  in  company  with  the  girl  who 
was  paying  attention  to  him ;  and 
at  that  moment,  as  was  usual  when 
she  was  excited,  Barbara  was  splen- 
did, with  her  crimson  cheeks,  and 
the  eyes  blazing  out  from  under 
her  level  eyebrows.  This  Miss 
Marjoribanks  did,  not  in  ignorance, 
but  with  a  perfect  sense  of  what 


she  was  about.  It  was  the  only 
way  of  preventing  her  Evening 
from  losing  its  distinctive  character. 
It  was  the  Lamp  of  sacrifice  which 
Lucilla  had  now  to  employ,  and  she 
proved  herself  capable  of  the  exer- 
tion. But  it  would  be  hopeless  to 
attempt  to  describe  the  indignation 
of  old  Mrs  Cliiley,  or  the  unmiti- 
gated amaxement  of  the  company 
in  general,  which  was  conscious  at 
the  same  time  that  Mr  Cavendish 
was  paying  attention  to  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks, and  that  he  had  been 
flirting  in  an  inexcusable  manner 
with  Miss  Lake.  "  My  dear,  1 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  that 
bold  girl,"  Mrs  Chiley  said  in  Lu- 
cilla's  ear.  "  I  will  go  down  and 
look  after  them  if  you  like.  A  girl 
like  that  always  leads  the  gentlemen 
astray,  you  know.  I  never  liked  the 
looks  of  her.  Let  me  go  down-stairs 
and  look  after  them,  my  dear.  1 
am  sure  I  want  a  cup  of  tea." 

"You  shall  have  a  cup  of  tea,  dear 
Mrs  Chiley,''  said  Miss  Marjoribanks 
— "some of  them  will  bring  you  one; 
but  I  can't  let  you  take  any  trou- 
ble about  Barbara.  .She  had  to  be 
stopped,  you  know,  or  she  would 
have  turned  us  into  a  musical 
party  :  and  as  for  Mr  Cavendish, 
he  is  the  best  assistant  1  have. 
There  are  so  few  men  in  Carlingford 
who  can  fiirt,"  said  Lucilla,  regret- 
fully. Her  eyes  fell  as  she  spoke 
upon  young  Osmond  Brown,  who 
was  actually  at  that  moment  talk- 
ing to  Mr  Bury's  curate,  with  a 
disregard  of  his  social  duties  pain- 
ful to  contemplate.  Poor  Osmond 
started  when  lie  met  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  reproachful  eye. 

"  But  then  I  don't  know  how," 
said  the  disconcerted  youth, — and 
he  blushed,  poor  boy,  being  only 
eighteen,  and  not  much  more  than 
a  schoolboy.  As  for  Lucilla,  who 
had  no  intention  of  putting  up 
with  that  sort  of  thing,  she  sent 
off  the  curate  summarily  for  Mrs 
Chiley's  cup  of  tea. 

"  I  did  not  mean  you,  my  dear 
Osy,"  she  said,  in  her  motherly 
tone.  "When  you  are  a  little 


408 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  III. 


[April, 


older  we  shall  see  what  you  can 
do ;  but  you  are  not  at  all  dis- 
agreeable for  a  boy,"  she  added,  en- 
couragingly, and  took  Osmond's 
arm  as  she  made  her  progress  down 
the  room  with  an  indulgence  worthy 
of  her  maturer  years;  and  even  Mrs 
Centum  and  Mrs  Woodburn  and  the 
Miss  Browns,  who  were,  in  a  man- 
ner, Lucilla's  natural  rivals,  could 
not  but  be  impressed  with  this  evi- 
dence of  her  powers.  They  were 
like  the  Tuscan  chivalry  in  the 
ballad,  who  could  scarce  forbear  a 
cheer  at  the  sight  of  their  opponent's 
prowess.  Perhaps  nothing  that  she 
could  have  done  would  have  so 
clearly  demonstrated  the  superio- 
rity of  her  genius  to  her  female 
audience  as  that  bold  step  of  stop- 
ping the  music,  which  began  to  be 
too  much,  by  sending  off  the  singer 
down-stairs  under  charge  of  Mr 
Cavendish.  To  be  sure  the  men 
did  not  even  find  out  what  it  was 
that  awoke  the  ladies'  attention ; 
but,  then,  in  delicate  matters  of 
social  politics,  one  never  expects 
to  be  understood  by  them. 

Barbara  Lake,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, took  a  very  long  time  over 
her  cup  of  tea ;  and  even  when  she 
returned  up-stairs  she  made  another 
pause  on  the  landing,  which  was 
still  kept  possession  of  by  a  lively 
stream  of  young  people  coming  and 
going.  Barbara  had  very  little  ex- 
perience, and  she  was  weak  enough 
to  believe  that  Mr  Cavendish  ling- 
ered there  to  have  a  little  more  of 
her  society  all  to  himself ;  but  to 
tell  the  truth,  his  sentiments  were 
of  a  very  different  description.  For 
by  this  time  it  must  be  owned  that 
Barbara's  admirer  began  to  feel  a 
little  ashamed  of  himself.  He 
could  not  but  be  conscious  of  Lucil- 
la's magnanimity;  and  at  the  same 
time,  he  was  very  well  aware  that 
his  return  with  his  present  com- 
panion would  be  watched  and  noted 
and  made  the  subject  of  comment 
a  great  deal  more  amusing  than 
agreeable.  When  he  did  take  Bar- 
bara in  at  last,  it  was  with  a  discom- 
fited air  which  tickled  the  specta- 
tors beyond  measure.  And  as  his 


evil  luck  would  have  it,  notwith- 
standing the  long  pause  he  had 
made  on  the  landing,  to  watch  his 
opportunity  of  entering  unobserved, 
Miss  Marjoribanks  was  the  first  to 
encounter  the  returning  couple. 
They  met  full  in  the  face,  a  few 
paces  from  the  door — exactly,  as  Mrs 
Chiley  said,  as  if  it  had  been  Mr 
and  Mrs  Cavendish  on  their  wed- 
ding visit,  and  the  lady  of  the  house 
had  gone  to  meet  them.  As  for 
the  unfortunate  gentleman,  he  could 
not  have  looked  more  utterly  dis- 
concerted and  guilty  if  he  had  been 
convicted  of  putting  the  spoons  in 
his  pocket,  or  of  having  designs 
upon  the  silver  tea-service.  He 
found  a  seat  for  his  companion 
with  all  the  haste  possible  ;  and  in- 
stead of  lingering  by  her  side,  as  she 
had  anticipated,  made  off  on  the  in- 
stant, and  hid  himself  like  a  crimi- 
nal in  the  dark  depths  of  a  group 
of  men  who  were  talking  together 
near  the  door.  These  were  men 
who  were  hopeless,  and  good  for 
nothing  but  to  talk  to  each  other, 
and  whom  Miss  Marjoribanks  tole- 
rated in  her  drawing-room  partly 
because  their  wives,  with  an  excu- 
sable weakness,  insisted  on  bring- 
ing them,  and  partly  because  they 
made  a  foil  to  the  brighter  part  of 
the  company,  and  served  as  a  butt 
when  anybody  wanted  to  be  witty. 
As  for  Lu  cilia,  she  made  no  effort 
to  recall  the  truant  from  the  ranks 
of  the  Incurables.  It  was  the 
only  vengeance  she  took  upon  his 
desertion.  When  he  came  to  take 
leave  of  her,  she  was  standing  with, 
her  hand  in  that  of  Mrs  Chiley, 
who  was  also  going  away.  "  I 
confess  I  was  a  little  nervous  this 
evening,"  Miss  Marjoribanks  was 
saying.  "  You  know  it  is  always 
the  second  that  is  the  test.  But  I 
think,  on  the  whole,  it  has  gone 
off  very  well.  Mr  Cavendish,  you 
promised  to  tell  me  the  truth  ;  for 
you  know  I  have  great  confidence 
in  your  judgment.  Tell  me  sin- 
cerely, do  you  think  it  has  been  a 
pleasant  evening?"  Lucilla  said, 
with  a  beautiful  earnestness,  look- 
ing him  in  the  face. 


1865.] 


Miss  Marjoribankt, — Part  III. 


409 


The  guilty  individual  to  whom 
tliis  question  was  addressed  felt 
disposed  to  sink  into  the  earth,  if 
the  earth,  in  the  shape  of  Mr  Hol- 
den's  beautiful  new  carpet,  would 
but  have  opened  to  receive  him  ; 
but,  after  all,  that  was  perhaps  not 
a  thing 'to  be  desired  under  the 
circumstances.  Mr  Cavendish,  how- 
ever, was  a  man  of  resources,  and 
not  disposed  to  give  up  the  con- 
test without  striking  a  blow  in  his 
own  defence. 

"  Not  so  pleasant  as  last  Thurs- 
day," he  said.  "  I  am  not  fit  to  be 
a  lady's  adviser,  for  I  arn  too  sin- 
cere ;  but  I  incline  to  think  it  is 
the  third  that  is  the  test,"  said  the 
future  M.P. ;  and  Lucilla  made  him, 
as  Mrs  Chiley  remarked,  the  most 
beautiful  curtsy;  but  then  nothing 
could  be  more  delightful  than  the 
manner  in  which  that  dear  girl 
behaved  through  the  whole  affair. 

"  If  everybody  would  only  help 
me  as  you  do  ! "  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks.  "Good- night;  I  am  so 
sorry  you  have  not  enjoyed  your- 
self. But  then  it  is  such  a  conso- 
lation to  meet  with  people  that  are 
sincere.  And  I  think,  on  the 
whole,  it  has  gone  off  very  well  for 
the  second,"  said  Lucilla,  "though 
I  say  it  that  should  not  say  it." 
The  fact  was,  it  had  gone  off  so 
well  that  the  house  could  hardly 
be  cleared  of  the  amiable  and  satis- 
fied guests.  A  series  of  the  most 
enthusiastic  compliments  were  paid 
to  Lucilla  as  she  stood  in  state  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  bade 
everybody  good-bye.  "  Next  Thurs- 
day," she  said,  with  the  benevolent 
grace  of  an  acknowledged  sovereign. 
And  when  they  were  all  gone,  Miss 
Marjoribanks'.s  reflections,  as  she 
stood  alone  in  the  centre  of  her 
domains,  were  of  a  nature  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  usual  reflections 
which  the  giver  of  a  feast  is  sup- 
posed to  make  when  all  is  over. 
But  then,  as  everybody  is  aware, 
it  was  not  a  selfish  desire  for  per- 
sonal pleasure,  nor  any  scheme  of 
worldly  ambition,  which  moved  the 
mind  of  Lucilla.  With  such  mo- 
tives it  is  only  natural  that  the 


conclusion,  "All  is  vanity,'1  should 
occur  to  the  weary  entertainer  in 
the  midst  of  his  withered  flowers 
and  extinguished  lights.  Such 
ideas  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  enlightened  conceptions  of  Miss 
Marjoribanks.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  false  to  say  that  she  had  suffered 
in  the  course  of  this  second  Thurs- 
day, or  that  a  superior  intelligence 
like  Lucilla's  could  permit  itself 
to  feel  any  jealousy  of  Barbara 
Lake ;  but  it  would  be  vain  to 
deny  that  she  had  been  surprised, 
And  any  one  who  knows  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks will  acknowledge  that  a 
great  deal  was  implied  in  that  con- 
fession. But  then  she  had  tri- 
umphed over  the  weakness,  and 
triumphantly  proved  that  her  esti- 
mate of  the  importance  of  her 
work  went  far  beyond  the  influence 
of  mere  personal  feeling.  In  these 
circumstances  Lucilla  could  con- 
template her  withered  flowers  with 
perfect  calmness,  without  any 
thought  that  all  was  vanity.  But 
then  the  fact  was,  Miss  Marjori- 
banks was  accomplishing  a  great 
public  duty,  and  at  the  same  time 
had  the  unspeakable  consolation  of 
knowing  that  she  had  proved  her- 
self a  comfort  to  her  dear  papa. 
To  be  sure  the  Doctor,  after  looking 
on  for  a  little  with  a  half-amused 
consciousness  that  his  own  assist- 
ance was  totally  unnecessary,  had 
gradually  veered  into  a  corner,  and 
from  thence  had  finally  managed 
to  escape  down-stairs  to  his  beloved 
library.  But  then  the  sense  of 
security  and  tranquillity  with  which 
he  established  himself  at  the  fire, 
undisturbed  by  the  gay  storm  that 
raged  outside,  gave  a  certain  charm 
to  his  retirement.  He  rubbed  his 
hands  and  listened,  as  a  man  listens 
to  the  wind  howling  out-of-doors, 
when  he  is  in  shelter  and  comfort. 
80  that,  after  all,  Lucilla's  sensa- 
tion of  having  accomplished  her 
filial  duties  in  the  most  effective 
manner  was  to  a  certain  extent 
justified,  while  at  the  same  time  it 
is  quite  certain  that  nobody  missed 
Dr  Marjoribanks  from  the  pleasant 
assembly  up-stairs. 


4LO 


Cornelius  O'Doivd  lywn  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


CORNELIUS    ODOWD    UPON   MEN   AND   WOMEN,   AND    OTHER   THINGS 
IN   GENERAL. 


PART  XIV. 


CHANGING   HOUSE. 


ALMOST  all  of  us  know  what  it  is 
to  "  change  house  " — to  go  off  from 
our  old  haunts,  the  corners  we  have 
loved  so  well,  the  time-worn  ways 
of  home,  and  install  ourselves  in 
some  new  domicile,  where  every- 
thing is  new,  strange,  and  unsettled. 
There  are  few  things  in  life  so  full 
of  discomfort.  The  more  a  man 
sees  of  the  world,  the  more  is  he 
disposed  to  believe  that  a  certain 
routine — a  sort  of  quiet  monotony 
in  the  general  tenor  of  life — is  one 
of  the  choicest  aids  to  happiness. 
In  fact,  until  this  same  "  dull  mo- 
notony," as  some  would  call  it,  be 
established,  the  real  enjoyment  of 
variety  can  never  be  experienced. 
There  can  be  no  furlough  where 
there  is  no  discipline. 

The  business  of  life,  besides,  re- 
quires that  even  the  idlest  and 
most  indolent  of  us  should  have 
a  certain  method.  There  must  be 
meal-times,  and  these,  let  me  ob- 
serve, are  in  a  great  measure  the 
determining  influences  which  ren- 
der us  active,  energetic,  and  use- 
ful, or  dispose  us  to  sloth,  neglect, 
and  good-for-nothingness.  Tell  me 
when  a  man  eats,  and  I  will  tell 
you  when  he  works. 

We  are,  in  a  word,  far  more  slaves 
to  ourselves  than  we  like  to  acknow- 
ledge ;  but  I  am  decidedly  inclined 
to  believe  that,  on  the  whole,  the 
servitude  works  well.  Now  the 
house  we  live  in  for  a  number  of 
years  cannot  fail  to  exert  a  great 
influence  over  us.  The  same  places 
impress  the  same  trains  of  thought, 
till  at  last  we  give  ourselves  up  to 
a  ritual,  in  which  the  drawing-room, 
the  dining-room,  and  the  study  are 
the  masters,  and  certain  inanimate 
objects,  on  which  we  scarcely  bestow 


a  thought,  become  our  impulses  and 
our  directors. 

With  a  change  of  house  all  this 
is  revolutionised.  You  have  to  plot 
out  your  home — that  is,  your  life — 
anew.  You  have  to  discuss  aspects 
and  views,  the  points  of  the  com- 
pass, and  the  prevailing  winds — to 
balance  with  yourself  the  advan- 
tages of  the  rising  against  the  setting 
sun — to  think  where  you  can  sleep 
most  profoundly,  and  dine  most 
snugly;  and  above  all,  if  a  man  of 
my  own  temperament,  where  you 
can  install  yourself  in  a  so-called 
study,  a  spot  religiously  believed 
sacred  to  meditation  and  labour, 
but  in  sober  reality  a  little  Sleepy 
Hollow  of  refuge,  dedicated  to  that 
noble  pastime  that  is  said  to  pave 
a  disreputable  region — a  pastime 
which,  in  all  its  vague  unreality,  I 
would  not  exchange  for  many  a 
practical  tangible  pleasure.  With 
a  change  of  house  all  these  devolve 
upon  you.  You  cannot  begin  the 
daily  work  of  life  till  they  be  de- 
termined, nor  can  you  determine 
them  without  a  constant  reference 
to  the  past.  Your  drawing-room 
may  be  larger  and  loftier,  your 
study  may  offer  more  space  or  more 
accommodation  ;  but  depend  upon 
it  there  will  always  be  something, 
be  it  insignificant  or  small,  to  re- 
gret— something  in  which  the  by- 
gone will  contrast  favourably  with 
the  present.  That  this  is  a  condi- 
tion of  human  thought,  I  am  inclin- 
ed to  believe  ;  at  least  all  my  friends 
who  have  been  married  a  second 
time  have  confidentially  imparted 
to  me  something  that  would  go  far 
to  confirm  it. 

Demenagement  is  a  dreary  pro- 
cess, however  we  look  at  it.  It 


1865.] 


and  oilier  Things  in  General. — Part  XIV. 


411 


is  not  alone  that  the  old  "  proper- 
ties" are  very  generally  ill  suited 
to  the  new  dwelling,  but  that  we 
never  knew  they  were  so  old  and 
timeworn  until  we  had  turned 
them  out  of  their  vested  localities, 
and  exposed  them  ruthlessly  to  re- 
mark and  inspection.  It  is  like  re- 
viewing a  veteran  battalion,  where 
the  crutches  outnumber  the  muskets. 

How  long  is  it,  too,  before  you 
can  reconcile  yourself  to  the  new 
ways  about  you  !  There  is  a  perpet- 
ual distraction  in  the  sight  of  new 
objects,  very  jarring  and  uncom- 
fortable ;  things  which  had  no  pre- 
tension to  press  themselves  upon 
your  thoughts  stand  obtrusively 
forward  and  ask  to  be  considered'; 
and,  last  of  all,  nobody  can  find 
anything.  It  is  either  locked  up  in 
the  green  packing-case  or  the  brown 
box,  or  it  has  been  left  behind,  or 
perhaps  stolen.  Scores  of  useless 
old  trumperies  are  sure  to  be  trans- 
ported— things  that  could  not  pos- 
sibly pay  for  the  carriage,  but 
which  have  an  immense  value  in 
your  servants'  eyes,  if  only  that  they 
guarantee  the  immaculate  integrity 
that  remembered  them.  These,  like 
poor  relations, will  thrust  themselves 
reproachfully  in  your  way  at  every 
moment,  and  it  will  be  weeks  before 
the  last  of  them  shall  be  consigned 
to  its  appropriate  oubliette. 

The  change  of  domicile  is  always 
regarded  as  an  act  of  indemnity 
with  regard  to  every  domestic  short- 
coming. The  cook  cannot  manage 
the  new  spit ;  he  has  not  yet  learned 
the  ways  of  the  new  oven.  The  foot- 
man has  not  found  out  how  to  make 
the  dining-room  fire  without  filling 
the  house  with  smoke.  No  matter 
how  favourable  may  be  the  circum- 
stances of  your  new  abode  in  com- 
parison with  the  late  one,  your 
household  will  find  abundant  sub- 
ject of  disparaging  contrast.  How 
unjust  to  accuse  human  nature  of  in- 
gratitude !  Only  listen  to  any  man's 
account  of  his  first  wife's  virtues. 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  whatever 
may  be  the  compensations  even- 
tually, the  first  moments  of  change 


are  neither  ways  of  pleasantness 
nor  paths  of  peace.  Indiscipline  is 
master  of  the  situation,  and  life  is 
carried  on,  like  the  American  war, 
by  substitutes — a  process  to  the  full 
as  costly  as  it  is  uncomfortable. 

Now,  if  these  be  very  serious  in- 
conveniences to  the  family,  what, 
let  me  ask,  will  they  be  when  in- 
curred by  a  whole  nation — when 
it  is  not  a  mere  household  of  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  people  who 
change  their  domicile,  but  a  people/ 
Such  is  the  case  now  with  Italy; 
and  really  it  is  one  of  the  most  for- 
midable pieces  of  internal  convul- 
sion a  State  has  ever  been  called  on 
to  encounter.  I  speak  not  of  a  Court. 
A  Court  can  comparatively  easily 
change  its  seat.  The  King  who  re- 
ceives at  Caserta  may  without  diffi- 
culty, on  that  day  week,  hold  his 
levee  at  the  Pitti.  Court  furniture 
and  Court  flunkies  are  everywhere 
much  alike,  and  for  the  few  com- 
monplaces uttered  by  royalty  all 
localities  are  pretty  equally  adapted. 
The  difficulties  in  the  present  case 
are  not  the  transfer  of  a  kingly 
household,  but  the  displacement  of 
a  legislature — the  transport  of  a 
whole  executive,  with  all  its  various 
orders  of  people,  from  the  Minister 
of  State  in  his  cabinet  to  the  porter 
at  the  gate  —  the  conveyance  of 
these  people  and  their  belongings 
to  another  city  a  couple  of  hundred 
miles  oft' — the  disruption  of  all  the 
ties  that  bind  them  to  home  and 
friends,  all  the  little  ways  and 
habits  by  which  they  fashioned 
their  daily  lives  —  the  sudden  re- 
moval of  some  forty  or  fifty  thou- 
sand people  to  a  country  as  much 
foreign  to  them  as  though  under 
another  rule;  for,  bear  in  mind,  the 
Piedmontese  is  only  partly  intelli- 
gible to  the  rest  of  Italy,  and  is 
even  less  like  the  Tuscan  in  his 
nature  than  in  his  tongue. 

I  have  once  or  twice  heard  the 
complaints  of  an  English  official  on 
being  sent  to  Dublin  or  Edinburgh, 
and  heard  how  piteously  he  be- 
wailed for  his  family  the  hardship 
of  such  a  banishment,  though  in 


412 


Cornelius  0 'Dowel  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


his  case  there  were  not  really  any 
of  those  elements  which  impart 
the  sense  of  a  strange  country.  Let 
us  imagine,  then,  what  a  heavy 
grievance  this  change  of  capital 
must  be  to  all  the  servants  of  the 
State.  These  are  all  now  to  be 
drafted  off  like  settlers  to  a  new 
colony — they  and  their  wives  and 
children,  their  man-servants  and 
their  maid-servants,  and  all  that  is 
theirs.  And,  as  though  to  make 
the  illusion  more  perfect,  a  contract 
for  wooden  houses  to  hut  the  new 
settlers  has  been  entered  into,  so 
that  on  their  arrival  on  the  savan- 
nahs of  Tuscany  they  may  feel 
themselves  like  squatters  in  the 
bush,  only  needing  a  few  Calabrian 
brigands  to  complete  the  tableau, 
and  realise  all  the  horrors  and 
cruelties  of  a  cannibal  neighbour- 
hood. It  is  said  that  Cipriano  la 
Gala  and  his  ruffian  associates,  whose 
murders  and  assassinations  have 
been  the  terror-themes  of  southern 
Italy,  have  had  their  sentence  of 
death  commuted  to  perpetual  im- 
prisonment through  the  direct  in- 
terference of  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon !  Is  it  too  rash  a  guess  to 
surmise,  that  when  that  great  dis- 
poser of  Italian  destiny  decreed 
the  change  of  capital  he  also  in- 
tended to  liberate  these  wretches, 
so  that  when  the  poor  Piedmontese 
found  himself  in  the  new  land  of 
his  destitution  he  might  be  able  to 
realise  in  his  own  experiences  the 
horrors  of  brigandage  without  the 
expense  of  a  journey  to  the  Nea- 
politan provinces  ]  We  are  told 
that  the  change  of  capital  is  a 
popular  measure  throughout  central 
and  southern  Italy,  and  that  even 
Lombardy  looks  on  it  without 
displeasure.  I  can  readily  believe 
this.  There  is  no  more  beautiful 
spectacle  than  the  equanimity  of 
our  friends  at  our  misfortunes. 
Piedmont  was  not  liked  ;  she  had 
not  any  of  the  graceful  gifts  which 
conciliate  and  win  regard.  I  am 
not  very  certain  that,  even  if  she 
had  possessed  them,  she  would 
have  deployed  them  to  cultivate 


the  goodwill  of  the  Neapolitans. 
But  this  is  an  aspect  of  the  ques- 
tion I  decline  to  regard.  It  is  the 
material  difficulties  of  the  situation 
alone  I  desire  to  consider,  and  1 
return  to  them. 

Florence  is  about  to  receive  the 
population  which  will  be  with- 
drawn from  Turin,  and  she  pre- 
pares for  the  task  in  a  most 
suitable  spirit  by  doubling  the  price 
of  everything.  It  is  not,  then, 
merely  that  the  Turinese  has  to 
quit  his  home  and  his  friends,  but 
he  has  to  take  up  his  abode  in  a 
city  rendered  doubly  costly  by  the 
very  news  of  his  coming.  This, 
of  course,  must  be  submitted  to. 
Political  economy  has  its  maxims 
about  supply  and  demand,  and 
there  is  no  help  for  the  hardship. 
But  there  is,  besides  this,  another, 
and,  I  think,  a  most  unfair  griev- 
ance. The  Florentines  are  not  con- 
tent with  the  immense  boon  that 
has  befallen  them,  but  go  about 
complaining  loudly  of  the  hardship 
of  the  invasion  that  awaits  them, 
how  life  will  be  rendered  dear, 
and,  above  all,  what  competition 
they  will  have  to  encounter  with 
the  Turinese  traders  and  shop- 
keepers, who  are  certain  to  open 
houses  in  Florence,  and  contest 
with  them  the  traffic  of  their  own 
city.  Already  such  complaints  are 
rife,  and  even  in  ranks  of  the 
community  where  one  might  have 
thought  a  more  liberal  and  just 
spirit  would  have  prevailed.  The 
very  bankers  of  Florence  are  in 
arms  at  the  thought  that  Turinese 
capital  should  seek  employment  in 
the  new  metropolis,  and  Piedmon- 
tese enterprise  demand  a  sphere  for 
its  exercise  beyond  the  walls  of 
their  now  deserted  city. 

It  is  not  merely,  then,  that  you 
have  to  change  house,  remove  your 
properties  and  penates,  desert  the 
pleasant  familiar  places  you  had 
grown  to  ;  but  you  have  to  remove 
to  a  land  where  you  are  not  loved, 
and  will  not  be  welcomed.  This 
makes  the  task  much  harder.  The 
change  is  a  charming  thing  for  your 


1865.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XIV. 


413 


neighbours  :  they  will  make  for- 
tunes by  it — become  richer,  and 
greater,  and  more  influential  than 
ever  they  dreamed  of  being — and 
yet  your  presence  amongst  them 
detracts  terribly  from  the  enjoy- 
ment. They  want  the  offices  you 
filled — not  you  who  filled  them. 
They  want  that  rich  population 
of  foreign  Ministers  and  their  fol- 
lowings ;  they  want  that  Court 
you  were  so  proud  of,  and  the  King 
you  loved  so  well ;  and  they  are 
quite  ready  to  tell  you  that  their 
claii  to  them  all  lies  in  their 
or  civilisation,  and  in  the 
jr  culture  of  "gentle  Txiscany." 
all  the  daily  difficulties,  the 
uourly  embarrassments,  the  plan  is 
to  entail,  it  is  needless  to  speak. 
Let  any  one  imagine  the  condition 
of  an  ordinary  family,  with  half  its 
baggage  at  its  late  residence,  and 
one-third  of  the  other  half  on  the 
road,  with  all  the  losses  and  damage 
of  the  way,  with  the  discomforts  of 
a  new  abode,  and  the  not  over-civil 
disposition  of  the  new  neighbour- 
hood;— let  him  magnify  this  to  the 
size  of  a  nation,  and  he  will  have 
to  own  that  these  are  not  slight  nor 
fanciful  grievances. 

The  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs 
has  to  refer  to  a  despatch,  and  he  is 
told  it  is  with  the  archives  waiting 
to  be  shipped  at  Genoa.  His  col- 
league of  Home  Affairs  is  in  the 
midst  of  a  correspondence  with  the 
prefects,  and  finds,  for  want  of  the 
early  part,  that  he  has  been  contra- 
dicting himself  most  flatly.  He  of 
Grace  and  Justice  is  unable  to  re- 
member without  his  notes,  that  are 
not  to  be  found,  whether  a  certain 
brigand  was  protected  or  not  by 
the  French  at  Rome,  and  is  conse- 
quently in  doubt  whether  he  should 
be  shot  or  pensioned.  All  is  con- 
fusion, disorder,  and  chaos.  Xo- 
body  can  answer  any  question, 
and,  what  is  worse,  none  can  be 
called  to  account  for  his  insuffi- 
ciency. It  is  a  bill  of  indemnity 
with  regard  to  every  official's  short- 
coming ;  and  just  as  you  would  be 
slow  to  arraign  the  cook  for  the 


burnt  sirloin,  or  the  butler  for  the 
dingy  look  of  the  silver,  on  the 
first  days  of  your  demenagement,  so 
must  Ministers  bear  with  patience 
every  indiscipline  around  them,  on 
the  plea  that  everything  has  to  be 
done  for  "  the  best,"  which,  in 
plain  English,  means  in  the  very 
worst  of  all  imaginable  ways. 

How  Florence  is  suddenly  to 
dilate  itself  to  the  proportions  the 
exigency  calls  for — how  the  Post  is 
to  receive  and  transmit  the  in- 
creased correspondence — how  Gov- 
ernment officials  are  to  know  at 
once  how  to  find  each  other — how 
all  that  work  of  executive  rule, 
which  requires  both  exactitude  and 
despatch,  is  to  go  on  in  a  new 
place,  as  though  it  were  a  mere 
clock  which  had  been  transferred 
from  one  town  to  another — is  not 
easy  to  see. 

Let  a  man  take  his  own  case. 
How  soon,  after  the  turmoil  and 
disturbance  of  a  change  of  abode, 
does  he  resume  the  ordinary  busi- 
ness of  his  daily  life  ?  Can  lie  con- 
tinue with  the  unbroken  thread  of 
any  occupation  he  has  been  en- 
gaged in  I  Is  he  able,  in  the  midst 
of  the  disturbing  elements  of  a  new 
home,  to  sit  down  calmly  to  any 
work  that  demands  deep  thought 
and  consideration  ? 

Think,  then,  what  these  difficul- 
ties become  where  the  labour  is 
not  only  vast  but  complicated — 
where  each  department  has  to  de- 
pend on  some  other,  and  co-opera- 
tion is  all  -  essential — where  the 
delay  of  an  answer  or  the  want  of 
clearness  in  an  order  might  be  the 
cause  of  great  disaster;  and  then 
imagine  what  are  the  difficulties 
which  await  the  Italian  execu- 
tive, at  a  moment,  too,  when  it 
is  called  on  to  confront  the  perils 
of  an  embarrassed  exchequer  and 
a  dissatisfied  population. 

They  say  Florence  is  but  the 
first  stage  on  the  way  to  Rome. 
My  impression  is  that  the  present 
experience  will  suffice  for  them, 
and  that,  when  they  have  counted 
the  cost  of  the  demenagemtnt,  they 


411 


Cornelius  O'Doivd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


will  be   satisfied  to    stay  quietly 
where  they  are,   believing   in  the 


truth  of  the  proverb,   that   ' 
removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire." 


two 


THE    "  ROPE   TRICK." 


We  must  surelyhave  fallen  on  dull 
times — there  must  be  a  very  re- 
markable dearth  of  subjects  to  in- 
terest or  amuse,  or  we  should  not 
have  given  so  much  of  our  attention 
to  the  proceedings  of  the  Daven- 
port Brothers,  and  have  our  news- 
papers daily  occupied  with  the 
attack  or  defence  of  these  "  Circu- 
lating mediums."  It  is  hard  to 
say  whether  credulity  or  incredulity 
comes  best  out  of  the  controversy, 
or  whether  a  calm  bystander  would 
incline  to  the  side  of  those  who  see 
in  these  performances  the  dawn  of 
•a  new  era  of  discovery,  or  hastily 
put  these  men  into  the  category  of 
common  conjurors. 

For  my  own  part,  I  think  they 
deserve  full  credit  for  the  way  in 
which  they  have  baffled  discov- 
ery and  evaded  exposure.  Just  as 
some  one  said  that  the  Great  Duke 
had  "  a  little  more  common  sense 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world,"  so 
have  these  men  one  trick  more  than 
all  mankind.  The  Hindoo  and  the 
Professed  Juggler  could  do  some, 
but  neither  of  them  could  do  all 
of  the  Davenport  rogueries ;  and 
though  this  be  a  small  bill  with 
which  to  draw  on  Fame,  let  us  not 
dishonour  it. 

The  Rope  trick,  as  it  is  called, 
would  appear  to  be  familiar  to  a 
large  number  of  persons ;  at  least 
there  is  scarcely  a  lecture-room  in  a 
provincial  town,  scarcely  a  mecha- 
nics' institute,  which  has  not  seen 
one  or  two  amateur  performers  per- 
fect adepts  in  this  exploit.  In  this 
feat,  after  all,  originated  the  great 
celebrity  of  these  men.  It  was  the 
fact  that,  being  bound  by  persons 
thoroughly  conversant  with  all  the 
mysteries  of  knots,  tied  with  the 
practised  skill  of  sailor  hands,  their 
bonds  crossed,  recrossed,  and  inter- 
woven with  every  device  of  subtlety, 
yet,  as  the  newspapers  say,  "  in  an 


incredibly  short  space  of  time  they 
were  found  to  have  released  them- 
selves, greatly  astonishing  a  crowd- 
ed audience,  who  cheered  lustily." 
Nor  is  this  all.  The  lights  being 
once  more  extinguished,  and  in  a 
space  equally  brief,  they  were  dis- 
covered to  be  once  again  involved 
in  all  the  intricacies  of  their  bonds, 
every  knot  and  every  crossing  be- 
ing exactly  as  at  first,  so  that  the 
most  minute  examination  could  not 
detect  the  slightest  variation.  To 
a  man  like  myself,  to  whom  a  mo- 
derately tight  coat  is  a  strait-waist- 
coat, and  who  regards  the  common- 
est impediment  to  freedom  as  little 
short  of  a  convict's  fetter,  this  per- 
formance does  indeed  appear  mira- 
culous. I  am  consoled,  however, 
for  my  own  ineptness,  by  remem- 
bering what  a  number  of  specialities 
this  world  has  room  for,  and  that 
there  are  a  variety  of  other  tricks 
which  I  could  not  perform,  and  very 
probably  never  shall  be  called  on  to 
attempt.  At  first,  therefore,  my 
sympathies  were  in  favour  of  these 
nimble  fellows,  and  it  was  with  a 
sort  of  impatience  I  read  those  let- 
ters to  the  '  Times '  and  the  '  Post/ 
of  people  offering  to  perform  the 
rope  trick  for  the  benefit  of  this  or 
that  charitable  institution.  I  sup- 
pose drowsiness  stole  over  me  as  I 
sat.  I  am  naturally  indignant  at 
any  imputation  of  being  asleep,  so 
that  it  could  not  have  gone  to  the 
extent  of  slumber  ;  but  I  certainly 
had  reached  the  hazy  stage,  when 
sounds  are  murmurs  and  sights  mere 
dissolving  views  in  a  foggy  atmo- 
sphere. I  fancied  a  friend  was  dis- 
coursing with  me  on  these  Daven- 
port people,  and  that  his  arguments 
were  a  mere  resume  of  all  these 
furious  letters  I  had  been  reading. 
"  It  was  an  old  trick — one  of  the 
stalest  tricks;  a  trick  that  no  con- 
juror of  credit  would  have  deemed  it 


1^65.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XI  V. 


415 


worth  while  to  exhibit.  The  tying 
might  be  more  expertly  done  in 
one  case  than  another,  and  a  few 
seconds  more  consequently  employ- 
ed in  the  act  of  liberation  ;  in  the 
end,  however,  the  conjuror  was  cer- 
tain to  succeed,  with  no  other  in- 
convenience than  a  certain  Hushed 
look  and  a  slightly  accelerated 
pulse.  What  1  cannot  compre- 
hend," .said  he,  "is  your  astonish- 
ment !  Are  you  really  amazed, 
Cornelius  O'Dowd  ]  "  asked  he; 
"  or  is  this  agot-up  astonishment — 
one  of  those  traits  of  youthful  trust- 
fulness I  have  seen  you  more  than 
once  perform  before  a  too  confiding 
public  I  Come,  old  fellow,  none  of 
these  penny-a-liner  affectations  with 
me.  You  know  well — ay,  sir,  you 
know  well — that  you  have,  as  our 
neighbours  say,  'assisted'  at  exhibi- 
tions of  this  kind  scores  of  times." 

For  a  moment  I  felt  as  if  passion 
would  suffocate  me.  My  head,  I 
believe,  had  got  jammed  into  the 
corner  of  the  chair,  and  I  breathed 
with  difficulty. 

"  If  that  grunt  means  dissent, 
sir,''  continued  he,  ''  unsay  it  at 
once.  I  will  stand  no  dissimula- 
tion." I  felt  choking,  but  he  went 
on.  "  You  claim  to  be  a  sort  of 
'  own  correspondent  to  all  human- 
ity ; '  you  presume  to  say  that  you 
are  eternally  on  the  watch  to  report 
whatever  goes  on  of  new,  strange, 
and  remarkable  in  this  world  of  ours; 
and  here  you  stand  with  pretended 
astonishment  at  a  feat  of  which 
even  the  last  dozen  years  have  offer- 
ed us  fully  as  many  instances — 
ay,  instances  which  called  forth 
ample  discussion  and  noise  enough 
to  addle  the  whole  kingdom.  The 
first  time  I  ever  witnessed  the  trick 
myself,"  he  went  on,  "  it  was  done 
by  Lord  John  Russell."  I  started 
with  amazement,  but  he  resumed. 
*'  The  tying  had  been  done  by 
C'obden  and  John  Bright,  but  very 
clumsily  and  very  ineffectually. 
Whether  it  was  their  enormous 
self-confidence,  or  that  they  under- 
rated the  performer  on  account  of 
his  size,  I  cannot  say;  but  the  preva- 


lent opinion  was,  none  of  the  knots 
were  drawn  tight  enough,  nor  was 
there  sufficient  cord  employed.  At 
all  events,  when  the  lights  were 
produced,  he  was  found  seated  with 
his  bonds  at  his  feet — a  little  flur- 
ried, as  was  natural,  and  with  a 
heightened  colour.  The  lights  be- 
ing extinguished — the  '  House  up  ' 
— after  a  very  brief  interval,  we 
found  him  tied  up  exactly  as  be- 
fore, every  knot  fastened  just  as 
Cobden  and  Bright  had  left  it. 
The  company  '  cheered  lustily,' 
some  fully  convinced  there  was 
more  in  it  than  our  philosophy  had 
yet  fathomed  ;  others,  manifestly 
out  of  envy,  alleging  it  was  the 
simplest  of  all  the  rogueries  in  a 
conjuror's  wallet.  The  discussion 
grew  positively  angry,  and  Mr 
Disraeli  stepped  forward  and  said 
that  there  was  really  nothing  in  the 
trick  at  all,  that  he  had  clone  it 
scores  of  times  to  amuse  a  family 
circle,  and  was  quite  ready  to  ex- 
hibit now,  if  it  could  amuse  the 
public.  Loud  applause  followed, 
all  the  louder  that  the  performer 
professed  he  was  quite  willing  that 
Lord  John  himself  should  assist  in 
the  tying.  Nothing  could  be  fairer 
than  this ;  all  seemed  charmed  by 
the  magnanimity.  I  wish  I  could 
say  that  the  result  was  as  favour- 
able as  the  opening  promised.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  when  the 
lights  came,  there  he  sat  with  the 
cords  around  him,  somewhat  de- 
ranged and  disordered  indeed,  but 
still  sufficiently  tied  to  show  he  was 
perfectly  powerless,  and  so  exhaust- 
ed by  his  efforts  besides,  that  it 
was  necessary  to  cut  the  ropes  and 
get  him  out  into  the  fresh  air  to 
recover ! 

"  His  friends  were  much  discom- 
fited ;  his  own  self-confidence  had 
seized  them,  and  they  went  about 
saying,  '  Don't  be  afraid,  he's  sure 
to  do  it ;  he  has  watched  John 
closely ;  he  knows  the  trick  thor- 
oughly,' and  so  on.  And  now  they 
were  driven  to  all  sorts  of  devices 
to  explain  the  failure.  They  even 
went  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  John's 


416 


Cornelius  O'Dotvd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


case  the  tyers  were  accomplices,  and 
the  whole  thing  a  '  sell ;'  others  de- 
clared that  Dizzy  would  have  done 
it  if  the  lights  had  not  come  so 
soon ;  that  he  was  not  fully  ready : 
but  a  very  shrewd  friend  of  my 
own  told  me  that  it  was  a  knot  of 
his  own  making — a  bit  of  vainglo- 
rious display  he  had  insisted  on 
exhibiting — that  really  bound  him, 
and  but  for  this  he  would  have 
done  the  trick  just  as  well  as  the 
other. 

"  Of  course  this  brought  John 
back  enthusiastically  into  public 
favour,  and  all  went  about  saying 
he  has  never  failed  yet;  and  though 
they  have  got  a  rope  over  from 
America,  and  even  tried  some  special 
hemp  from  Russia,  it's  all  the  same; 
he  steps  through  the  meshes,  and 
sits  there  as  free  and  unconcerned 
as  need  be. 

"  It  is  true,  however,  he  objects 
to  let  a  Frenchman  tie  him — a  con- 
juror by  profession — a  certain  Louis 
Nap,  who  proposed  to  test  him  by 
what  they  call  '  the  Polish  Trap.' 
John  demurred,  and  said  it  was  a 
game  that  would  never  amuse  an 
English  public ;  not  to  say  that  the 
representation  was  too  far  off,  and 
in  a  part  of  the  town  very  incon- 
venient to  come  at.  In  fact,  he 
made  twenty  pretexts,  and  ended 
by  saying  that  if  he  were  to  be 
bothered  any  more,  he'd  remove  his 
lodgings,  go  and  live  up-stairs,  and 
give  up  conjuring  altogether. 

"  Cob  and  Quaker  John  are  per- 
haps not  on  as  good  terms  with  him 
as  they  were  formerly,  for  they  go 
about  grumbling,  and  darkly  hint- 
ing what  they'd  do  if  they  had  only 
another  chance  with  him.  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  they'd  fail  just  as 
they  failed  before.  He  is  a  master 
of  his  art.  We  all  of  us  saw  how, 
tied  and  fastened  in  every  direc- 


tion, his  feet  to  his  neck,  and  his 
hands  to  his  ankles,  he  contrived 
one  day  to  put  on  Mr  Newdegate's 
coat,  and  actually  wrote  a  letter  to 
the  Bishop  of  Durham;  and  before 
the  ink  was  well  dry  on  it,  there  he 
sat  in  his  own  clothes,  innocently 
asking  who  could  have  composed 
that  indiscreet  epistle  1 

"  There  is  not  much  music  in  his 
performances,  I  admit.  In  that 
respect  the  Brothers  Davenport 
may  beat  him ;  but  for  the  '  rope 
trick,'  I'll  back  him  against  all 
Yankeedom ;  and  yet  few  men 
think  less  of  their  '  bonds '  than 
Pennsylvanians." 

P.  &— While  I  write  I  read  that 
a  son  of  the  original  juggler  has 
made  his  first  appearance,  and  the 
newspapers  call  it  a  very  successful 
appearance,  before  the  public.  He 
boldly  declares  he  is  prepared  to 
do  all  the  old  tricks  of  his  father, 
and  a  few  new  ones  especially 
his  own.  He  called  upon  a  very 
crowded  assembly  to  test  his  quali- 
fications, and  tie  him  in  any  way 
they  pleased  ;  but  they  were  good- 
humouredly  disposed  to  applaud 
his  pluck  and  not  prove  his  effi- 
ciency. As  they  very  reasonably 
observed,  what  can  it  possibly  sig- 
nify whether  he  be  tied  or  loose  ? 
I  agree  with  them  perfectly ;  but 
if  he  should  persist  in  these  ap- 
peals, and  torment  us  with  a  repe- 
tition of  his  challenge,  let  me  sug- 
gest one  species  of  tying  that  I 
have  never  known  fail.  It  has 
held  the  most  unruly  spirits  as 
peaceable  as  lambs,  and  requires 
neither  skill  nor  trouble  in  the 
application.  It  is  simply  done  by 
a  few  yards  of  red  tape.  The  man 
who  has  these  draped  round  him, 
ever  so  loosely,  never  struggles  any 
more. 


RAIN — RAIN — MUCH  RAIN. 


Of  all  the  people  of  small  pur- 
suits, I  know  of  none  equal  to 
those  who  chronicle  the  weather, 


measure  the  rainfall,  and  keep  a 
register  of  the  falling  barometer. 
In  the  unbroken  series  of  their 


1865.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  A'/T. 


417 


observations  you  arc  led  to  mark 
how  unceasingly  they  seem  to  la- 
bour. Watching  the  clouds  night 
and  day,  not  a  drift,  not  a  shower 
escapes  them.  Noting  each  change 
of  wind,  they  tell  you  how,  at  40 
minutes  after  2  A.M.  on  the  17th 
the  wind  changed  to  S.S.W.,  and 
at  the  same  time  the  moon,  being 
then  in  the  second  day  of  the  last 
quarter,  a  slight  rainfall  occurred, 
after  which  a  fresh  breeze  sprang 
up  and  continued  till  daybreak. 

What  hopeless  and  unprofitable 
twaddle  is  this !  and  why,  to  re- 
cord it,  should  any  man  sit  up  all 
night,  to  the  destruction  of  his 
domestic  habits  and  the  risk  of 
bronchitis  i  These  things  tell  no- 
thing—  lead  to  nothing.  Mon. 
Mathieu  de  la  Drome  himself  only 
predicts  rain  when  we  all  of  us  see 
it  approaching  ;  and  there  is  an- 
other animal,  not  noted  for  wis- 
dom, who  ha.s  done  as  much  as  this 
in  our  behalf  for  centuries  back  ! 

Chronicle  the  rainy  days  in  an 
English  climate  !  Why  not  register 
the  infanticides  in  Pekin  ?  Why, 
rain  is  our  normal  condition.  We 
live  in  a  perpetual  conflict  with 
rain.  We  invent  mackintoshes  and 
mud-boots,  capes,  coats,  and  alpaca 
umbrellas.  We  diet  ourselves 
against  moisture  by  a  course  of 
stimulant  living  ;  and  the  prospect 
of  being  "  wet  to  the  skin'J  begins 
at  our  school-days,  and  dogs  our 
steps  throughout  life.  No  wonder 
if  we  be  moody';  but  the  gloom  for 
which  foreigners  give  us  credit  is 
not  so  much  that  we  are  depressed 
as  that  we  are  damp.  No  wonder 
is  it  that  we  take  from  time  to 
time  such  despondent  views  of  our 
national  prospects,  our  oppressive 
debt,  our  growing  pauperism,  our 
decaying  coal-fields.  We  are  all 
frogs,  and  what  so  natural  as  that 
we  should  croak ! 

Now,  instead  of  inflicting  us 
with  a  census-return  of  our  calami- 
ties, why  should  not  some  bright- 
natured  Christian  keep  a  record — 
a  very  small  note-book  will  suffice 
for  it — of  our  days  of  sunshine,  of 


those  passing  moments  when  the 
sky  was  blue  and  the  air  dry  I 
Here  would  be  matter  for  pleasant 
retrospect  and  enjoyment.  Keep- 
ing an  annual  rain-score  is  simply 
writing  down  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  days,  with  one  more  for  a 
leap-year. 

That  climate  has  an  immense 
influence  over  temperament  can- 
not, I  think,  be  questioned.  The 
mingled  indolence  and  impulsive- 
ness of  the  natives  of  southern  re- 
gions, the  apathy  and  the  energy, 
are  the  very  reflex  of  long  seasons 
of  calm  broken  by  violent  hurricane 
and  storm.  There  is  that  in  those 
lands  of  warmth  and  sunshine 
which  disposes  to  a  life  of  ease  and 
enjoyment.  Nature  herself  gives 
you  the  initiative,  and  in  the  glori- 
ous vegetation,  the  brilliant  colour- 
ing and  the  balmy  air  around  you, 
you  would  stamp  yourself  as  un- 
grateful not  to  be  disposed*  to  hap- 
piness. 

Our  dreary  skies,  however,  sug- 
gest work ;  there  is  no  holiday  look 
about  that  leaden  canopy  and  that 
beating  drift.  It  will  do  to  toil 
in,  however,  though  not  made  for 
pleasure.  Have  at  it,  therefore, 
in  the  mill,  or  the  factory,  or  the 
graving-dock,  or  the  saw-pit.  Other 
skies  may  be  filling  the  olive  ber- 
ries and  swelling  the  grapes,  yours 
is  the  one  to  make  money  in — 
tiiium  cuique.  The  gods  have  given 
you  a  rare  workshop,  see  that  you 
make  good  use  of  it.  Nothing 
so  plainly  shows  how  an  English- 
man conforms  to  his  climate  as  his 
misery — his  actual  misery —  in  a 
land  of  bright  weather.  His  ennui 
is  suicidal.  Of  all  the  things  he 
has  learned,  how  "to  do  nothing" 
has  never  been  acquired  by  him, 
and  he  finds  himself  suddenly  in  a 
situation  where  exertion  is  impos- 
sible. Now,  the  Spaniard  or  the 
Italian  can  live  as  devoid  of  all 
occupation  as  the  lizard  on  the  wall 
yonder.  Like  him,  let  there  be 
only  sunshine;  they  a-sk  no  more. 
"  Bull/'  however,  wants  to  be  up 
and  stirring.  He  wants  to  ride, 


418 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


or  walk,  or  row — to  do  something, 
anything  rather  than  sit  down  in 
unemployed  monotony.  He  has 
never  risen  so  high,  or  sunk  so 
low — which  is  it  1 — as  to  believe 
mere  existence  enjoyment;  and 
there  is  an  honest  shame  associ- 
ated with  his  notion  of  idleness 
that  spoils  him  utterly  for  the 
Far  niente. 

Take  him  away  from  volcanic 
rocks  and  arid  mountains,  with 
dried -up  torrents  and  a  basking 
sunshine ;  carry  him  back  to  an 
Indian  -  ink  atmosphere,  muddy 
roads,  and  a  swooping  shower,  and 
you  will  see  the  man  will  recover 
himself  at  once.  He'll  put  on  his 
second  epidermis,  a  mackintosh, 
and  be  off  to  his  occupation,  what- 
ever it  be,  without  wasting  a 
thought  on  the  weather.  The 
moody  temperament  is  in  reality 
only  the  working  temperament.  It 
is  the  resolute  fixedness  of  a  man 
on  something  to  be  done  that  gives 
him  this  air  of  stern  determina- 
tion. Now,  foreigners  neither  un- 
derstand us  nor  our  climate,  and  I 
declare  I  am  not  surprised  that 
they  are  as  little  charmed  by  the 
one  as  the  other.  They  only  see 
the  gloom  of  either. 

A  damp  people  may  be  humoris- 
tic,  but  I  suspect  they  will  rarely  be 
witty,  except  in  that  sardonic  drol- 
lery which  we  see  in  Ireland,  and 
where  the  jest  is  so  often  made  at 
the  jester's  own  expense.  We  cer- 
tainly have  little  of  that  light- 
hearted  wit  which  characterises 
Frenchmen,  and  which  makes  an 
epigram  worth  a  long  discourse. 

Being  damp,  we  are  an  indoor 
folk,  given  to  coal  fires  and  much 
canvassing  of  our  neighbours  ;  and 
I  have  little  doubt  that  a  great 
deal  of  the  prudery  of  our  social 
life,  that  strict  watch  and  ward  we 
keep  over  each  other's  morals,  is  a 
question  of  rainfall,  and  that  if  we 
had  more  sunshine  we  should  have 
less  scandal.  Perhaps  it  may  be, 
that,  being  always  moist,  we  imbibe 
overmuch  of  what  goes  on  around 
us ;  but  of  a  verity :  we  are  the 


most  gossip -loving  people  of  Eu- 
rope. 

If  marriages,  too,  be  made  in  a 
region  where  there  is  no  rain,  one 
can  imagine  under  what  difficulties 
conjugalities  are  carried  on  in 
moist  wet  countries.  We  have  all 
heard  how  mud  has  influenced  the 
fate  of  Poland.  More  than  one 
revolution  has  grown  out  of  it. 
Some  of  the  heaviest  reverses  that 
brave  people  have  ever  met  with 
have  come  of  mud.  I  believe  that 
rain  is  as  potent  an  element  with 
us ;  and  if  you  would  subtract  from 
our  lives  all  the  times  we  have 
been  soaked  through,  and  all  the 
hours  spent  in  repairing  damage, 
you  would  find  a  tremendous  gap 
in  the  working  period  of  our  exist- 
ence. 

No  wonder  that  the  Ptoundhead 
injunction  about  "keeping  one's 
powder  dry"  should  be  transmitted 
as  the  expression  of  wisdom,  only 
that  in  its  seeming  difficulty  it  ap- 
pears to  resemble  another  adage 
about  putting  salt  on  birds'  tails. 

Like  Mark  Tapley,  we  come  out 
strong  under  difficulties,  and  in 
spite  of  this  everlasting  drip,  drip, 
we  have  become  a  people  not  ill  to 
do  in  worldly  wealth,  though  per- 
haps not  exactly  as  influential  and 
powerful  as  our  Daily  Press  would 
represent  us.  What  we  might  have 
been,  what  we  might  have  done,  if 
we  had  not  been  always  in  a  drizzle, 
is  not  so  easy  to  say,  though  it 
might  be  matter  of  curious  specu- 
lation to  inquire  whether  an  oc- 
casional glimpse  of  sunshine,  or  a 
transient  gleam  of  warmth,  might 
not  have  rallied  us  out  of  that  air 
of  gloomy  depression  which  is  re- 
cognised throughout  the  world  as 
the  English  temperament. 

At  all  events,  let  us  have  no  more 
of  these  rain -registries.  No  man 
was  ever  the  jollier  from  having  a 
catalogue  of  his  small  debts  hung 
up  over  his  chimney-piece.  Rain 
it  will,  that  I  know,  and  I  can't 
help  it ;  but  I've  no  reason  in  life 
for  conning  over  a  comparison  of  all 
the  days  I  was  wet  through  in  last 


1865.] 


and  otJier  Things  in  Central. — Part  XI V. 


419 


January,  with  my  pluvial  experien- 
ces of  the  present  month.  Why  can- 
not these  Prophets  of  Evil  take  up 
some  other  theme  of  national  hu- 
miliation 1  Why  not  give  a  list  of 
the  people,  with  names  and  ad- 
dresses, who  have  drawn  blanks  in 


the  Frankfort  Lottery  1  Why  not 
of  those  who  believe  in  the  success 
of  the  Federal  cause,  and  regard  Mr 
Seward  as  the  model  of  a  polite 
letter-writer  ? 

Now  for  my  umbrella ;  I'm  off 
for  a  walk. 


A    NEW   CAKEEU. 


It  is  a  very  hopeful  considera- 
tion, that  as  the  world  moves  on 
the  march  of  discovery  is  always 
opening  some  new  sphere  for  the 
employment  of  human  skill  and 
human  intelligence,  so  that  occu- 
pations which  at  first  only  engaged 
the  attention  of  a  few  individuals, 
as  it  were  specially  fitted  for  the 
task,  become  by  degrees  fashioned 
into  regular  professions — careers  as 
distinctively  marked  as  any  of  the 
recognised  walks  by  which  men 
stamp  their  social  station.  Photo- 
graphy, the  telegraph,  the  various 
forms  of  manufacture  of  gutta- 
percha,  are  instances  of  what  I 
mean,  whose  followers  are  num- 
bered by  tens  of  thousands. 

It  is  very  pleasant  to  reflect  on 
this.  It  is  gratifying  to  think  that 
with  the  spread  of  knowledge  there 
is  a  spread  of  the  means  of  support- 
ing life  :  nor  is  it  less  agreeable  to 
find  that  what  were  regarded  as 
the  luxuries  of  the  rich  but  a  few 
years  back,  have  now  become  the 
adjuncts  of  even  humble  fortune. 
Nothing  more  decidedly  evidences 
the  march  of  civilisation  than  the 
number  of  a  man's  wants.  Sim- 
plicity is  savagery — this  we  may 
rely  on  ;  and  I  was  much  struck  the 
other  day  by  the  force  of  this  fact, 
as  I  saw  an  Italian  shepherd  with 
a  red  umbrella  and  blue  spectacles 
tending  his  slice])  on  the  slope  of 
the  Apennines.  How  unlike,  if  you 
will,  the  picturesque  Meliboeus  ; 
but  how  far  less  exposed  to  rheuma- 
tism than  Tityrus,  as  he  lay  on  the 
wet  grass  under  his  beech-tree ! 

I  am  old  enough  to  remember  the 
anxious  discussion  there  used  to  be 
about  overstocked  professions  and 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIV. 


careers  crammed  to  excess.  I  can 
recall  a  time  when  people  spoke  of 
thatching  their  barns  with  unem- 
ployed barristers,  and  making  cor- 
duroy roads  with  idle  curates.  We 
hear  very  little  about  these  things 
now.  Grumbles  there  are  about 
under- pay  occasionally ;  but  it  is 
rare  to  hear  a  man  say  there  are 
too  many  doctors  or  too  many 
attorneys.  Novel -writing,  indeed, 
is  perhaps  the  only  career  actually 
overstocked  :  but  the  fiction-writers 
have  their  uses  too  ;  they  have  ban- 
ished from  society  in  a  great  de- 
gree the  colloquial  novelist — the 
most  intense  bore  in  creation — so 
that  we  should  be  grateful  to  them, 
as  we  are  to  the  dogs  in  Constan- 
tinople :  there  are  no  other  scaven- 
gers, and  but  for  them  the  streets 
would  be  impassable. 

I  like,  then,  to  think  that  if  I 
were  beginning  life  again  I  should 
have  a  wider  field  for  my  choice  of 
a  career,  and  that  there  are  now 
a  number  of  pleasant  pasturages 
which,  in  the  time  of  my  boyhood, 
were  dried  up  and  unprofitable 
wastes.  I  like  to  feel  that  a  num- 
ber of  men  who  like  myself  never 
felt  a  vocation  for  regular  labour, 
need  no  longer  be  a  burden  on  their 
richer  relatives,  and  that  while  the 
great  highways  of  the  world  are 
as  wide  as  ever,  there  are  scores 
of  bypaths,  and  even  some  little 
short  cuts,  to  Fortune,  well  suited 
to  those  who  are  not  hard  walkers, 
or  over-well  prepared  for  the  road. 
The  capable  men  will  always  take 
care  of  themselves.  For  your  clever 
fellow  I  have  no  more  sympathy 
than  I  have  a  sense  of  charity  for 
the  rich  man.  Neither  needs  what 
2  F 


420 


Cornelius  O'Doivd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


I  should  give  him  ;  all  my  interest, 
all  my  anxiety,  is  for  those  hope- 
less creatures  who  can  do  nothing. 
Stupid  as  boys,  stupider  as  men, 
they  grow  up  to  be  the  reproach  of 
their  friends  for  not  having  "  done 
something  for  them."  How  few 
families  without  one  of  these  shoot- 
ing-jacketed, cigar-smoking,  dreary 
nonentities,  who  gazes  at  his  own 
image  in  '  Punch,'  and  thinks  it  the 
caricature  of  his  friend  —  fellows 
with  no  other  aptitudes  than  for 
eating,  and  with  a  settled  melancholy 
of  disposition  that  seems  to  protest 
against  the  wrongs  the  world  is 
doing  them. 

It  is  for  these  incurables  I  want 
an  asylum.  Hitherto  we  have  been 
satisfied  to  send  them  to  our  co- 
lonies; we  have  shipped  them  to 
New  Zealand,  Australia,  Vancou- 
ver Island  —  wherever  there  was 
talk  of  gold  to  be  grabbed  we 
have  despatched  them :  not  hope- 
fully, indeed,  far  from  it ;  but  with 
that  craving  for  momentary  relief 
that  makes  a  man  glad  to  renew 
his  bill  without  distressing  himself 
at  the  instant  how  he  is  to  meet 
it  eventually  ;  and,  like  the  bill, 
these  fellows  come  back  to  us  with 
a  heavier  debt  to  pay — their  man- 
ners a  little  coarser,  their  hands  a 
little  harder,  more  given  to  brandy, 
and  less  burthened  with  scruples. 
Sydney  or  Auckland  or  Brisbane, 
or  wherever  it  was,  was  a  hum- 
bug— no  place  for  a  gentleman : 
the  settlers  were  all  scoundrels. 
Life  was  a  general  robbery  there, 
and  throat-cutting  and  garotting 
were  popular  pastimes.  What  scores 
of  such  stories  have  I  heard  from 
these  green-eyed,  yellow-faced,  long- 
necked  creatures,  to  whom  emer- 
gency had  never  suggested  man- 
hood, nor  any  necessity  called  forth 
a  single  quality  of  energy  or  inde- 
pendence ! 

Bad  as  they  were  before,  they  are 
far  worse  now.  They  have  veneered 
their  indolence  with  the  coarse 
habits  of  a  lawless,  undisciplined 
existence,  and  they  bring  back  to 
"the  family"  their  slothful  self- 


indulgence,  garnished  with  the 
graceful  amenities  of  life  "  in  the 
bush."  What  are  we  to  do  with 
them  1  It  would  be  absurd  to 
think  of  educating  them  for  a 
learned  profession,  and  many  of 
them  are  above  a  trade.  You  pes- 
ter your  friends  in  power  to  get 
them  something.  You  peril  your 
soul's  safety  in  all  the  lies  you  tell 
of  them — of  their  rectitude  and 
good  conduct,  and  suchlike.  You 
apologise  for  their  educational  de- 
ficiencies on  pleas  of  bad  health  or 
accident,  and  profess  a  heartfelt  be- 
lief in  their  capacity  to  be  policemen, 
tide-waiters,  vice-consuls,  or  tax- 
gatherers.  You  know  in  your  heart 
what  a  mine  you  are  charging,  but 
you  meanly  hope  that  you  may  not 
be  there  on  the  day  of  the  explosion. 
But  I  will  not  go  on.  I  need  not 
dwell  on  what  is  in  the  experience 
of  almost  every  one.  These  crea- 
tures belong  to  our  age  just  as  much 
as  the  cholera.  All  times  have 
probably  had  them  in  one  form  or 
other,  but  we  see  them  as  a  class, 
and  we  recognise  them  by  traits  as 
marked  as  any  that  stamp  a  career 
in  life.  What  will  you  do  with 
them  1  I  ask.  Are  you  content  to 
see  them  settled  on  the  country  as 
a  sort  of  human  national  debt,  and 
to  call  on  others  to  support  the 
charge  1  or  do  you  desire  to  regard 
them  as  something  eminently  con- 
servative— some  remnant  of  ances- 
tral wisdom  that  it  would  be  an  act 
of  desecration  to  destroy  1 

Certainly  such  are  not  my  senti- 
ments. If  there  be  nothing  for 
which  these  people  are  fitted,  I  say 
then,  let  them  do  something  for 
which  they  are  not  fitted.  The 
spectacle  of  idle  incapacity  is  as 
offensive  to  an  active  and  industri- 
ous nation  as  the  public  exposure 
of  any  hideous  disease. 

Now  it  is  not  always  easy  to  hit 
upon  a  remunerative  career  which 
shall  neither  require  education  nor 
abilities,  neither  skill,  capacity,  nor 
even  industry  ;  and  such  is  our  pre- 
sent desideratum.  We  want  an 
employment  suitable  for  a  gentle- 


1865.] 


am/  otlitr  Things  in  General. — Part  X  J  V. 


421 


man — all  these  creatures  I  speak  of 
are  so-called  gentlemen — wkiclf  shall 

ni)t  doinand  anything  above  the 
first  rudiments  of  knowledge  ;  which 
shall  neither  exact  early  rising  nor 
late  retiring;  which  can  be  fulfilled 
in  any  easy  morning  hour,  or,  if  left 
undone,  will  entail  no  evil  results  ; 
and  above  all,  which  shall  be  well 
paid.  I  ask  proudly,  is  it  not  a 
triumph  to  our  age  that  such  a 
career  exists,  and  that  hundreds,  1 
might  say  thousands,  are  now  de- 
riving from  it  means  of  ease  and 
enjoyment,  who,  but  for  it,  would 
have  been  in  hopeless  indigence 
and  want  ] 

In  this  age,  too,  of  pestilent  examin- 
ation and  inquiry, in  which  the  hum- 
blest occupation  must  be  approached 
through  a  fellowship  course,  what 
a  blessing  to  think  there  is  a  career 
that  asks  no  test,  for  which  there  is 
neither  fitness  nor  unfitness,  and 
whose  followers  stand  on  an  equal- 
ity that  even  angels  might  envy! 

You  are  impatient  to  know  what 
I  allude  to,  and  I  will  not  torture 
your  eagerness.  If,  then,  there  be 
of  your  family  one  too  ignorant  for 
a  profession,  too  indolent  for  com- 
merce, too  old  for  the  army  or  navy, 
hopelessly  incapable  of  every  effort 
for  himself,  and  drearily  disposed 
to  lie  down  on  others,  with  a  vague 
idea  that  he  has  a  vested  right  to 
smoke,  lie  a  -  bed,  wear  lackered 
boots,  and  have  his  hair  dressed 
daily  by  a  barber — if,  I  say,  it  be 
your  privilege  to  include  a  creature 
of  this  order  in  the  family  census- 
return,  make  him  a  1  Hrector.  Direc- 
tor of  what  }  you  ask.  Director  of 
a  company — a  joint-stock  company 
with  a  capital  of  two  millions  ster- 
ling, paid  up — whatever  you  like. 
It  shall  be  Zinc,  Slates,  (Sardinian 
cotton  bonds,  a  Discount  bank  at 
Timbuctoo,  or  Refrigerators  for  Lan- 
caster Sound.  It  shall  have  its 
ofh'ces  in  Cannon  Street,  and  a 
great  Citycapitalistits  banker.  Two 
guineas  a-day — five  when  the  Hoard 
meets  —  cab  -  hire,  luncheon,  the 
morning  papers,  a  roaring  fire,  and 
a  rather  jocular  style  of  conversa- 


tion over  the  shareholders  and  their 
aspirations,  are  the  rewards  of  office. 
Can  you  picture  to  your  mind  an 
easier  existence  than  this  I  Time 
was  that  every  indolent  man  wished 
to  be  a  bishop ;  but  a  bishop  is  not 
what  he  used  to  be.  A  bishop  is 
now  badgered  and  baited  by  all 
around  him.  His  dean  inclines  to 
painted  glass,  and  the  archdeacon 
would  shy  a  stone  at  it  ;  and  there 
is  a  thin -faced  vicar  who  writes 
weekly  for  advice  and  guidance,  and 
has  grave  doubts  about  the  inter- 
pretation of  a  passage  in  Joshua. 
1  tell  you  the  bishop  has  other 
trials  as  well  as  Mrs  1'roudy.  But 
the  Director — the  Director  before 
whom  the  green  door  with  the  oval 
pane  sways  noiselessly,  while  the 
gorgeous  porter,  whose  very  gold 
lace  hints  a  dividend,  bows  ob- 
sequiously as  he  throws  wide  an- 
other portal — is  indeed  a  great  man. 
To  stand  back  to  the  fire,  and 
talk  thousands  and  tens  of  thou- 
sands ;  to  glance  over  the  balance- 
sheet,  and  sign  your  name  after  six 
or  seven  figures  in  a  row,  as  though 
your  autograph  had  some  virtue  in 
it ;  to  listen  to  that  slang  of  the 
share  markets  that  has  a  clink  of 
money  in  its  jingle,  and  hear  of 
gigantic  "  Operations  "  with  over- 
whelming profits ;  and  then  to  sit 
down  to  your  basin  of  turtle  and 
fried  fin,  with  a  pint  of  madeira,  are 
not  mere  material  enjoyments,  but 
soar  to  the  height  of  noble  emotions, 
in  which  the  individual  feels  him- 
self an  honour  to  humanity  and  a 
benefactor  to  his  species. 

To  employ  the  simple  language 
of  a  report  now  before  me,  I 
would  say  "the  institution  now  sup- 
ports above  eight  thousand  persons 
who,  but  for  its  timely  succour, 
would  be  not  only  in  a  state  of 
utter  pauperism  and  destitution, 
but  from  their  previous  habits  and 
well-known  tendencies  positively 
perilous  to  peaceftd  citizens.  Be- 
sides those  permanently  on  the 
books  of  the  society  are  a  large 
number  who  have  received  occa- 
sional aid,  and  who  may  be  said  to 


422 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[April, 


have  been  rescued  by  the  institu- 
tion from  the  paths  of  vice  and  de- 
basement." 

To  this  touching  appeal,  which  I 
have  copied  almost  literally  from 


the  advertisement  of  another  Mag- 
dalen, I  will  not  add  one  word ;  but 
I  fervently  hope  we  shall  hear  no 
more  of  Destitution,  now  that  we 
have  got  Direction. 


AN   IMMORAL  CONSIDERATION. 


I  read  in  the  journals  that  "  an 
officer  of  rank"  at  Vienna  has  be- 
queathed the  whole  of  his  fortune 
to  his  nephew,  on  the  condition 
that  "  he  should  never  read  a  news- 
paper." 

I  believe  our  English  law  strictly 
prevents  any  testator  from  impos- 
ing an  immoral  condition  on  his 
heir;  and  I  therefore  am  strongly 
disposed  to  think  that  such  a  be- 
quest as  this  I  have  quoted  should 
not  be  considered  as  binding. 

Had  the  "  officer  of  rank"  de- 
clared by  his  last  will  that  his 
nephew,  in  order  to  inherit,  should 
be  blinded  or  deprived  of  his  hear- 
ing, he  could  not  have  more  egre- 
giously  violated  every  sentiment  of 
right  feeling  than  by  this  cruel 
edict.  In  fact,  he  would  virtually 
consign  his  unhappy  heir  to  both 
of  these  calamities  together. 

Now,  it  may  be  fair  enough  to 
tolerate  the  eccentricities  of  the 
living  man.  It  is  not  impossible 
that  in  his  character  there  may  be 
many  traits  which  will  compensate 
for  all  his  oddities.  The  whim  or 
caprice  he  may  ride  as  his  hobby 
may  not  indispose  him  to  generous 
actions  or  kindly  sentiments  ;  and 
we  may,  besides,  always  indulge  the 
hope  that,  with  a  wider  experience 
of  the  world  and  its  ways,  he  may 
live  to  get  over  the  delusions  Avhich 
once  haunted  him,  and  act  and  be- 
have like  his  fellows. 

Death,  however,  excludes  this 
charitable  hope,  and  I  think  it  very 
questionable  policy  to  give  the 
character  of  permanence  to  what 
every  consideration  of  sound  sense 
or  true  physiology  would  regard  as 
an  abnormal  and  mere  passing  con- 
dition. 

That  the  man  who  made  such  a 


will  as  this  was  insane,  I  will  not 
say ;  but  I  unhesitatingly  declare 
that  he  imposed  a  condition  repug- 
nant to  good  sense,  and  totally 
opposed  to  every  consideration  of 
reason  and  judgment.  First  of  all, 
he  assumed — and  of  all  tyrannies  I 
know  of  none  greater — to  dictate  to 
another,  for  the  whole  term  of  his 
life,  a  condition  of  moral  blindness. 
Secondly,  he  presumed  to  judge 
not  alone  what  all  newspapers  were 
in  all  lands,  but  what  they  might 
be  in  years  long  after  his  death. 

That  any  man  about  to  leave  the 
world  should  like  to  declare  to  it 
before  he  went,  "  I  have  no  sym- 
pathy with  you;  I  don't  care  for 
you — for  your  wars,  your  struggles 
for  liberty,  your  sufferings,  or  your 
triumphs.  Nothing  to  me  whether 
you  be  rich  or  poor,  in  sickness  or 
in  health  ;  whether  your  homes  be 
happy,  or  your  fields  be  desolate  ; 
whether  the  crimes  of  your  people 
decrease,  or  that  new  forms  of  vice 
call  for  new  modes  of  repression. 
I  don't  want  to  know  if  education 
be  spreading  through  your  land,  or 
to  hear  what  results  have  followed 
such  enlightenment.  I  am  alike 
indifferent  to  the  nature  of  your 
laws,  and  the  mode  in  which  they 
are  administered.  Uninterested 
in  the  great  changes  which  affect 
States,  I  do  not  ask  to  be  in- 
formed what  the  world  thinks  of 
them ;  of  that  public  opinion  which 
is  the  record  of  what  condition 
humanity  stands  in  at  a  given  era, 
I  have  no  desire  to  hear.  Enclosed 
in  the  shell  of  my  selfishness,  I  am 
satisfied  to  lead  the  life  of  an  oys- 
ter. I  compound  for  mere  existence, 
and  no  more." 

Now,  I  ask,  is  it  such  a  nature 
as  this  that  should  be  permitted 


1SC5.] 


and  other  Things  in  General. — Part  XI V. 


423 


to  make  a  formal  bequest  of  his 
bigotry  uiul  ignorance  /  Should 
the  law  lend  itself  to  ratify  a  com- 
pact whereby  this  man's  cross 
stupidity  shall  be  perpetuated  ? 

I  am  aware  he  was  a  German  ; 
and  much  may  be  forgiven  him  on 
the  score  of  narrowness.  I  know, 
too,  that  his  warning  applied  pecu- 
liarly to  the  journals  of  his  own 
land.  And  it  is  but  fair  to  own 
that  a  German  "  lilatt"  is  about 
the  dreariest  reading  a  man  can 
fall  upon.  The  torrent  of  rubbishy 
phraseology  in  which  this  beer-be- 
iiiuddled  people  involve  their  com- 
monest thoughts — the  struggles  they 
make  at  subtle  distinctions  through 
the  mazes  of  their  foggy  intellects — 
the  perpetual  effort  to  regard  every- 
thing under  some  fifteen  or  five- 
and-twenty  different  aspects,  bela- 
bouring a  theme,  and  kneading  it 
as  a  baker  kneads  his  dough — make 
up  a  mass  of  entanglement  and 
confusion  that  would  drive  a  prac- 
tical energetic  people  to  the  verge 
of  distraction. 

That  a  man  should  interdict  such 
readings  as  these  is  no  more  strange 
than  that  he  should  forbid  the  use 
of  some  besotting  narcotic,  dreary 
in  its  effects  and  depressing  in  its 
consequences.  Perhaps  this  testator 
had  recognised  in  his  own  case 
some  of  the  dire  results  of  this 
dyspeptic  literature.  Still,  with  all 
its  faults,  its  story  was  the  world. 
It  spoke  of  man  in  his  works  and 
ways  with  other  men,  how  he 
bought  and  sold,  made  peace  or 
war,  built  up  or  threw  down  ;  of 
the  virtues  he  held  high,  of  the 
vices  he  reprobated  ;  what  were 
the  views  he  extended  to  the  world 
at  large,  and  what  were  the  Lopes 
that  he  cherished  for  those  who 
were  to  come  after  him.  Even 
through  the  labyrinth  of  German 
involution  glimpses  of  these  might 
be  had  ;  and  why  should  not  his 
heir  be  permitted  to  look  at  life, 
albeit  through  the  smoked  glass 
of  his  native  language? 

One  of  our  most  brilliant  essay- 
ists, and  most  accomplished  think- 


ers, has  declared  that  he  regards  a 
number  of  the  'Times'  as  the  last 
report  of  what  the  world  has 
achieved  of  progress ;  and  I  tho- 
roughly agree  with  him.  That 
broadsheet  is  the  morning's  "  re- 
turn "  of  Humanity,  not  alone  re- 
counting what  it  has  accomplished 
in  the  preceding  twenty-four  hours, 
but  how  it  feels  after  it.  You 
have  not  alone  the  bulletin  of  the 
great  battle  the  world  is  fighting, 
but  you  have  an  authentic  report 
of  the  effective  state  of  humanity 
on  the  next  morning. 

Take  the  most  thorough  man  of 
the  world  of  your  acquaintance — 
the  man  most  perfectly  versed  in 
what  goes  on  in  life,  not  in  one 
class  or  section  of  society,  but 
throughout  all  ranks  and  conditions 
of  men — who  knows  where  and  for 
what  the  world  is  fighting  in  this 
quarter  or  in  that — how  it  builds 
its  ships — what  it  pays  for  gold — 
how  it  tills  its  fields,  smelts  its 
metals,  cooks  its  food,  and  writes 
its  novels — and  I  ask  you,  what 
would  he  be  without  his  newspaper  ? 
]>y  what  possible  machinery  could 
he  learn,  as  he  sits  at  his  breakfast, 
the  last  news  from  Shanghai,  and 
the  last  ballet  at  1'aris — the  state 
of  the  funds  at  San  Francisco — the 
•winner  at  Newmarket  —  the  panto- 
mime at  the  Olympic — the  encycli- 
cal of  the  Pope  ?  Do  not  reply  to 
me  with  a  Cui  bono? 

For  I  say  that  it  is  with  the 
actual  passing,  daily-arising  inci- 
dents of  life  a  man  ought  to  be 
thoroughly  acquainted,  bringing  to 
their  consideration  all  the  aid  his 
reading  and  reflection  can  supply, 
so  that  he  neither  fall  into  a  dog- 
ged incredulity  on  one  side,  or  a 
fatal  facility  of  belief  on  the  other. 
In  an  age  so  wildly  speculative  as 
the  present — eager  to  inquire,  and 
not  over  given  to  scruple  —  sucL 
men  as  these  are  invaluable  to  so- 
ciety, and  a  whole  corps  of  college 
professors  would  be  less  effective 
in  dispelling  error  or  asserting  truth 
than  these  people  trained  in  all  the 
dialectics  of  the  daily  press. 


424 


Cornelius  0' Doivd  upon  Men  and  Women. 


[April, 


If  the  testator,  in  the  case  before 
us — for  I  return  to  him  now — was 
simply  moved  by  a  desire  to  con- 
ceal from  his  heir  the  late  events 
occurring  in  Germany,  I  own  a  plea 
might  without  great  difficulty  be 
advanced  in  his  behalf.  It  would 
be  hard  to  condemn  him  if  he  wish- 
ed to  shroud  in  obscurity  the  igno- 
minious subserviency  of  Austria, 
and  the  insolent  pretension  of  her 
ancient  rival  Prussia.  The  lamenta- 
ble part  assigned  to  the  Empire  in 
this  Danish  conflict  might  well  sug- 
gest to  an  officer  in  the  Imperial 
service  such  an  intention.  Austrian 
wars  have  not  been  remarkable  for 
success,  but  they  have  always  been 
distinguished  for  the  splendid  valour 
of  the  troops,  and  the  noble  devo- 
tion of  men  who,  however  worsted, 
never  regarded  defeat  as  over- 
throw. In  the  terrible  battles  of 
the  first  Empire,  this  character  of 
their  courage  displayed  itself  on 
every  field.  So  also  was  it  con- 
spicuous in  the  last  Lombard  cam- 
paign. What  an  indignity,  then, 
for  such  soldiers  to  be  arrayed 
against  the  greatly  inferior  num- 
bers of  a  nation  unused  to  war — to 
a  brave  handful  of  men  ready  to 
sell  their  lives  rather  than  surren- 
der their  native  soil  to  the  foot  of 
the  invader!  The  white-coated  le- 
gions of  the  Empire  had  no  need 
to  inscribe  Duppel  or  the  Dane- 
werke  on  their  ensigns.  And  what 
inglorious  companionship  was  that 
in  which  they  found  themselves  ! 
Dupes  of  M.  Bismarck  !  I  am  not 
in  the  least  surprised  that  an  Aus- 
trian officer  might  desire  to  obliter- 
ate any  memory  of  these  things ; 
but  it  is  not  so  easily  done.  A 
codicil  enjoining  the  condition  that 
his  heir  should  become  a  Trappist 
might  possibly  succeed  ;  I  know  of 
nothing  else. 

I  have  to  speak  with  diffidence 
as  to  how  I  should  feel  in  any  new 
or  untried  situation  in  life  :  I  can- 
not, therefore,  say  what  my  feelings 
might  be  if  I  were  to  awake  and 
discover  that  somebody  had  be- 
queathed to  me  something.  I  can 


no  more  answer  for  my  conduct, 
than  could  the  gentleman  on  being 
asked  what  he  should  do  if  he  met 
a  white  bear.  But  so  far  as  I  can 
understand  my  own  nature,  I  should 
reject  a  legacy  coupled  with  such  a 
condition  as  this.  Without  my 
newspaper,  life  would  narrow  itself 
to  the  small  limits  of  my  personal 
experiences,  and  humanity  be  com- 
pressed into  the  ten  or  fifteen 
people  I  mix  with.  ISTow  I  refuse 
to  accept  this.  I  have  not  a  six- 
pence in  consols,  but  I  want  to 
know  how  they  stand.  I  was 
never — I  never  in  all  likelihood 
shall  be — in  Japan  ;  but  I  have  an 
intense  curiosity  to  know  what  our 
troops  did  at  Yokohama.  I  deplore 
the  people  who  suffered  by  that 
railroad  smash ;  and  I  sympathise 
with  the  newly-married  couple  so 
beautifully  depicted  in  the  'Illus- 
trated,' as  they  drove  off  in  a  chaise 
and  four,  the  bald  -old  gent  at  the 
hall  door  waving  them  a  last  adieu. 
I  like  the  letters  of  the  correspon- 
dents, with  their  little  grievances 
about  unpunctual  trains,  or  some 
unwarrantable  omissions  in  the 
Liturgy.  I  even  like  the  people  who 
chronicle  the  rainfall,  and  record 
little  facts  about  the  mildness  of 
the  season. 

As  for  the  advertisements,  I  re- 
gard them  as  the  glass  and  mirror 
of  the  age.  Show  me  but  one  page 
of  the  "Wants"  of  any  country,  and 
I  engage  myself  to  give  a  sketch 
of  the  current  civilisation  of  the 
period.  What  glimpses  of  rare  in- 
teriors do  we  gain  by  these  brief 
paragraphs !  How  full  of  sugges- 
tiveness  and  of  story  are  they  ! 
Think  of  the  social  circle  at  Clap- 
ham  that  advertise  for  a  lodger  who 
has  a  good  tenor  voice,  and  would 
appreciate  the  domestic  life  of  a 
retired  family  devoted  to  music  and 
the  fine  arts !  Imagine  the  more 
exalted  propriety  of  those  who 
want "  a  footman  in  a  serious  family, 
where  there  are  means  of  grace,  and 
a  kitchen-maid  kept "  !  Here  it  is 
a  shooting-box  to  be  disposed  of; 
here  a  widow  in  affluent  circum- 


1865.] 


Dress. 


425 


stances  announces  her  intention  to 
re-marry;  here u scientific  naturalist 
professes  his  readiness  to  exchange 
bugs  or  caterpillars  with  another 
devotee  ;  and  here  a  more  practi- 
cal physiologist  wants  from  three 
to  four  dozen  lively  rats  for  his 
bull-terrier.  Are  not  these  life- 
etchings  I  Do  you  want  anything 
more  plain  or  palpable  to  tell  you 
where  and  how  we  live  ] 

Now,  I  neither  want  shooting- 
box,  beetles,  rats,  or  widow,  but  I 
am  not  to  be  cut  off  from  my  sym- 
pathies with  the  people  who  do. 
On  the  contrary,  in  the  very  pro- 
portion that  all  these  things  do  not 
enter  into  my  requirements,  do  I 
desire  to  know  who  and  what  are 
the  people  who  need  them,  why 
they  need  them,  and  what  they  do 
with  them  when  they  get  them. 


Perhaps  my  nature  may  have  its 
excess  of  this  fellow-feeling — I  can- 
not say  ;  but  I  know  I'd  give  more 
than  I  should  like  to  say  to  be  able 
to  pass  an  evening  with  the  musical 
circle,  or  even  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  a  few  sweet  moments  with 
the  serious  family.  1  am  human  to 
the  very  tips  of  my  fingers,  and 
there  is  not  a  mood  in  humanity 
without  its  interest  for  me.  If, 
therefore,  some  admirer  of  these 
O'Dowderies,  on  learning  that  I  am 
not  a  sleeping  partner  in  l>aring's, 
or  a  large  shareholder  in  the  Great 
Western,  should  desire  to  express 
his  satisfaction  in  a  testamentary 
form,  let  him  not  couple  his  bequest 
with  such  a  condition  as  I  have  re- 
corded. I  may  possibly  be  able  to 
"  rub  on"  without  my  legacy,  but  I 
couldn't  exist  without  my  '  Times.' 


DRKSS. 


THERE  has  always  been  an  im- 
mense amount  of  moralising  about 
dress,  but  much  of  it  does  not  at 
all  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 
A  stern  conventional  view  of  the 
subject  has  evidently  suited  the 
preacher  best,  who,  assuming  van- 
ity to  be  universal,  has  preferred  to 
found  his  arguments  on  the  ex- 
cesses of  vanity,  rather  than  to  en- 
ter upon  the  niceties  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  listen  to  what  another 
side  may  have  to  say  ;  and  philoso- 
phers, piquing  themselves  on  pure 
reason,  have  treated  the  subject 
as  simply  despicable :  the  man  is 
everything,  the  clothes  he  wears 
are  absolutely  nothing — things  with 
which  he  has  no  real  relation,  which 
hang  on  him  till  they  drop  off  or 
are  exchanged  for  others,  without 
establishing  any  real  connection, 
possessing  any  influence,  or  affecting 
him  any  more  than  the  table-cloth 
the  table  which  it  covers.  Now,  in 
fact,  since  the  first  garment  of  all, 
clothes  have  been  knowledge,  in- 
fluence, and  expression,  and  house 
and  home  to  the  wearer.  They 


have  taught  him  his  first  conscious 
idea  ;  they  were  his  first  link  with 
this  outer  scene  ;  they  first  made 
him  realise  that  he  was  a  personage 
.in  the  world  of  vaguely  apprehend- 
ed forms,  of  which  his  unpractised 
senses  partially  informed  him.  A 
life  without  clothes,  not  to  mention 
its  other  inconveniencies,  would, 
we  verily  believe,  be  a  life  without 
thought.  Deep  and  fanciful  minds 
have  speculated  on  existence,  and 
how  they  can  arrive  at  the  certain- 
ty of  it  in  their  own  person  ;  but 
they  would  never  have  attained  to 
the  power  of  constructing  theories, 
working  out  problems,  reasoning 
upon  their  being  at  all,  but  for  the 
cultivating,  educating,  convincing 
instruction  and  logic  of  their 
clothes.  It  is  fundamentally  unrea- 
sonable, and  a  mistake,  in  a  sculp- 
tor of  any  age  to  represent  a  philo- 
sopher as  even  partially  undraped. 
"I  think,  therefore  1  am,"  is  the 
conclusion  of  adult  reason  ;  the 
baby  has  leapt  to  a  similar  conclu- 
sion forty  years  sooner — "I  have 
shoes  and  a  red  sash,  therefore  I 


426 


Dress. 


[April, 


am."  People  will  call  this  infant 
discovery  vanity,  because  they  do 
not  know  what  else  to  call  it,  and 
it  seems  always  safe  to  attribute 
human  action  to  some  weak  or 
bad  motive ;  but  our  instinct  serves 
us  better  than  received  opinion. 
The  chord  struck  by  this  smiling, 
prettily  -  expressed,  pointedly  -  en- 
forced argument,  is  one  of  fellow- 
ship ;  we  like  to  see  the  child's 
pleasure  in  his  gay  movable  skin, 
because  we  recognise  an  act  of  re- 
cognition of  himself  as  a  distinct 
separate  member  and  sharer  of 
form,  life,  and  thought.  We  per- 
ceive that  he  begins  to  see  his  way, 
to  feel  and  know  where  he  is  ;  it 
is  an  act  of  taking  his  place ;  "  Yes, 
I  am  here,"  he  seems  to  say ;  "  I 
have  something  of  my  own  which 
belongs  to  me."  It  is  a  conscious- 
ness of  adjuncts,  attributes,  belong- 
ings, without  which  no  sort  of  ex- 
istence can  be  understood.  And 
not  only  does  dress  first  awaken 
to  the  infant  thought  the  idea  of 
separate  existence  and  conscious- 
ness, but  it  continues  with  vast 
numbers  the  medium  by  which 
they  realise  their  part  and  owner- 
ship in  visible  things.  It  is  this 
feature  of  dress  as  property,  estate, 
possession,  and,  consequently,  ambi- 
tion, which  is  not  recognised  by  the 
moralist.  With  the  young  dress 
is  almost  the  only  thing  they  can 
call  their  own  ;  with  the  great  ma- 
jority of  women  it  includes  all  to 
which  they  can  ever  in  strict  truth 
apply  the  potent,  influential,  entranc- 
ing words  "my"  and  "mine."  A 
wife  is  indeed  permitted  by  custom 
to  say  "  my  house,"  "  my  drawing- 
room;"  and  her  cook  can  say  "  my 
kitchen ;"  but  in  these  cases  a  third 
party  has  the  stronger  ownership. 
The  moral  effects  of  independent 
possession  depend  on  its  strict  re- 
ality ;  and  with  most  women  dress  is 
their  one  tenement  and  holding — 
the  one  thing  that,  once  theirs,  is  ac- 
knowledged theirs  by  law  and  cus- 
tom :  it  is  with  them  still  as  it  once 
was  with  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  mankind. 


It  is  true,  civilisation  teaches  us 
to  attach  different  ideas  to  the  no- 
tion of  property  and  its  effects  on 
the  character.  Men  in  our  day 
have  lands,  houses,  stocks  in  trade, 
argosies,  as  securely  their  own  as 
their  coats,  all  effectual  means  of 
declaring  themselves  to  the  world, 
and  taking  a  prominent  part  in  it ; 
and  these  supersede  in  the  mind 
the  more  intimate  proprietorship 
of  clothes — those  treasures  of  Baby- 
lonish garments  and  changes  of 
raiment  which  once  represented 
wealth.  But  it  needs  great  security 
of  tenure  and  centuries  of  good 
government  for  the  mind  to  be 
satisfied  with  things  not  absolutely 
tangible  and  ever  present,  as  sym- 
bols of  weight  and  importance — of 
vigorous  and  successful  life.  Pro- 
bably in  every  country  that  is,  or 
has  been,  where  property  is  inse- 
cure, and  the  conditions  of  life  lia- 
ble to  sudden  and  abrupt  changes, 
the  love  of  dress  will  be  found  a 
strongly -developed  instinct;  and, 
in  opposition  to  more  highly  civil- 
ised communities,  most  conspicu- 
ous in  the  men  —  splendid  dress 
being  the  received  symbol  of  pro- 
perty and  consequence.  In  all  ab- 
solute monarchies  where  men  have 
had  no  certain  hold  of  their  pos- 
sessions, where  the  imagination  at 
least  is  not  satisfied  with  the  se- 
curity, dress  has  ever  been  the 
standard,  the  accepted  sign,  of  con- 
sequence and  high  place  in  the 
world,  of  that  distinction  which 
is  the  one  universal  craving  and 
temptation  of  humanity.  In  the 
country  where  Haman  could  hang 
up  his  enemy  and  be  hung  up  him- 
self at  a  word,  royal  apparel  and 
a  crown  represented  all  that  this 
world  could  do  for  a  man.  It  is  a 
sign,  no  doubt,  of  progress,  that  with 
us  men  can  be  reverentially  servile 
to  a  threadbare  and  seedy  coat. 
Wherever  there  is  no  law,  or  one 
man's  will  is  law,  there  fine  clothes 
become  potential  things.  Look,  for 
example,  at  the  courts  of  the  two 
Napoleons.  In  feudal  times  the 
assumption  was,  that  men  held  their 


1805.] 


Dras. 


427 


possessions  as  tenants  rather  than 
owners.  Dress,  then,  was  an  evi- 
dence of  possession  outfacing  mere 
theory.  Men  were  lavish  in  display 
through  mere  self-assertion,  and  jeal- 
ously guarded  the  right  of  personal 
magnificence  as  the  token  of  sub- 
stantial power.  In  the  class  beneath 
them  just  struggling  into  power 
and  individual  consequence,  dress 
was  one  main  arena  for  expressing 
their  pretensions.  To  assume  the 
garb  of  their  betters  was  to  claim 
the  same  rights,  and  amounted  to 
a  declaration  of  political  ambition, 
which  the  snub  of  sumptuary  laws 
was  powerless  to  quench.  The 
order  lower  in  the  scale,  hope- 
less of  a  particular  individual  pro- 
minence, still  declared  collective 
rights  and  their  place  as  a  body  with 
inalienable,  not  to  be  ignored  claims, 
by  dressing  as  one  man,  and  pro- 
claiming the  strength  and  import- 
ance of  numbers  in  a  gay,  spirited, 
class-asserting  costume. 

We  are  now  past  distinctly-mark- 
ed costume  ;  we  have  advanced  be- 
yond it,  and  everywhere  personal  cir- 
cumstances, rather  than  mere  asser- 
tion of  class,  influence  dress.  We 
in  England  do  not  see  old  women 
unvenerable  in  spite  of  themselves, 
their  grey  scanty  locks  miserably 
contrasting  with  the  tinsel  glitter 
of  ornaments  stuck  about  them — 
ornaments  which  charm  us  on  the 
thickly-braided  dark  tresses  of  the 
young  Italian  peasant-girl.  And  so 
far  as  we  have  passed  the  age  of 
costume,  it  marks  the  stirrings  of 
ambition  in  classes  where  this  was 
once  impossible.  Nothing  could  be- 
token more  hopeless  self-abandon- 
ment than  for  the  lowest  classes  to 
ape  their  betters  in  this  particular 
from  mere  unreasoning  imitation,  as 
the  negroes  the  fashions  of  their 
masters  and  mistresses;  but  with 
us  the  artisan  aims  at  fashion  in 
his  Sunday  coat,  from  the  dim,  un- 
expressed, though  not  the  less  influ- 
ential notion  that  he  may  alter  his 
station  before  he  dies,  or  his  son 
may  after  him — that  there  is  no  im- 
passable barrier.  Our  rural  popu- 


lation, whom  such  ideas,  even  in 
their  most  embryo  form,  have 
scarcely  reached — who  know  little, 
indeed,  of  the  sensation  of  a  per- 
sonal ambition — for  this  reason, 
amongst  others,  retain  a  habit  bor- 
dering upon  costume,  though  the 
tendency  of  the  age — that  is,  the 
spread  of  counteracting  opinion — is 
gradually  driving  the  smock-frock 
into  the  southern  counties  and  the 
rule  of  small  wages  as  its  last 
resort. 

Ages  of  growing  security,  a  long 
reign  of  pence  and  order,  have  no 
doubt  modified  and  weakened  the 
first  natural  instincts  on  this  sub- 
ject. The  owner  of  wealth,  having 
a  recognised  undisputed  place  in- 
dependent of  appearances,  may 
leave  this  method  of  assertion  to 
his  dependants  and  subordinates. 
A  man  with  servants  in  splendid 
liveries,  and  with  wife  and  daugh- 
ters by  their  dress  doing  justice  to 
his  position,  may  wear  what  coat 
he  pleases,  and  often  pleases  to 
wear  a  very  shabby  one  ;  and  some 
persons  assume,  from  this  anomaly 
of  high  civilisation,  that  men  are 
by  nature  indifferent  to  dress  and 
appearance  in  a  way  women  can 
never  be — that  the  difference  is  not 
only  in  degree  but  in  kind.  That 
both  sexes  are  equally  capable  of 
vanity  in  this  particular,  our  read- 
ing, if  not  our  eyes,  may  convince 
us.  So  long  as  women  valued  men 
for  show  and  glitter,  masculine  ex- 
travagances fell  not  one  whit  behind 
feminine.  When  Pepys  records  his 
vow — "  Henceforth  1  am  resolved 
my  chief  expense  shall  be  in  lace 
bands" — he  reflects,  as  he  always 
does,  the  tastes  of  his  age, — and 
his  age  was  one  in  which  the  men 
were  passionately  addicted  to  lace. 
While  the  ladies  thought  Sir  Fop- 
ling  a  fine  fellow,  he  outdid  them 
in  the  elaborate  research  of  his 
costume,  as  well  as  in  his  conscious 
enjoyment  of  it  : — 

"  His  various  modes  from  various  fathers 

follow  ; 
Quo  taught  the   toss,   and  one  the   new 

French  wallow ; 


428 


Dress. 


[April, 


His   sword-knot  this,  bis  cravat  that  de- 
signed, 
And  this  the  yard-long  snake  he  twirls 

behind. 

From  one  the  sacred  periwig  he  gained, 
Which  wind  ne'er  blew,  nor  touch  of  hat 

profaned; 

Another's  diving  bow  he  did  adore, 
Which  with  a  shog  casts  all  the  hair  be- 
fore, 

Till  ho  with  full  decorum  brings  it  back, 
And  rises  with  a  water-spaniel  shake." 

We  believe  the  main  difference  to 
be  that  women  are  still  most  de- 
pendent on  dress  for  their  stand- 
ing, and  that  dress  represents  pro- 
perty to  their  imagination  as  it  no 
longer  does  to  men.  How  often 
women  of  independent  fortune 
adopt  some  eccentricity  of  costume 
to  get  rid  of  all  feminine  pretti- 
nesses  and  vanities  !  When  is  a  wo- 
man with  a  mean,  bare  sufficiency 
seen  to  assume  a  man's  coat  and 
hat,  and  to  cut  short  her  hair — a 
freak  every  experience  can  recall 
in  some  woman  of  property  1 
If  "woman's  rights"  should  ever 
be  established,  we  shall  know, 
and  not  till  then,  whether  love  of 
dress  belongs  to  her  in  a  sense  ab- 
solutely peculiar  to  her  sex.  We 
own  we  do  not  wish  to  see  the  day 
when,  making  herself  a  sphere,  con- 
trolling opinion,  preaching,  phy- 
sicking, haranguing,  and  turning 
sea-captain,  she  competes  with  man 
on  equal  terms ;  but  if  ever  we 
do  see  it,  we  expect  to  see  some 
negligent  toilets,  and  some  ex- 
treme defiance  of  the  mode  along 
with  it,  and  that  the  ladies  will 
prove  their  right  to  an  extended 
franchise  by  contempt  of  the  old 
limited  field  they  now  call  their 
own.  If  this  is  in  any  sense  true, 
it  will  show  that  love  of  dress  is 
not  necessarily  vanity,  because  what- 
ever it  looks  now,  it  rises  out  of 
sentiments  capable  of  other  and 
very  different  developments.  It 
proves  that  if  one  class  shows  more 
conspicuous  thought  for  dress  than 
another,  it  may  only  imply  differ- 
ent social  conditions,  a  less  share 
of  this  world's  best  things,  and 
exclusion  from  its  more  varied 
scenes  for  display  ;  that  when  a 


savage  is  in  frenzied  rapture  at  a 
new  gaily-striped  blanket  or  string 
of  beads,  he  may  be,  according  to 
his  lights,  in  a  dream  of  gratified 
ambition,  that  he  is  realising  conse- 
quence, dignity,  fame,  respect  from 
his  tribe,  in  a  spirit  akin  to  some 
magnate  amongst  ourselves  who 
more  demurely  uses  his  property  and 
influence  for  the  same  ends;  and 
that  when  the  earl's  daughter,  in  her 
"  simple  straw  bonnet,"  is  aghast 
at  the  village  girl's  smart  hat, 
and  sets  it  down  to  the  corruption 
of  the  human  heart,  she  may  for- 
get that  the  village  street  is  not  her 
own  scene  for  showing  off — that  she 
has  a  hundred  resorts  where  finery, 
chastened  by  cultivated  taste,  is  a 
duty,  and  that  the  rustic  maiden 
has  but  one,  and  if  she  is  ever  to 
be  fine  at  all,  must  be  fine  then 
and  there.  We  are  not  advocating 
rustic  finery,  but  accounting  for 
and  excusing  it.  Love  of  dress 
may  be,  and  no  doubt  constantly  is, 
vanity;  but  it  is  more  frequently 
quarrelled  with  as  pretension,  and  is 
more  an  object  of  jealousy  and  dis- 
paragement when  it  is  ambition — an 
apparent  intrusion  into  the  objec- 
tor's exclusive  privileges.  Half  the 
literature  intended  for  the  poor  of 
fifty  or  eighty  years  ago,  went  on  the 
assumption  that  the  poor  have  no 
right  to  indulge  in  love  of  dress — 
that  is,  that  not  only  dress  itself, 
but  love  of  dress  also,  is  a  class 
privilege ;  and  in  our  own  time  we 
notice  some  moral  writers  of  un- 
doubted high  principle  who  are  ex- 
ceedingly severe  on  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  wealthy  tradespeople 
for  wearing  feathers  and  flowers 
which  they  think  perfectly  becoming 
and  Christian  in  the  members  of 
county  families. 

Now  dress  is  an  art,  and  like  all 
other  arts  cannot  be  excelled  in 
without  love.  Nobody  can  dress 
well  without  some  love  of  dress, 
though  when  people  approve  of  it 
they  call  it  taste,  not  love ;  and  as 
taste  leads  people  to  dress  properly, 
it  ought  not  to  be  desired  as  an 
exclusive  or  class  gift.  So  far  as 


18G5.] 


Dress. 


4-29 


dress  represents  standing,  taste, 
self-estimate,  and  personal  quali- 
ties, it  should  be  a  universal  con- 
sideration ;  rich,  poor,  high,  and 
low  alike  should  so  choose  and  so 
wear  their  clothes  that  they  should 
seem  integral  parts  of  themselves — 
that  they  should  be  instinct  with  a 
certain  deputed  life  and  character. 
In  our  day,  for  the  reasons  already 
given,  the  effects  and  influences  of 
dress  are  conspicuous  in  women, 
if  not  less  real  in  men.  In  men 
the  idea  of  mere  utility  is  so  im- 
pressed upon  their  costume,  there  is 
such  enforced  sobriety  of  tint,  rich- 
ness and  splendour  are  so  suppress- 
ed by  present  custom,  that  female 
attire  must  be  taken  to  personify 
dress  in  the  abstract,  as  the  female 
form  personifies  all  abstract  things. 
It  would  sometimes  seem  indeed 
as  if  men's  dress  were  fixed  beyond 
all  power  of  its  adjustment  to  char- 
acter; but  no  laws  or  repressing  in- 
fluences can  really  hinder  a  man's 
nature  showing  itself  in  his  outer 
garments.  Still,  wherever  there  is 
a  strongly  pronounced  character,  a 
character  of  such  originality,  in- 
dependence, or  crotchetiness  as 
to  break  loose  from  the  habits 
and  tone  of  thought  of  the  age, 
though  it  be  on  points  merely 
abstract,  with  no  conceivable  rela- 
tion to  the  coat  or  necktie  or  ar- 
rangement of  hair,  these  externals 
will  be  affected  by  them,  and  will 
declare  the  man  a  dissentient  from, 
or  a  leader  of,  the  thought  of  his 
age.  Something  about  the  sit,  the 
colour,  the  form  of  his  attire,  will 
show  him  remarkable.  This,  of 
course,  applies  to  speculators  and 
theorists.  Men  of  action,  practical 
men,  politicians — all  who  carry  on 
the  world's  business,  whose  con- 
cern is  with  men  as  they  are, 
and  whose  occupation  depends  on 
the  continuance  of  the  existing 
state  of  things — dress,  as  they  think 
and  act,  with  the  world;  but  every 
deviation  of  thought,  every  con- 
sistent resolution  in  a  man  to  think 
and  act  for  himself  in  any  material 
point,  social,  political,  or  religious, 


certainly  expresses  itself  in  some 
external  peculiarity.  It  is  indeed 
wonderful  how  this  connection  be- 
tween the  inner  principle  and  the 
impulse  —  though  perhaps  uncon- 
scious—  of  marking  this  by  some 
corresponding  external  develop- 
ment, will  show  itself  in  spite  of 
every  hindrance  that  custom,  and 
we  might  almost  say  intention,  im- 
poses. A  man  cannot  help  him- 
self. We  know  men  who  in  their 
time  have  appeared  calmly  indiffer- 
ent to  dress,  sensitive  under  any- 
thing odd,  loth  to  make  them- 
selves in  any  way  conspicuous, 
leaving  themselves  in  the  hands  of 
tailor,  hatter,  haircutter,  to  in.Mire 
their  being  like  other  people,  who, 
as  their  genius  developed  in  nov- 
elty, strangeness, and  isolation, have 
slipped,  we  can  hardly  tell  by  what 
process,  into  garments  which  un- 
mistakably represent  these  excep- 
tional, anomalous  states  of  mind  ; 
so  that  the  man's  clothes  declare 
what  he  is  in  spite  of  himself.  We 
believe  that  every  one's  experience, 
if  he  only  search  into  it,  will  fur- 
nish him  with  examples.  In  this 
day  of  compulsory  uniformity  in 
custom  or  fashion,  he  will  be  able 
to  recall  some  fettcrer  of  opinion 
in  the  garb  of  a  sect,  some  lati- 
tudinarian  breaking  out  into  the 
wildest  vagaries  of  form  and  colour, 
some  misanthrope  folding  himself 
in  the  cloak  of  Diogenes.  Possibly 
he  may  have  known  some  clerical 
convert  or  jtenvrt,  as  the  term  is, 
declaring  his  emancipation  in  hues 
impossible  to  laymen,  or  lapsing 
into  licentiousness  in  the  matter 
of  waistcoats  :  after  the  example 
of  the  great  Independent  divine 
John  Owen,  who,  having  entered 
into  holy  orders,  and  being  fur- 
ther Vice  -  Chancellor  of  Oxford, 
expressed  his  Christian  liberty,  as 
Wood  tells  us,  "by  going  in  cuerjxi 
like  a  gay  scholar,  with  powdered 
hair,  snakebone  bandstrings  (or 
bandstrings  with  very  large  tassels), 
lawn  band,  a  large  set  of  ribbonds 
pointed  at  his  knees,  and  Spanish 
leather  boots  with  large  lawn  tops, 


430 


Dress. 


[April, 


and  his  hat  mostly  cocked;"  an 
exuberant  costume  which  we  have 
no  doubt  pictured  many  qualities 
which  had  been  impatient  for  ex- 
pression under  the  compulsory 
gravity  and  uniformity  of  the  cle- 
rical garb.  A  man  cannot  be  a 
prig  in  his  notions  without  the 
tie  of  his  cravat,  or  some  lines 
somewhere,  showing  it.  He  can- 
not be  a  sceptic,  actively,  controver- 
sially intent  on  making  proselytes, 
without  not  only  his  features,  his 
hair,  his  gait,  his  backbone,  show- 
ing it,  but  some  eccentric  upper 
garment,  collar,  shoes,  something 
about  him,  betraying  him.  A  man 
cannot  set  about  industriously 
subverting  the  constitution  of 
his  country  without  everything, 
from  his  hat  to  his  boots,  and 
every  loose-sitting  intervening  gar- 
ment, telling  the  tale  :  a  man  can- 
not be  a  liberator  without  some 
signal  answering  to  Garibaldi's 
shirt  :  the  mantle  of  the  prophet 
was  necessary  to  express  the  spirit 
of  the  prophet ;  —  such  intimate 
connection  is  there  between  man 
and  the  outer  self  that  immediate- 
ly surrounds  him.  Clothes  are  but 
an  extension  and  further  emana- 
tion of  the  same  subtle  influence 
which  moulds  the  features  into  a 
reflection  of  the  habitual  working 
of  the  mind.  Until  a  man's  gar- 
ments have  formed  this  intimate 
relation  with  him,  he  is  an  image, 
a  property  of  the  scene,  a  lay  fig- 
ure. We  can  predicate  nothing 
concerning  him.  Who  could  tell 
what  a  king  is  in  his  coronation 
robes  ?  a  herald  in  his  tabard  ? 
or  a  soldier  on  parade  1  Who  can 
tell  what  a  beggar  is — hung  about 
in  garments  that  have  received 
every  crease  and  fold  from  other 
men's  wear  1  Even  the  dogs  bark 
at  him  as  something  incomprehen- 
sible and  in  disguise. 

And  as  every  strong  mental 
peculiarity  shows  itself,  it  may  be 
against  a  man's  will,  in  his  dress, 
so  every  peculiarity  in  dress  betrays 
a  singularity  or  a  weak  point. 
Dress  ought  to  express  individual 


character ;  but  also — and  in  our 
present  compact,  organised,  social 
state,  more  distinctly — his  citi- 
zenship and  community  with  the 
great  fabric  of  society.  Wher- 
ever he  deviates  from  custom, 
either  by  caprice  or  negligence  of 
costume,  he  shows  a  corresponding 
mental  failure.  A  man  who  disre- 
gards in  things  called  indifferent — 
but  which  are  really  outworks 
guarding  the  stability  of  human  in- 
stitutions— the  customs  of  society, 
and  refuses  to  satisfy  its  require- 
ments, exhibits  a  signal  by  which 
we  judge  that  he  is  not  altogether 
to  be  depended  upon,  that  he 
holds  himself  loose  from  ties 
that  others  hold  binding.  We 
cannot  trust  a  man  eccentric  or 
slatternly  with  the  business  or  the 
traditions  of  our  commonwealth. 
He  will  be  setting  up  private  judg- 
ment at  inconvenient  times.  On 
this  point  Steele  had  recollections 
very  much  to  our  purpose.  "  When 
I  was  a  young  man,"  he  tells  us, 
"  I  remember  a  gentleman  of  great 
integrity  and  worth  who  was  very 
remarkable  for  wearing  a  broad 
belt  and  a  hanger  instead  of  a 
fashionable  sword,  though  in  all 
other  points  a  very  well-bred  man. 
I  suspected  him  at  first  sight  to 
have  something  wrong  in  him,  but 
was  not  able  for  a  long  time  to 
have  any  collateral  proofs  of  it. 
I  watched  him  narrowly  for  six-and- 
thirty  years,  when  at  last,  to  the 
surprise  of  everybody  but  myself, 
who  had  long  expected  the  folly  to 
break  out,  he  married  his  own  cook- 
maid."  The  experience  is  so  much 
to  our  point  that  it  would  be  super- 
fluous candour  to  stop  to  inquire 
whether  the  most  irreproachable 
toilet  in  the  wisest  of  men  could 
have  carried  him  safe  through  the 
ordeal  of  such  a  scrutiny.  It  is 
enough  for  our  argument  that  the 
practical  good  sense  of  the  last  age 
saw  the  connection  between  self- 
will  in  attire  and  a  corresponding 
flaw  in  the  inner  nature.  The 
writer,  as  belonging  to  an  age 
in  more  undoubting  allegiance  to 


1865.] 


Dress. 


431 


social  decrees  than  our  own,  is  na 
severe  as  we  might  expect  on  the 
impertinent  fortitude  by  which  a 
man  accustoms  himself  to  bear  pub- 
lic censure  and  ridicule  for  singular- 
ities or  negligences ;  rightly  arguing 
that  giving  in  to  uncommon  habits 
of  this  kind  "  is  a  want  of  that  hum- 
ble deference  which  is  due  to  man- 
kind." 

All  slatternliness  or  meanness 
of  attire  marks  some  intellectual 
deficiency.  A  man  who  is  shabby 
from  any  but  dire  necessity,  is  in  a 
state  of  disagreement  with  his  cir- 
cumstances. It  does  not  mean  that 
he  is  wanting  either  in  self-esteem  or 
high  expectations,  but  that  he  has 
fixed  them  upon  objects  out  of 
his  reach — that  his  ideas  have  no 
relation  to  his  powers  or  possibili- 
ties. There  are  men  who  go  shuf- 
fling about  in  threadbare  coats, 
carrying  cotton  umbrellas,  who 
nourish  in  their  hearts  fancies  or 
remembrances  of  the  wildest  ambi- 
tion. Nothing  short  of  the  unat- 
tainable seems  to  them  worth  the 
trouble  of  adapting  their  externals 
to.  Constant  trimness  of  attire 
does  not  at  all  represent  the  state 
of  mind  that  thinks  nothing  but  the 
great  prizes  of  life  worth  caring  for. 
The  scholar  who  neglects  his  per- 
son, as  the  phrase  is,  ten  to  one  is 
possessed  by  the  notion  of  certain 
supposed  faculties  and  attainments, 
which  set  him  above  the  people  he 
associates  with,  and  offends  by  his 
slovenliness.  Dominie  Sampson 
was  a  bad  dresser  ;  but  underneath 
was  an  immense  opinion  of  his  own 
learning,  and  a  sense  of  distinction 
and  elevation  above  other  men. 
And  wherever  we  see  this  discrep- 
ancy and  want  of  fit,  the  hitch 
which  the  dress  typifies  stands  in 
the  way  of  success.  There  is  cer- 
tainly something  in  the  popular 
idea  of  a  genius  which  does  not  fall 
in  with  our  view.  It  is  an  old  no- 
tion that  the  first  step  to  be  a  wit  is  to 
commence  a  sloven  ;  a  notion  which 
has  largely  encouraged  the  conceit  of 
untidiness.  Some  men  of  genius 
have,  we  suppose,  been  slovens,  but 


it  is  not  the  genius  which  is  repre- 
sented by  this  costume,  but  those 
defects  and  disorders  in  him  which 
have  prevented  his  genius  from 
doing  all  it  might  have  done.  No 
one  can  imagine  Shakespeare  a 
sloven  ;  nor  can  any  one,  as  an  old 
writer  h:is  it,  picture  to  himself 
Tully  delivering  an  immortal  ora- 
tion in  a  blanket.  For  ourselves 
we  cannot  see  a  scholar  take  to  slip- 
shod slovenly  ways  without  our 
hopes  of  him  suffering  abatement. 
He  will  scarcely  make  a  great 
name  in  the  world — he  will  not 
connect  himself  by  real  ties  with 
society.  A  well-cut  coat  and  fault- 
lessliuen  might  have  practical  effects 
on  the  inner  processes  of  thought, 
at  present  too  vague,  lawless,  and 
assuming  for  this  world's  use.  The 
young  man  wholly  indifferent  about 
his  dress  will  be  found  to  have 
tracts  of  his  brain  deficient  or 
wholly  uncultivated — will  want  that 
harmony  between  body  and  soul 
essential  to  the  perfect  man.  It  is 
so  much  more  common  for  care 
of  the  body  to  predominate  that 
education  does  not  sufficiently  pro- 
vide against  the  other  extreme. 
Parents,  through  fear  of  foppery, 
allow  untidiness.  It  is  so  great  an 
evil  for  a  human  being  to  be  intent 
on  mere  wants  and  instincts,  that 
we  do  not  see  the  evil  there  is  in 
the  same  human  being  becoming  a 
mere  book,  and,  as  such,  naturally 
indifferent  to  its  binding. 

However,  the  dress  of  men  in  our 
day  is  so  fixed,  and  what  latitude  is 
allowed  is  so  much  in  favour  of 
ease  and  unrestraint,  that,  except  in 
these  exceptional  cases  of  the  wear- 
er being  at  odds  in  some  way  with 
his  age  and  generation,  and  dissa- 
tisfied with  the  existing  state  of 
things,  or  daringly  aggressive  in 
bad  taste,  it  does  not  express  indi- 
vidual character  so  generally  as 
with  women.  While  a  good  deal 
may  be  learnt  of  most  men  by  their 
dress,  a  man  may  still  look  very 
like  other  people — his  clothes  may 
be  sufficiently  in  the  fashion,  always 
fresh,  becoming,  appropriate — and 


432 


Dress. 


[April, 


he  may  have  qualities  that  all 
this  by  no  means  answers  to.  Yet, 
in  spite  of  this  stronger  sway  of 
convention  over  male  costume,  we 
believe  that  consciousness  on  the 
subject  of  dress,  or  sensitive  per- 
ception of  the  intimate  relation  be- 
tween form  and  its  covering,  be- 
longs to  men  in  a  stronger  degree 
than  to  women;  any  departure  in 
shape  or  colour  from  what  they 
have  been  used  to  costs  them  a 
struggle ;  they  cannot  forget  them- 
selves in  a  novel  garment,  or,  how- 
ever reason  and  fashion  may  ap- 
prove, shake  off  a  shy  embarrass- 
ment under  the  sense  of  change. 
It  is  owing  to  this  that  we  see  some 
men  cling  so  resolutely  to  high 
shirt-collars,  in  defiance  of  the  ban- 
ter of  their  male  friends,  and  the 
appealing  entreaties  of  wives,  sis- 
ters, daughters.  No  !  exposure  of 
throat  and  ears  Avould  be  loss  of 
identity — they  would  no  longer  be 
themselves.  Women,  apparently, 
are  never  affected  in  the  same  way 
by  change  or  novelty,  and,  so  they 
be  fitting  in  the  abstract,  are  never 
put  out  of  countenance  by  their 
clothes. 

And  here  we  would  touch  upon 
one  of  the  many  subtleties  of  our 
subject  :  nobody  has  yet  drawn 
such  a  distinction  between  shy- 
ness and  reserve  as  satisfied  other 
minds.  One  man's  definition  for 
reserve  answers  to  our  notion  of 
shyness;  while  another  elaborates 
shyness  into  so  complex  and  deep 
a  sentiment,  that  we  must  ac- 
cept it  for  nothing  less  than  re- 
serve. We  are  inclined  to  think 
that  shyness  proper  and  simple  is 
connected  in  some  way  with  the 
primitive  conception  and  judicial 
ordinance  of  dress  as  a  covering. 
Shyness,  acting  on  undisciplined 
instinct,  always  manifests  itself  by 
an  endeavour  to  hide  whatever  is 
bare  and  exposed  about  us.  The 
child  among  strangers  turns  away 
its  face,  contracts  its  shoulders,  and 
either  conceals  its  hands,  or  uses 
them  to  cover  a  more  sensitive 
feature.  The  boor  uses  incredible 


expedients  to  put  his  feet  out  of 
sight — whatever   betrays    the   out- 
line of  his  form.     A  writer  in  the 
'  Saturday  Review '  says,  "There  are 
two  things  that  an  Englishman  de- 
tests, especially  in  evening  dress — 
one  is,  to  be  obliged  to  pose  where 
he  can  be  generally  observed — the 
other,  to  have  no  comfortable  mode 
of  disposing  of  his  hands.     It  is 
a  yery  common   saying,"    he  con- 
tinues, "that  Englishmen  can  never 
meet  together  without  eating ;  but 
it  is  not  because  they  are  a  pecu- 
liarly gluttonous  people,  but  because 
eating    puts   them   at    their   ease. 
When  your  legs  are  fairly  stowed 
under  the  table,  and   your  hands 
are  busy  with  the  knife  and  fork, 
there  is  no  difficulty  about  attitude. 
Directly  the  question  of  attitude  is 
settled,  an  Englishman's  heart  be- 
gins to  open.     His  proverbial  shy- 
ness does  not  arise  from  his  being 
timid    or   proud,   but   simply  un- 
ready."    But  why,  we  ask,  is  he 
unready,   but  because   shyness  di- 
rects his  thoughts  to  the  exposed 
points  in  his  position  1     Why,  in 
addition  to  the   other   reasons,  is 
he  at  ease  at  dinner,  but  because 
other  eyes  are  off  duty  1     We  are 
never  so  shy  as  when  others  stand 
by  and   see  us   eat.     The   highest 
accomplishment   of   training  —  the 
greatest  victory  over  raw  nature — 
is  to  be  able  to  sit  at  perfect  ease 
with  the  outline  of  the  form  visible. 
We   see  this   even   in  women   not 
used   to  a   full  evening  toilet — an 
ordeal   which  nothing   but   educa- 
tion and  practice  can  enable  them 
to  sustain — but  in  men  no  doubt 
much  more  conspicuously.     And  if 
it  is  so  in  looser  modern  costume, 
what  must  it  have  been  in  the  days 
of  Sir  Charles  Grandison  and  silk 
stockings  ?     This    may   have    had 
something  to  do  with  the  prover- 
bial  awkwardness   of    scholars   in 
those  days,  when  dragged  from  their 
colleges  to  the  light  of  day,  without 
the   protecting   shelter  to   leg  and 
knee  of  the  academic  gown.     Their 
shamefacedness  was   more  akin  to 
shyness  than  heart -modesty.      A 


1805.] 


433 


Turkish  woman,  veiled  and  swath- 
ed from  head  to  foot,  from  all  ac- 
counts is  not  shy ;  but  set  her  before 
the  stranger  she  inspects  so  boldly 
in  English  costume,  and  she  would 
be  overwhelmed.  A  mask  makes 
its  wearer  unbaahful,  not  from  sense 
of  concealment,  which  is  felt  to  be 
fallacious,  but  simply  because  the 
face  is  covered.  It  is  the  same  with 
the  coquettish  veils  we  see  worn. 
The  delicate  web  of  lace  touches 
the  cheek,  drapes  it  to  the  imagin- 
ation, and  sometimes  gives  to  the 
eye  a  courage  which  can  hardly 
be  maintained  on  its  withdrawal. 
When  Cherry  Pecksniff,  on  the  eve 
of  that  wedding-day  that  had  no 
dawning,  held  her  Moddle's  hand, 
and  veiled  the  transaction  with  the 
extreme  corner  of  her  shawl,  she 
testified  to  a  principle.  Possibly 
the  love  of  accessories  to  the  toilet 
to  which  some  natures  are  addicted, 
as  it  were  extending  the  person- 
ality to  extraneous  things,  has  its 
source  in  this  sentiment,  the  hand 
sharing  with  the  face  the  pains  of 
uniform  exposure.  The  stick,  the 
fan,  the  snuff-box  in  civilised  cir- 
cles— the  Kentuckian's  knife,  or  the 
Greek's  string  of  beads  in  simpler 
forms  of  life — are  all  expedients  for 
forgetting  this  difficult  member ; 
and  even  where  display  is  the  ob- 
ject, veiling  the  exhibition  by  the 
artifices  of  affectation.  Our  view, 
then,  is  that  people  are  reserved  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  or  night ;  sun 
or  shade,  twilight  or  candles,  makes 
little  or  no  difference ;  but  that  no- 
body is  shy  in  the  dark. 

All  general  considerations  on 
dress  must,  however,  converge  to- 
wards feminine  costume.  When 
we  think  of  dress  in  the  abstract, 
we  mean  woman's  dress  ;  whatever 
has  been  in  the  world's  youth,  in 
our  time,  her  costume  represents 
the  art.  It  is,  above  all,  through 
the  female  toilet  that  fashion  trans- 
acts its  weighty  part  in  the  world, 
and  by  its  ebbs  and  Hows  keeps  the 
world  at  work.  Weak  and  trivial 
as  the  subject  is  deemed,  and  fri- 
volous as  many  phases  of  it  un- 


doubtedly are,  yet  fashion  has  some 
mysterious  connection  with  thought 

and  intellect,  so  close  and  intimate 
as  to  render  it  almost  the  type  of 
progress.  Wherever  thought  is  free, 
there  fashion  works  its  changes  and 
carries  on  its  constant  war,  and  as 
constant  victory,  over  habit  and 
custom.  Where  thought  is  stag- 
nant and  tied  down,  there  fashion 
finds  no  place.  Where  men  think 
in  the  same  groove  for  centuries, 
and  the  son  inherits  every  opinion 
and  prejudice  of  the  father,  there 
the  costume  of  a  country  remains 
inexorably  the  same,  and  the  chil- 
dren succeed  to  the  paternal  ward- 
robe without  need  to  alter  a  fold 
or  to  substitute  a  colour.  And  this 
must  be  borne  in  mind  when  we 
hear  accounts  of  the  ludicrous  sway 
of  fashion  under  all  but  impossible 
circumstances.  Where  the  KaHir 
girl,  who  has  only  just  submitted 
to  the  bondage  of  petticoats,  insists 
on  distending  her  solitary  garment 
with  a  hoop,  we  augur  better  things 
for  the  progress  and  civilisation  of 
her  countrymen  than  if  she  clung 
with  fanatical  perseverance  to  the 
unchanging  blanket  of  a  long  line 
of  progenitors.  Where  we  can  in- 
troduce European  fashions,  we  have 
a  better  chance  of  introducing  Ku- 
ropean  modes  of  thought,  in  all 
their  variety  and  activity.  The 
sameness  of  Oriental  dress,  and  the 
endless  change  and  variety  in  the 
West,  figure  forth  all  the  mighty 
differences  which  have  set  the  West 
above  the  East. 

Xor  need  it  be  merely  a  sign. 
We  cannot  tell  what  effect  on 
thought  perpetual  change  to  the 
eye  may  have  brought  about — 
what  liberty  and  play  of  mind,  the 
right  to  change  the  outer  semblance 
at  will  may  have  induced.  There 
must  be  a  connection  closer  than 
we  have  time  or  space  to  go  into, 
or  knowledge  to  prove,  between  the 
course  of  fashion,  its  steady  inex- 
orable march  of  change — so  that  the 
most  favourite,  convenient,  popular 
modes  can  have  no  more  than  their 
day — its  freaks  and  vagaries,  as 


434 


Dress. 


[April, 


they  are  called ;  the  laws  which 
rule  those  freaks ;  its  uniform  vic- 
tory over  abstract  good  taste  (so 
that  even  the  artist's  eye  demands 
what  his  judgment  censures) — be- 
tween the  subtle  power  that  creates 
all  this,  and  the  various  thoughts 
and  opinions  current  with  these  vari- 
ous modes  of  man's  presentment  of 
himself.  For  instance,  the  powder 
and  patches,  the  stiff  and  gorgeous 
costume  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
must  figure  some  moral  and  intel- 
lectual characteristics  of  that  period. 
And  if  we  see  this  in  the  broad  fea- 
tures of  a  past  age,  we  do  not  doubt 
that  minor  distinctions  and  growths 
of  the  toilet  have  their  counterpart 
in  some  intellectual  development, 
or  in  some  error  or  fallacy  of  our 
day.  There  must  be  some  ne- 
cessity, as  we  will  call  it,  something 
in  the  nature  of  things — that  is,  in 
the  thought  and  action  of  the  age 
— to  bring  about  certain  fashions, 
as  it  might  sometimes  seem,  against 
everybody's  will,  and  in  spite  of  a 
general  protest.  Thus  the  present 
touch  of  the  masculine  imparted  by 
hat  and  paletot  and  booted  ankle  to 
our  ladies'  toilets  must  surely  have 
had  some  connection,  as  it  has 
been  coincident  with,  the  talk  and 
clamour,  half  jest,  half  earnest, 
about  Women's  Plights :  while  we 
gladly  accept  the  hoop  and  sweeping 
skirts  as  an  admission  that  they  are 
very  women  after  all,  unfitted  by  na- 
ture and  constitution  to  move  easily, 
or  to  feel  in  their  place,  in  the  bustle 
of  crowds  and  the  stir  of  active  out- 
door life.  Nothing  strikesus  as  more 
unphilosophical  than  the  tracing 
of  prevalent  fashions  to  individual 
caprice ;  as,  for  instance,  prodigious 
overgrown  cravats  to  the  Prince  Re- 
gent's health,  or  long  petticoats  to  a 
duchess's  thick  ankles.  Fashion  is 
a  power  more  potent  than  rank. 
Kings  and  queens  do  not  rule  it ; 
rather,  like  sorrow,  it  makes  kings 
come  bow  to  it.  It  personifies  an 
age,  not  the  grandees  of  an  age.  Not 
even  the  Empress  Eugenie  can  alter 
a  fashion  of  set  purpose,  or  deliber- 
ately introduce  a  new  colour  or  a 


new  form.  French  milliners,  who 
may  be  accounted  the  priestesses  of 
fashion,  and  through  whom  those 
changes,  which  can  never  be  traced 
to  a  source,  are  probably  brought 
about,  do  not.  we  believe,  do  any- 
thing deliberately ;  they  unconsci- 
ously follow  a  law.  What  is  new  is 
the  inevitable  sequence  of  the  old. 
There  was,  in  this  sense,  truth  in 
the  modest  disclaimer  of  a  great 
artiste  upon  a  more  than  commonly 
felicitous  adjustment  of  a  feather, 
"  I  did  it  in  a  moment  of  inspira- 
tion." The  time  had  come  when 
feathers  had  to  be  put  in  that  way. 
No  doubt  there  had  been  a  process 
of  ratiocination,  but  it  seemed  to 
her  intuition.  Fashion,  then,  is  one 
of  the  powers  of  this  world,  subject 
to  the  same  moral  treatment  as  all 
other  mundane  influences.  It  is  folly 
to  run  directly  counter  to  it,  as  it  is 
folly  to  oppose  our  weak  individual 
protests  against  the  changes  brought 
about  by  the  discoveries  of  science. 
All  persons  who  enter  upon  such 
contests,  either  start  with  narrow 
minds  or  narrow  them  in  the  pro- 
cess. Yet  it  must  be  owned  that 
obedience  to  fashion  has  led  to  ex- 
cesses so  palpable,  that  we  cannot 
wonder,  when  dress  as  a  taste  and 
indulgence  has  been  taken  up  by 
preachers  and  reformers,  that  it  has 
been  attacked  root  and  branch.  But 
reformers,  though  a  necessary  part  of 
this  world's  moral  economy,  are  an 
undiscriminating  wholesale  sort  of 
people  in  all  cases,  apt  to  sweep  off 
the  use  with  the  abuse ;  in  their 
zeal  as  ready  to  denounce  the  in- 
novation of  woven  stockings  as  of 
paint  and  patches.  Fathers,  monks, 
Scotch  divines,  Puritans,  have  agreed 
in  tone  on  this  subject,  and  all  have 
had  to  be  met  and  counteracted  by 
the  common  sense  of  mankind:  or  by 
their  irrepressible  instincts,  and  the 
fact,  always  patent,  that  dress  is  ex- 
pression, and  if  converted  into  a 
mould  for  the  representation  of  a 
few  chosen  dictated  qualities,  must 
become  an  intolerable  and  most  in- 
jurious bondage,  destructive  of  all 
natural  graces.  Where  body  and 


18G5.] 


Dress. 


435 


mind  arc  in  harmony,  where  the 
perceptive  and  active  faculties  are 
in  due  proportion,  where  there  is 
exact  understanding  between  the 
.several  qualities  that  make  the  ideal 
man  or  woman,  so  that  we  may  re- 
gard them  as  representatives  and 
model  examples,  there  is  no  ques- 
tion that  each  will  be  distinguished 
by  an  exact,  decorous,  and  delicate 
fitness,  an  expressive  propriety  of 
attire,  that  will  result  in  beautiful 
form,  and,  so  far  as  choice  is  open, 
in  fair,  noble  material  and  charm- 
ing colour.  No  circumstances  of 
sex  or  calling,  of  custom  or  class, 
will  prevent  some  evidence  of  taste 
at  work,  something  distinguishing, 
which  it  is  the  aim  of  sumptuary 
edicts  from  whatever  source,  religi- 
ous or  political,  to  suppress. 

There  is  an  appreciation  of  dress 
distinct  from  vanity,  which  shows 
rather  singularly  the  realisation  of 
dress  as  part  of  self.  Just  as  Mr 
Pullet  tied  his  cravat  on  higher 
principles  than  those  of  personal 
ease,  so  the  people  we  mean  like  to 
be  remindedof  their  clothes  by  some 
sense  of  discomfort.  All  enthusi- 
asm courts  pain,  as  though  this 
were  needed  to  give  force  and  dig- 
nity to  the  pleasure.  All  who  attach 
importance  to  dress  as  a  thing  of 
state,  whose  idea  of  company  is  a 
formal  one  connected  with  display 
rather  than  easy  relaxation,  do  not 
desire  to  lose  the  consciousness  of 
their  clothes.  We  have  known 
a  lady  who  owned  she  never  felt 
herself  dressed  unless  her  shoes 
pinched  her.  Quite  independent 
of  looks,  it  is  a  question  whether 
tight-lacing  is  not  an  evidence  of 
this  state  of  mind.  There  is  the 
sense  of  bracing  up  for  an  occa- 
sion ;  to  be  comfortable  and  self- 
forgetting  is  to  be  in  deshabille. 
The  dress  of  the  last  century  de- 
manding such  constant  sacrifices, 
testifies  to  this  principle.  From  the 
fact  that  Clarissa  Harlowe's  laces 
have  to  be  cut  each  time  that  her 
sorrows  reach  a  climax,  we  must  be- 
lieve that  pattern  of  her  sex  to  have 
laced  up  to  a  point  which  would 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIV. 


render  lolling  and  lounging  as  great 
a  physical  as  they  were  in  her  case 
a  moral  impossibility.  Her  cus- 
tom, she  tells  her  confidante,  was 
to  be  dressed  for  the  day  as  soon 
as  breakfast  was  over ;  and  even 
when  kept  close  prisoner  by  her 
cruel  relations,  she  did  not  relax 
in  the  duties  of  the  toilet.  "  We 
owe  it,"  she  says,  "  to  ourselves 
and  to  our  sex,  you  know,  to  be 
always  neat,  and  never  to  be  sur- 
prised in  a  way  we  should  be 
pained  to  be  seen  in."  And  what 
was  the  attire  that  duty  enjoined? 
How  was  Clarissa  dressed  from 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  <  "  Her 
head-dress,"  writes  her  impassioned 
lover,  describing  her  at  the  moment 
of  abduction,  "  was  a  Brussels  lace 
mob,  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
charming  air  and  turn  of  her  fea- 
tures; a  sky-blue  ribbond  illustrated 
that.  But  although  the  weather 
was  somewhat  sharp,  she  had  not 
on  either  hat  or  hood,  for  she  loves 
to  use  herself  hardily.  Her  morn- 
ing-gown was  a  pale  primrose-col- 
oured paduasoy  ;  the  cuff's  and  rob- 
iug.s  curiously  embroidered  by  the 
fingers  of  this  ever-charming  A rac li- 
ne in  a  running  pattern  of  violets 
and  their  leaves,  the  light  in  the 
flowers  silver,  gold  in  the  leaves; 
a  pair  of  diamond  snaps  in  her  ears  ; 
a  white  handkerchief,  wrought  by 
the  same  inimitable  fingers,  con- 
cealed her  bosom.  Her  ruffles  were 
the  same  as  her  mob.  Her  apron  a 
flowered  lawn  ;  her  coat  white  satin, 
quilted  ;  blue  satin  her  shoes,  braid- 
ed with  the  same  colour,  without 
lace,  for  what  need  has  the  pret- 
tiest foot  in  the  world  for  ornament  ? 
neat  buckles  in  them  ;  and  on  her 
charming  arms  a  pair  of  black  velvet 
glove-like  mulls  of  her  own  inven- 
tion." As  the  story  goes  on,  never 
were  clothes  invested  with  a  more 
tragic  importance.  Under  the  most 
terrible  circumstances  they  are  a 
conscious  part  of  herself.  "  My 
cloathes,"  she  writes,  in  pathetic  de- 
lirium, "will  sell  for  what  will  keep 
me  in  Bedlam  ! "  She  never  forgets 
their  value:  "My  father  loved,"  she 
2  G 


436 


Dress. 


[April, 


says,  "  to  see  me  fine;"  at  one  time 
he  had  not  grudged  a  hundred 
guineas  for  a  dress.  She  knows 
she  sells  a  dress  a  great  bargain  at 
twenty  guineas,  and  lace  at  h'fteen. 
By  the  end  of  the  piece  we  are  so 
up  in  her  wardrobe,  and  so  possess- 
ed by  the  importance  of  appear- 
ances under  every  circumstance  of 
life,  that  we  realise  the  extremity 
of  her  despair,  when  dying  in  the 
sponging-house,  on  finding  that  she 
had  not  sent  for  laces  to  replace  the 
cut  ones ;  and  feel  an  added  rever- 
ence for  her  purity  when  we  see 
her  kneeling  on  the  dark  floor  in 
white  damask,  her  white-flowing 
robes,  for  she  had  no  hoop,  illumi- 
nating the  dingy  corners  ;  and  her 
linen  beyond  imagination  white, 
considering  where  she  was,  and  how 
long  she  had  been  there. 

All  this  represents  the  feeling 
about  clothes  in  the  last  century. 
It  belonged  to  the  views  of  the 
period  to  treat  them  seriously; 
and  it  could  hardly  be  otherwise, 
for  they  imposed  on  society  the 
severest  discipline  it  had  to  un- 
dergo, and  were  for  ever  inflict- 
ing painful  lessons  of  self  -  re- 
straint. How  seriousness  hung 
about  the  subject  beyond  these 
buckram  days  we  learn  from  the 
inimitable  pen  of  George  Eliot. 
Who  can  forget  the  solemn,  trebly- 
locked  seclusion  of  Mrs  Pullet's 
best  bonnet,  or  Mrs  Glegg's  virtuous 
boast  of  having  better  lace  in  her 
drawers  than  ever  she  had  on  !  so 
coldly  free  from  vanity  as  to  forget 
the  idea  of  dress  as  adornment,  and 
resolving  all  into  a  sense  of  pro- 
perty and  calm  self-esteem.  And 
in  more  genial  natures  than  Mrs 
Glegg's  there  often  exists  an  intense 
appreciation  of  fine  clothes  with  the 
most  innocent  indifference  to  the 
question  of  the  becoming.  There 
are  women  who  pique  themselves 
on  being  judges  of  quality  and  tex- 
ture, and  who  like  costly  shawls 
and  furs,  and  to  stand  on  end  in 
rich  silks,  and  yet  have  never 
thought  whether  the  colour  suits 
their  complexion,  and  only  care  to 


have  their  clothes  admired,  not 
themselves  in  them.  The  natural 
instinct  thus  severed  from  its  use, 
which  is  to  set  off  and  individualise 
the  person,  was  to  be  seen  in  full 
force  in  the  days  of  plain  Quaker- 
ism. The  fair  Friend  was  forbidden 
all  exercise  of  fancy;  no  "latitude 
in  apparel,"  as  it  was  quaintly 
called,  no  choice  in  form  or  colour, 
was  allowed  her ;  every  hem  and 
border  was  under  a  law.  The  Qua- 
ker child  was  gravely  counselled 
to  cut  off  the  tassel  on  her  boot, 
to  which  she  clung  in  desperation, 
and  promised  "peace  in  so  doing;" 
but  the  passion  cropped  out  all 
the  same,  and  found  scope  in  ex- 
pense, in  finest  lawns  and  richest 
silks,  and  many  of  them.  And  this 
suggests  two  remarks :  one,  that 
wherever  taste  is  checked  love 
of  mere  expense  comes  in — as  the 
London  citizens'  wives  once  lined 
their  grogram  gowns  with  the  vel- 
vet they  were  forbidden  to  wear  out- 
side ;  and  the  other,  that  wherever 
women  are  educated  with  ultra 
strictness  in  matters  of  dress,  and 
forbidden  any  exercise  of  their  own 
will  and  fancy  in  this  sphere,  they 
will  as  they  grow  up  find  some  other 
and  larger  field  of  independence. 
The  daughter  who  has  never  been 
allowed  to  have  a  dress  in  the  fashion 
will  defy  her  father  and  mother  in 
the  question  of  religion,  and  choose 
a  faith  for  herself,  if  she  may  not 
dictate  the  shape  of  a  sleeve.  This 
is  so  conspicuously  the  case  in  the 
Quaker  sect,  that  it  is  notorious  the 
women  in  their  plain  garb  have 
ever  taken  the  spiritual  conduct 
and  the  preaching  of  the  Society 
entirely  into  their  own  hands,  and 
utterly  quenched  the  men.  If  they 
were  circumscribed  in  skirts  and 
flounces,  at  least  they  would  be 
"  very  large  in  the  ministry,"  and 
so  indemnify  themselves. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  love  of 
dress  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word — 
one  taste,  the  other  passion;  and 
these  act  on  precisely  opposite 
principles.  That  passion  for  dress, 
which  is  at  once  the  expression  of 


437 


and  stimulus  to  vanity,  tend*  to  all 
manner  of  illusions  pervading  all 
classes:— in  the  first  place, to  prepos- 
terous, superstitious  faith  in  its  ctti- 
cacy.      Passion  for  dress  leads  to  the 
ignoring  of  all  unpalatable  truths;  it 
Minds  a  woman  to  her  own  defects, 
and  constantly  betrays  her  into  par- 
ading them  ;  it  deadens  her  to  the 
harmony  of  things,  and  tempts  the 
old  and  plain  into  humiliating  self- 
comparison  with   youth  and  grace, 
deluding  them  into  the  notion  that 
dress  makes  the   beauty — that  the 
cowl  (fix's  make  the   monk.     This 
it    is    that    tempts   the    poor    into 
rivalry  with   the   rich  ;  into  bediz- 
ening themselves  with  tawdry  frip- 
pery— content  with  the  barest  seem- 
ing   and    rudest    imitation  ;    into 
spending  their  small  means  on  the 
merest  outside  show.     And  in  all 
cases  passion  for  dress  of  this  na- 
ture is  excited  and  kept  alive  by  a 
mistaken   view,   often   fatally  mis- 
taken, as  to  the  objects  to  be  pleas- 
ed and  attracted  by  the  display;  so 
that  we  might  almost  say  that  no 
woman  will  be  too  fine  or  in  any 
marked  degree   unsuitably  attired 
who  is  right  in  the  eyes  she  wishes 
to  satisfy,  and  who  confines  herself 
to  her  legitimate  sphere  of  attrac- 
tion.    Taste   in  dress,  on  the  con- 
trary, can  scarcely  lead  its  posses- 
sor astray,  and  is  indeed  a  moral 
guide.     It  is  full  of  reminders  and 
admonitions  ;    nor    can    a   woman 
dress  herself  in  perfect  taste  without 
a  distinct  knowledge  of  her  personal 
defects.     A    hundred   fashions  are 
pretty  and  charming  in  themselves, 
but  she  knows  they  are  not  for  her, 
and  resists  them.     They  are  forbid- 
den  by  something  in  figure,  com- 
plexion, station,  age,  or  character, 
which,  though  not  flattering  to  her 
vanity,  she  does  not  permit  herself 
to  forget.     Passion  for  dress  is  pro- 
fuse   and    extravagant  :    taste    in 
dress  is  full  of  wise,  philosophical 
economies,  knowing  that  the  merit 
of  decoration  is  not  in  its  elaborate 
richness  or  expense,  but  in  its  adap- 
tation.   Taste  in  dress  is  essentially 
moderate  and  self-collected  ;  never 


forgetting  that  the  object  of  dress 
is  not  to  exhibit  itself  but  its  wear- 
er ;  that  all  that  the  most  .splendid 
toilet  has  to  do  is  to  set  off  a  noble, 
graceful,  and  winning  presence,  and 
itself  to  be  hist  in  a  pleasing  or 
etfective,  or,  it  may  be,  dazzling 
general  impression.  Passion  for 
dress  is  always  intent  on  what  others 
will  think — on  taking  some  new 
eye  by  storm  :  taste  has  self-respect, 
and,  before  all  things,  must  satisfy 
its  own  notions  of  propriety  and 
grace. 

With  all  these  limitations  and 
reservations  dress  has  still  its  won- 
ders to  boast  of.  Sometimes  it 
would  seem  that  its  more  marked 
triumphs  must  be  sought  for  in  past 
historic  ages,  when  poets,  essay- 
ists, or  chroniclers  dazzle  our  ima- 
ginations with  garments  which  must 
have  been  gifted  with  the  powers 
of  Yenus's  girdle,  and  so  have  lifted 
their  wearers  out  of  humanity.  It 
does  not  often  fall  to  our  lot  to  see 
miracles  of  dress,  or  what  our  neigh- 
bours call  ravishing  toilets,  effect- 
ing their  proper  work  of  transfor- 
mation. But  such  an  achievement 
has  been  performed  quite  lately  and 
on  the  noblest  scale.  Any  one  who 
can  recall  the  journalist's  first  cold- 
blooded description  of  Maria  Pia, 
the  young  Queen  of  Portugal,  as 
he  unflinchingly  noted  down  every 
homely  point  of  face  and  feature, 
and  admitted  how  little  favoured  by 
nature  was  this  young  princess  ;  and 
subsequently  read  his  vivid  descrip- 
tion of  her  presentation  as  queen, 
such  as  he  saw  her  from  the  illu- 
minated square  of  Turin  when  she 
sat  in  state  in  the  balcony  of  the 
Royal  Armoury,  must  own  the 
mystic  power  of  dress,  and  the 
adjuncts  of  which  dress  is  the  chief 
principle.  "There  seated  in  state,'' 
he  wrote,  "white-robed,  bejewelled, 
beflowered,  with  a  high  diamond 
crown — a  genuine  queen's  crown — 
on  her  head ;  the  delicate  orange- 
blossoms  gracefully  interlacing  with 
the  richest  gems  of  the  diadem : — for 
two  or  three  hours  was  the  timid 
princess,  the  girl  of  sweet  fifteen, 


438 


Dress. 


[April, 


made  to  exhibit  herself  to  those 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  pairs  of 
eyes  throughout  the  long  ordeal; 
serene,  composed,  every  inch  a  queen, 
beautiful  in  that  moment  with  her 
native  grace  and  modesty,  beaming 
with  incipient,  instinctive,  half- 
conscious  happiness."  This  is  what 
dress  and  the  consciousness  of 
splendour  can  do  for  sweet  fifteen, 
a  pale,  fair  cheek,  and  a  graceful 
form ;  and  when  we  read  of  the 
heroines  of  antiquity,  the  dazzling 
gleaming  beauties  of  the  past,  we 
may  know  something  of  the  secret 
of  their  lustre  from  what  produces 
it  in  modern  days. 

But  let  not  our  fair  readers  sup- 
pose that  we  attach  only  to  a  mag- 
nificent "  get  up  "  these  magic 
powers.  If  splendour  can  now  and 
then  work  wonders,  neatness  con- 
stantly achieves  triumphs  as  real 
though  less  dazzling.  No  woman 
(unless  she  be  indeed  a  Mrs  Con- 
rady,  one  of  those  exceptions  which 
prove  the  rule)  strikes  us  as  hopeless- 
ly plain  if  her  dress  is  irreproachable. 
There  is,  we  believe,  a  close  connec- 
tion between  such  homely  virtues 
as  cleanliness  or  order,  and  taste  in 
its  highest  meaning.  The  eye  that 
cannot  bear  the  smallest  hole  or 
rent,  or  spot  or  crease,  has  taste  by 
nature,  or  presently  acquires  it. 
We  cannot  think  of  a  neat  toilet 
but  it  suggests  well-chosen  colour, 
and  material  which  has  the  most  im- 
portant of  all  qualities  in  material 
— a  good  hang;  and  this  we  see 
as  often  in  a  well-fitting  cotton 
gown  as  in  anything  else.  Wit- 
ness the  pretty  modest  costume  of 
our  housemaids  and  parlour-maids, 
or  at  least  the  more  estimable 
and  sensible  of  that  sisterhood. 
Neatness  is  the  conscience  of  the 
toilet;  it  keeps  jealous  watch  over 
little  things,  and  is  nice  rather  in 
the  cause  of  self  -  respect  than  to 
attract  other  eyes,  though  we  be- 
lieve no  charm  is  more  felt  by  the 
observer,  or  is  accepted  so  much  as 
a  reflection  and  index  of  the  wear- 


er's hidden  graces.  Neatness,  too, 
is  unselfish  and  free  from  the  rival- 
ries and  jealousies  which  so  often 
characterise  love  of  show  and  effect. 
The  lady  always  delicately  and 
poetically  neat  would  have  every 
woman  she  can  influence  as  trim 
and  pure  as  herself ;  while  the  lover 
of  fine  clothes  aims  at  being, 
wherever  she  goes,  the  best  dressed 
woman  of  the  company. 

But  we  must  hasten  to  a  conclu- 
sion. Our  subject  is  apt,  we  think, 
to  be  treated  in  a  conventional 
spirit.  Uninspired  wisdom  has 
always  been  hard  upon  fine  clothes, 
and  we  think,  as  regarding  dress 
from  a  narrow  and  prejudiced  point 
of  view,  takes  a  different  line  to- 
wards it  than  we  can  detect  in 
Scripture,  which  surely  recognises 
attire  as  the  fit  natural  exponent  of 
rank,  condition,  and  character.  It 
is  a  case  for  fair  liberty  of  private 
judgment.  No  man  has  a  right  to 
prescribe  a  repulsive,  disfiguring,  or 
mean  costume  to  his  dependants  : 
no  woman,  defiant  of  fashion  in  her 
own  person,  and  dressed  in  a  little 
brief  authority  as  lady  of  the  manor, 
has  a]  right  to  prescribe  the  cut  of 
her  own  protesting  garments  on 
the  women  around  her  who  have 
no  state  and  no  manor  to  fall  back 
upon ;  and  if  they  are  denied  taste, 
independence  of  choice,  and  con- 
formity to  custom  in  this  direc- 
tion, lose  the  only  field  the  world 
offers  for  satisfaction  in  their  pos- 
sessions. There  is  no  necessary 
connection  between  a  bit  of  bright 
colour — that  delightful  scarlet  that 
lightens  up  the  landscape  —  and 
vanity;  and,  as  we  have  said,  if  a 
woman  will  mainly  seek  to  please 
father  and  mother,  brothers,  sisters, 
friends,  lover,  or  husband,  she 
will  not  be  too  gay  or  pleasant  to 
look  upon  for  her  own  wellbeing 
and  best  interests,  however  bright, 
pretty,  or  charming  she  may  make 
herself  by  adorning  herself  in  modest 
apparel  under  the  teaching  of  a  re- 
fined and  cultivated  taste. 


1865.] 


The  Ilid'l,  translated  by  Lord  Derby. 


439 


TIIK    ILIAD,    TRANSLATED    11 Y    LORD    DERBY. 


"  MIKA  c  >lui  con  i|iu'll:i  spaila  in  mano 
Clio  vii-ii  ilintuizi  a'  tro,  *\  come  sire  : 
Que^li  i)  Oiuero  pootii  sovrano," 

is  Virgil's  address  to  Dante  in  the 
nether  world,  as  he  directs  his  eye 
towards  the  lordly  presence  of  Ho- 
mer, towering,  sword  in  hand,  above 
his  three  attendant  hards.  He,  on 
whom  the  parent  of  modern  song 
gazed  at  Virgil's  bidding  with  re- 
verent awe  as  his  own  remote  in- 
tellectual ancestor  ;  as  the  father  of 
poetry,  the 

"  Siirnor  ilell'  altissimo  canto 
Che  sovm  (,'li  ultri,  corn'  aquila,  vola;" 

has  met  trom  generation  to  genera- 
tion with  the  common  fate  of  real 
greatness  :  to  be  admired  and  to  be 
misunderstood.  Not  to  speak  of 
how  little  his  own  countrymen  in 
later  and  more  artificial  times  en- 
tered into  his  spirit  when  they  al- 
legorised his  simple  strains  and  im- 
ported into  them  meanings  never 
intended  by  himself — not  to  dwell 
on  the  manner  in  which  he  was  tra- 
vestied by  his  Latin  imitators — we 
(looking  nearer  home)  can  point 
to  neither  of  the  standard  Eng- 
lish translations  of  Homer  with  sat- 
isfaction as  faithful  to  his  spirit  ; 
to  one  of  the  two  only  as  faithful 
to  him  in  letter. 

CJreat  as  is  the  pleasure  conveyed 
to  most  minds  by  Pope's  high- 
sounding  verse  and  never-Hagging 
spirit,  he  is  as  little  to  be  relied  on 
for  a  faithful  representation  of  the 
feelings  and  spirit  of  Homer's  age 
as  is  Racine  himself.  Pope's  defec- 
tive scholarship  made  him  depend 
largely  on  a  French  translation;  and 
his  guide  and  he  have  contrived  to 
let  many  of  the  most  refined  beau- 
ties and  most  characteristic  touches 
of  their  great  original  escape  them. 

Cowper  is  much  more  literal,  but 


infinitely  less  poetical  in   his  trans- 
lation than  Pope. 

The  scholars  of  England  have 
therefore  long  felt  that  there  is  a 
fair  field  open  to  those  who  wish 
to  do  honour  to  Dante's  "  Sove- 
reign Poet,"  and  a  great  pri/e  for 
them  to  win  ;  and  we  have  seen  of 
late  not  a  few  duly-qualified  cham- 
pions stand  forth  to  break  a  lance 
therein. 

The  book  now  before  us  endea- 
vours to  supply  the  want  to  which  so 
many  tentative  efforts  have  pointed. 
And,  so  far  as  we  know,  there  is  but 
little  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  Lord 
Derby's  success  in  the  undertaking. 

It  is  indeed  a  high  gratification 
to  see  the  great  leader  of  the  Con- 
servative party  employing  his  brief 
leisure  from  political  strife  in  pre- 
senting to  his  countrymen  the 
strains  of  the  most  ancient  of  poets, 
in  imperishable  English  verse  ; — 
using  his  own  great  and  varied 
experience  of  life  to  .set  before  us 
worthily  that  bard  who,  more  than 
any,  requires  other  qualities  br- 
sides  scholarship  in  his  interpret- 
er ;  who  sang  of  human  life  in  all 
its  forms  ;  of  men's  sports  as  well 
as  of  their  earnest  ;  of  camp  and 
council ;  of  the  fierce  joy  of  battle 
and  the  arts  of  peace.  Most  of  all, 
perhaps,  is  it  delightful  to  hear  the 
winged  words  of  Ulysses  or  of  Nes- 
tor,  the  fierce  debates  of  Agamem- 
non and  Achilles,  repeated  to  us  by 
the  lips  of  our  greatest  living  orator  ; 
to  have  the  vigour  of  Homer's  lan- 
guage echoed  back  to  us  by  that 
eloquence  whose  force  has  of  ten  held 
listening  senators  breathless  ;  his 
minutest  shades  of  meaning  repro- 
duced to  us  with  that  precision 
and  finished  neatness  of  expression, 
which  have  so  often  won  their  ad- 
miration. Scholars  (who  to  enjoy 


'The  Iliad  of  Homer,  rendered  into  English  Blank  Verse.'     By  Edward  Earl 
of  Derby.     In  '2  vols.     London  :  Murray. 


440 


TJie  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby. 


[April, 


Pope  must  forget  Homer)  will  de- 
light in  Lord  Derby's  accuracy. 
The  English  public,  which  yawned 
over  Cowper,  will  rejoice  to  find 
that  a  translation  can  keep  close  to 
its  original  and  yet  not  be  dull ; 
and  that  no  extraneous  tinsel  is  re- 
quired to  set  off  Homer's  great  and 
varied  beauties. 

We  called  our  readers'  attention 
a  few  months  ago  to  the  judgment 
of  our  greatest  living  poet  on  the 
fittest  form  of  English  verse  into 
which  to  translate  the  Iliad :  a 
judgment  which,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, was  conveyed  in  an  example 
likely  to  prove  much  more  persua- 
sive than  any  number  of  precepts. 
When  we  did  so,  we  were  far  from 
anticipating  the  signal  confirmation 
which  that  judgment  was  to  re- 
ceive, so  soon  after,  from  the  work 
before  us.  The  perusal  of  a  hun- 
dred lines  of  Lord  Derby's  version 
would  be  sufficient  to  convince  the 
most  sceptical  that,  if  previous 
translations  in  blank  verse  have 
failed,  the  fault  has  not  been  in 
the  weapon,  but  in  the  arm  that 
wielded  it. 

His  preface  sets  forth,  in  these 
few  convincing  sentences,  the  theory 
which  he  goes  on  to  illustrate  so 
admirably  by  his  practice.  "  In 
the  progress  of  this  work  I  have 
been  more  and  more  confirmed  in 
the  opinion  which  I  expressed  at 
its  commencement,  that  (whatever 
may  be  the  extent  of  my  own  in- 
dividual failure),  '  if  justice  is  ever 
to  be  done  to  the  easy  flow  and 
majestic  simplicity  of  the  grand 
old  poet,  it  can  only  be  in  the 
heroic  blank  verse.'  I  have  seen 
isolated  passages  admirably  ren- 
dered in  other  metres ;  .  .  .  . 
but  the  blank  verse  appears  to  me 
the  only  metre  capable  of  adapting 
itself  to  all  the  gradations,  if  I  may 
use  the  term,  of  the  Homeric  style ; 
from  the  finished  poetry  of  the  nu- 


merous similes,  in  which  every 
touch  is  nature,  and  nothing  is 
over-coloured  or  exaggerated,  down 
to  the  simple,  almost  homely,  style 
of  some  portions  of  the  narrative. 
Least  of  all  can  any  other  metre  do 
full  justice  to  the  spirit  and  free- 
dom of  the  various  speeches  in 
which  the  old  warriors  give  utter- 
ance, without  disguise  or  restraint, 
to  all  their  strong  and  genu- 
ine emotions.  To  subject  these 
to  the  trammels  of  couplet  and 
rhyme  would  be  as  destructive  of 
their  chief  characteristics  as  the 
application  of  a  similar  process  to 
the  '  Paradise  Lost'  of  Milton,  or 
the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare."*  To 
our  mind  there  can  be  no  question 
that  these  are  sound  principles  ; — 
that  in  rendering  an  epic  into  Eng- 
lish, great  regard  should  be  had  to 
the  metre  of  the  greatest  epic  poem 
in  our  language;  that  in  translating 
the  speeches  of  a  poet  who  repre- 
sents character  so  dramatically  as 
Homer  does,  great  regard  should  be 
had  to  the  example  of  Shakespeare. 
Indeed  we  should  not  have  been 
displeased  had  the  noble  translator 
followed  that  example  farther,  and 
frequently  mixed  hendecasyllables 
with  the  ordinary  decasyllabic  lam- 
bics.t  Such  an  intermixture  is  a 
great  defence  against  monotony,  and 
a  source  of  new  and  varied  musical 
combinations. 

On  the  prior  question,  whether 
the  translator  of  the  Iliad  is  at 
liberty  to  choose  a  metre  by  reason 
of  the  metre  of  his  original  being 
incapable  of  reproduction  in  Eng- 
lish, we  have  once  before  expressed 
an  opinion,  which  we  see  no  reason 
to  change.  And  we  cannot  resist 
quoting  Lord  Derby's  most  empha- 
tic protest  against  what  he  calls 
"  that  '  pestilent  heresy  '  of  the  so- 
called  English  Hexameter ;  a  metre 
wholly  repugnant  to  the  genius  of 
our  language ;  which  can  only  be 


Preface. 

As  in — • 


"  To  be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question. 
'Whether  'tis  nobler  for  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,"  &c. 


1805.] 


The  Ilia/I,  translated  by  Lord  Derby. 


441 


pressed  into  the  service  l>y  a  viola- 
tion of  every  rule  of  prosody  ;  and 
of  which,  notwithstanding  my  re- 
spect for  the  eminent  men  who 
have  attempted  to  naturalise  it,  I 
could  never  read  ten  lines  with- 
out being  irresistibly  reminded 
of  Canning's  — 

'DiU'tylu-s  cnll'st  tli  .11  them?     C.xl  help 
tlicc,  silly  olio  ! '"  * 

There  is  another  matter,  of  minor 
importance  however,  in  which  Lord 
Derby  has  preferred  following  the 
example  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton 
to  that  of  some  moderns.  Like  them 
he  uses  the  Latin  names  which  are 
conceived  to  represent  those  of  the 
Greek  deities  instead  of  their  own. 
We  cannot  say  that  the  reason 
which  he  gives  for  adopting  this 
plan  is  to  our  mind  a  very  con- 
vincing one,  as  we  are  at  a  loss  to 
know  what  class  of  English  readers 
can  be  "  familiar  with  Zeus  and 
Aphrodite," t  and  utterly  ignorant 
of  "Ares  and  Hephiestus.''  But 
we  think  that  stronger  arguments 
may  be  advanced  for  this  practice. 
And  that  it  may  be  asserted  with 
great  show  of  reason  that  a  work 
which,  like  that  before  us,  deserves 
to  become  an  English  classic,  should 
not  lightly  depart  from  the  tradi- 
tion of  the  great  English  poets. 
That,  however  we  may  regret  that 
the  English  muse  did  not  become 
a  more  perfect  Grecian  in  her  youth, 
she  is  too  old  to  learn  a  strange 
language  now.  And  that  we  can- 
not well  spare  the  grand-sounding 
names  of  the  heathen  deities  with 
which  Milton  h;us  made  us  familiar 
in  his  numberless  classical  allusions. 
For  our  part,  therefore,  we  are  quite 
ready  for  a  compromise ;  to  agree 
to  use  the  correct  designations  in 
prose,  but  to  keep  the  old  and  well- 
known  names  for  poetry. 

We  need  not  apologise  for  quot- 
ing the  preface  once  more,  as  it  is 
every  translator's  due  to  be  allowed 
to  state  himself  the  objects  which 
he  has  had  in  view  in  his  work  :  "It 


has  been  my  aim  throughout,"  says 
Lord  Derby,  "  to  produce  a  transla- 
tion and  not  a  paraphrase  ;  not,  in- 
deed, such  a  translation  as  would 
satisfy,  with  regard  to  each  word, 
the  rigid  requirements  of  accurate 
scholarship  ;  but  such  as  would 
fairly  and  honestly  give  the  sense 
and  spirit  of  every  passage  and  of 
every  line ;  omitting  nothing  and 
expanding  nothing;  and  adhering 
its  closely  as  our  language  will  al- 
low even  to  every  epithet  which  is 
capable  of  being  translated,  and 
which  has,  in  the  particular  pas- 
sage, anything  of  a  special  and  dis- 
tinctive character.'' t  In  the  attain- 
ment of  this  aim,  all  who  are 
qualified  to  judge  pronounce  that 
the  translator's  success  has  been 
great  indeed  ;  and  these  are  unques- 
tionably the  right  objects  to  keep 
in  view,  especially  in  the  transla- 
tion of  a  poem.  To  sacrifice  the 
spirit  of  a  fine  passage  for  the  sake 
of  literal  accuracy,  is  to  grasp  the 
shadow  and  lose  the  substance  ; 
while  a  loose  paraphrase  must  be 
always  unsatisfactory. 

Lord  Derby's  principle  in  deal- 
ing with  the  Homeric  epithets 
meets  with  our  full  approval, 
though  we  may  feel  inclined  to 
differ  with  him  in  one  or  two  de- 
tails of  its  application.  1'erhaps 
all  our  readers  may  not  be  aware 
how  constantly  Homer  appends 
distinctive  epithets  to  every  person 
and  thing  he  mentions.  He  calls 
goddesses  and  women  the  white- 
armed  Here,  the  fair-haired  Helen, 
the  long  robed,  the  neat-footed,  kc. 
He  distinguishes  men  by  some 
title  derived  from  their  birth,  their 
arms,  or  their  personal  gifts ;  such 
as  the  Jove  born,  the  brazen-helmed, 
the  swift-footed,  and  the  like.  His 
gods  are  the  Cloud-compeller,  the 
Earth  shaker,  or  the  Ear  darting. 
It  is  the  same  with  inanimate  ob- 
jects. His  ships  are  well  benched, 
or  beaked,  or  hollow.  Mount  Ida 
is  the  many  -  fountained  (spring- 
abounding,  as  Lord  Derby  renders 


Preface. 


t  Ibid. 


Ibid. 


442 


The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby. 


[April, 


it),  and  so  on.  Now,  to  translate 
these  epithets  wherever  they  occur 
would  be  pedantic.  Their  constant 
repetition  would  give  a  foreign  air 
to  the  poem.  In  many  cases,  too, 
they  can  only  be  expressed  in  Eng- 
lish by  a  paraphrase;  and,  even 
when  otherwise,  their  best  English 
equivalents  are  such  awkward  com- 
pounds (compared  with  the  beauti- 
ful Greek  words  which  they  repre- 
sent), that  the  introduction  of  too 
many  of  them  would  make  a  poem 
heavy  and  cumbersome.  On  the 
other  hand,  to  omit  them  altogether, 
or  to  replace  them  by  the  epithets 
of  modern  poetry,  tends  to  efface  the 
peculiar  character  of  the  poem,  and 
to  modernise  Homer  unjustifiably. 
Lord  Derby  has  preserved  the  happy 
medium  between  these  opposite 
errors.  His  epithets  will  seldom 
appear  strange,  even  to  the  Eng- 
lish reader,  and  never  uncouth ; 
while  every  scholar  must  be  struck 
with  their  accuracy.  Nothing  can 
be  happier  than  his  "  Hector  of  the 
glancing  helm "  for  the  frequent 
Kopv6aio\os  'EKTO>P  of  his  original ; 
or  than  his  splendid  paraphrase 
of  o(3pifzo7rarp?7,  "  the  mighty  daugh- 
ter of  a  mighty  sire;"  or  than 
his  "gloom-haunting  goddess"  for 
TjfpofalTis.  He  preserves  the  two 
fairest  of  the  four  Homeric  epi- 
thets for  Morn  :  the  "  saffron- 
robed"  and  the  "rosy-fingered." 
His  "many-dashing"  gives  some- 
thing of  the  sound  as  well  as  the 
sense  of  the  best  known  of  Homer's 
names  for  the  sea.  Of  the  four  de- 
signations of  its  colour  in  the  Iliad, 
Lord  Derby  is  content  with  one,  the 
"  dark  blue."  We  could  wish  that 
he  had  preserved  the  rest,  especi- 
ally the  olvona  TTOVTOV,  which  we 
miss  the  more  from  having  often 
enjoyed  the  "wine-dark  sea"  in 
Mr  Worsley's  beautiful  Odyssey.* 
We  likewise  demur  to  Lord  Derby's 
rendering  of  /SoJjn-i?  as  "  stag-eyed." 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  is  a 
more  complimentary  term  for  the 


eye  of  goddess  or  nymph  than 
Pope's  rendering  "  ox-eyed  ;  "  but 
still,  as  Homer  does  not  use  the 
comparison,  it  seems  a  pity  that 
his  translator  should.  "Large-eyed" 
would  be,  on  several  accounts,  more 
satisfactory.  Lastly,  we  cannot  but 
prefer  Mr  Worsley's  version  of  yXau- 
Kwms,  the  well -known  epithet  of 
Athene,  which  he  always  correctly 
renders  the  "stern-eyed,"  to  that  em- 
ployed by  Lord  Derby  (in  which  he 
follows  Pope)  of  the  "blue-eyed" — 
a  designation  which  suggests  gentler 
thoughts  than  are  suited  to  so  fierce 
a  goddess  ;  and  an  incorrect  one,  as 
it  seems  certain  that  Homer  meant 
by  the  epithet  to  dGscribeexpression, 
not  colour.  But  these  are  trifles  ; 
and  on  trifies  we  have  little  time  to 
spend,  when  considering  so  great  a 
work.  Neither  can  we  find  much 
space  for  minute  criticism  of  any 
sort  ;  though  by  no  plan  could  we 
exhibit  some  of  the  distinguished 
merits  of  this  translation  more 
satisfactorily  to  scholars,  than  by 
setting  line  after  line  of  it  by  the 
lines  they  represent  of  the  original ; 
and  so  making  apparent  their  sin- 
gular fidelity  and  happy  turns  of  ex- 
pression. But  such  a  process  would 
be  uninteresting  to  readers  whose 
ignorance  of  Greek  puts  the  most 
important  term  of  the  comparison 
beyond  their  reach.  We  prefer, 
therefore,  in  general  to  exhibit  the 
excellence  of  this  translation  on  as 
large  a  scale  as  we  can,  by  quoting 
entire  specimens  of  Lord  Derby's 
great  success  in  dealing  with  the 
exquisite  similes,  the  sublime  de- 
scriptions, and  the  nobly  eloquent 
speeches  of  his  great  original ;  feel- 
ing sure  that  by  so  doing  we  shall 
best  stir  up  our  classical  readers  to 
refresh  their  Homeric  recollections 
by  reading  this  admirable  version 
for  themselves,  and  our  unlearned 
readers  to  hasten  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  best  opportunity  which 
has  been  as  yet  afforded  them  of 
becoming  acquainted  with  the  Iliad. 


We  observe  with  pleasure  that  we  may  expect  soon  to  see  a  version  of  the 
Iliad  by  the  same  skilful  hand. 


1805.]  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  443 

That  the  beauty  of  the  passages  we  restored  the  resolution  of  the  troops 
are  about  to  extract  will  prove  an  (shaken  by  Agamemnon's  over-sub- 
amplc  apology  for  their  length,  we  tie  device   to   test   their  spirit,  by 
feel  sufficiently  persuaded  to  oiler  Mining  an  eager  desire  to  return 
no  other.  home),  and  when  Agamemnon  has 
Ourfirat  quotations  shall  be  some  addressed  them  indifferent  tones, 
of    the   celebrated    similes    in    the  we   read,  in   lines  which  well  pre- 
seeond  book.  serve  their  original's  restless  move- 
When  Ulysses  and  Nestor  have  incut,  that— 

"  Kroin  th'  applauding  ranks  of  (Jreecc 
Hose  a  loud  sound,  as  when  the  ocean  wave, 
I>riv'n  by  the  .smith  wind  un  some  lofty  U-aeh, 
7><M/i»'x  uijuiimt  <i  i>r<ni'iii>  n'  <•/•<"/,  ij'/io.iit 
To  lilttxt-tj'ruin  n?ry  utorm  t/mt  i\»tr/<  arnnttd." 

Sliortly  after  follow  the  three  well-     assembling  to  pass  in  review  before 
known  comparisons  of  the  Greeks     their  leader  : — 

"  As  when  a  wasting  fire,  on  mountain  tops, 
Sciy.es  the  bla/.ing  woods,  afar  is  seen 
The  glaring  light  ;  so  as  they  mov'il,  to  Hcav'n 
Fla«h'd  ihf  hriijht  ijlitt>  /•  of  l/i<  /;•  lurni*h'<l  a  rut*, 
As  when  anum'rous  flock  <>f  birds,  orgersr, 
Or  eranes,  or  long-neck' d  swans,  on  Asian  mend, 
Beside  (Jiiyster's  stream,  now  here,  now  there, 
Disporting,  ply  their  wings  ;  tlien  settle  down 
With  clain'rous  noise,  that  all  the  mead  resounds  ; 
So  to  Scamander's  plain,  from  tents  ami  ships. 
1'our'd  forth  the  countless  triKes  ;  tin-  lirm  earth  groan'd 
Kcneath  the  tramp  of  steeds  and  armed  men. 
UjKin  Seamander's  tlow'ry  mead  they  stood, 
ifnnumber  tl  a*  lit?  rrrnal  leut'?#  <nxl  jl>u-'rx. 
Or  as  the  multitudinous  swarms  of  tlics, 
That  round  the  cattle-sheds  in  spring-tide  pour, 
While  the  warm  milk  is  frothing  in  the  pail ; 
So  numberless  upon  the  plain,  array 'd 
For  Troy's  destruction,  stood  tin-  long-hair' d  (.Irecks." 

There  is   something  surprising  in  which    ushers    in    the   succeeding 

the  power  with  which  the  translator  catalogue    of    the    CJreek   warriors 

has  compressed  this   fine   passage  (into  which   Pope  inserts  a  couplet 

within  the   limits   of   his  original  borrowed  from  Milton's  imitation 

(they  arc  each  nineteen  lines),  with-  of  the  passage  at  the  opening  of 

out  weakening  any  of  the   images  'Taradi.se  Lost'),  is   literally  ren- 

which  it  presents.  dered   by   Lord    Derby   in   all   its 

The    invocation    of    the    Muses  simple  dignity  : — 

"  Say  now,  ye  Nine,  who  on  Olympus  dwell, 
Muses  (for  ye  are  Goddesses,  and  ye 
Were  present,  and  know  all  things  :   we  ourselves 
But  hear  from  Humour's  voice,  and  nothing  know).'' 

And  the  catalogue  itself,  as  he  re-  the  third  book,  in  which  the  aged 

hearses  it  to  us,  has  in  places   a  Priam,  viewing  the  Greeks  from  the 

Miltonic  roll,  with  its  high-sound-  Scjuan    gate,    demands  of    Helen, 

ing  names  piled  one  upon  another.  the    unhappy   cause    of   so    much 

Let  us  next  quote  the  lines  in  grief  : — 

"  'Tell  me  the  name  of  yonder  mighty  chief 
Among  the  flreeks  a  warrior  brave  and  strong  : 
Others  in  height  surpass  him  ;  but  my  eyes 
A  form  so  noble  never  yet  beheld, 


444  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  [April, 

Nor  so  august;  he  moves,  a  king  indeed!' 
To  whom  in  answer,  Helen,  heav'nly  fair  : 
'  With  rev'rence,  dearest  father,  and  with  shame 
I  look  on  thee  :  oh  would  that  1  had  died 
That  day  when  hither  with  thy  son  I  came, 
And  left  my  husband,  friends,  and  darling  child, 
And  all  the  lov'd  companions  of  my  youth  : 
That  I  died  not,  with  grief  I  pine  away. 
But  to  thy  question  :  I  will  tell  thee  true  ; 
Yon  chief  is  Agamemnon,  Atreus'  son, 
Wide-reigning,  mighty  monarch,  ruler  good, 
And  valiant  warrior ;  in  my  husband's  name, 
Lost  as  I  am,  I  call'd  him  brother  once.'  " 

And  after  she  has  pointed  out  the     of  two  manly  forms  strikes  her,  and 
other  chiefs  to  Priam,  the  absence     she  adds  : — 

"  '  Now  all  the  other  keen-ey'd  Greeks  I  see, 
Whom  once  I  knew,  and  now  could  call  by  name  ; 
But  two  I  miss,  two  captains  of  the  host, 
My  own  two  brethren,  and  my  mother's  sons, 
Castor  and  Pollux  ;  Castor,  horseman  bold, 
Pollux,  unmatch'd  in  pugilistic  skill. 
In.  Laeedcemoii  have  they  stay'd  behind  ? 
Or  can  it  be,  in  ocean-going*  ships 
That  they  have  come  indeed,  but  shun  to  join 
The  fight  of  warriors,  fearful  of  the  shame 
And  deep  disgrace  that  on  my  name  attend?' 
Thus  she  ;  unconscious  that  in  Sparta  they, 
Their  native  land,  beneath  the  sod  were  laid." 

The  delicacy  of  this  beautiful  ren-  they  give  us,  not  only  the  sense  but 

dering   of   Helen's  mournful   self-  the  sound  of  the  original ;  since  in 

reproaches,  can  be  only  fully  appre-  them  (as  in  it)  we  hear  the  ringing 

ciatedby  a  reference  to  the  original;  bow  and   twanging  string,  as   the 

to  the  spirit  of  which  it  is  most  arrow  flies  eager  (p-eveaivcav)  to  drink 

entirely  faithful.  the  life-blood. 

We  have  been  much  struck  by  We  need  scarcely  draw  our  read- 

the  description  in  the  fourth  book  ers'  attention  to  the  exquisite  fol- 

of  the  wound  which  Menelaus  re-  lowing  simile  (faithfully  rendered 

ceives  from  the  treacherous  arrow  here),  which  expresses  Athene's  care 

of  Pandarus.     We  invite  especial  to  prevent  the  wound  from  being 

attention  to  its  first  lines,  on  ac-  deadly, 
count  of  the  success   with   which 

"  Then,  when  the  mighty  bow 
Was  to  a  circle  strain 'd,  sharp  rang  the  horn, 
And  loud  the  sinew  twang' d,  as  tow'rd  the  crowd 
With  deadly  speed  the  eager  arrow  sprang. 

Nor,  Menelaus,  was  thy  safety  then 
linear' d  for  of  the  Gods  ;  Jove's  daughter  first, 
Pallas,  before  thee  stood,  and  turii'd  aside- 
The  pointed  arrow  ;   turn'd  it  so  aside 
As  when  a  mother  from  her  infant's  cheek, 
Wrapt  in  sweet  slumbers,  brushes  off  a  fly  ; 
Its  course  she  so  directed  that  it  struck 
Just  where  the  golden  clasps  the  belt  restrain' d, 
And  where  the  breastplate,  doubled,  check'd  its  force." 

*  An  excellent  rendering  of  TrovToir6poitn  •  one  of  the  epithets  which  show  that 
to  Homer  a  ship  "  walks  the  waters  like  a  thing  of  life." 


1805.]  Tfie  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  445 

Homer  has  two  splendid  .similes     their  rush  upon  their  foes.     Lord 
for  the  assembling  of  the  Greeks  to     Derby  thus  translates  the  lir.st  :  — 
uvciige  the   broken  truce,  and   for 

"  And  as  a  goatherd  from  his  watch-tow'r  crag 
Behold*  a  cloud  advancing  o'er  tin'  sea, 
By  Zephyr's  breath  UII[H  ll'il  ;   as  from  afar 
He.  ga/es,  Mark  an  j>itc/i,  it  nu'''^/n  ulnii'/ 
O'rr  tJtf  dark  <n-f<m'n  fan-,  ami  with  it  brings 
A  hurricane  of  rain  ;   In1,  shudd ring,  sees, 
And  drives  his  (lock  beneath  tilt1  shelt'ring  cave,  ; 
So  thick  and  dark,  about  th'  Ajaces  stirr'd, 
Impatient  for  the  war,  tin-  stalwart  youths 
Black  masses,  bristling  close  with  spear  and  shield. " 

Nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  here  rendered  ; — unless  it  be  the 
way  in  which  the  terrific  appear-  second  passage,  in  which  it  bursts 
ance  of  the  gathering  storm-cloud  is  upon  the  Trojans  : — 

"  As  l>y  the  west  wind  driv'n,  the  ocean  waves 
Dash  forward  on  thej'ur-renuundiinj  shore,* 
Wave  njx.n  wave  ;  flr.it  curl*  //«•  rutjl<j<l  »«i 
WitJl  ichit'niiHj  cr<-*t.-i  ;  u/t'in  u'ltli  tlnind' riii'i  I'oni"^ 
ll  break*  u/>i>n  (lie  ln-m-li,  and  from  tin'  rrny.* 
It ecoillmj  jliii'j.1  in  </i>nit  rid'fi'.-t  iVx  /ii-ntl 
Aloft,  and  town  h'ujli  th<}  wild  #>  n-.~--jii'tnj  : 
Column  on  column,  so  the  ho.^ts  of  tlrecce 
Pour'd,  ceaseless,  to  the  war." 

There  is  a  grand  passage  in  the  quote.  Of  it  Homer  sublimely  say.s 
fifth  book  of  the  Iliad,  in  which  that  it  was  encircled  by  Terror,  and 
Homer  describes  the  descent  of  the  that  it  contained  Strife,  Courage, 
two  goddesses,  Here  and  Athene,  ite.  l>ut  the  manner  of  their  exist- 
to  aid  the  Greeks  against  Ares,  ence  lie  defines  not  ;  and  it  seems 
From  the  fine  version  of  it  here  we  to  lower  the  celestial  ji-gis  to  the 
shall  extract  as  many  lines  as  we  condition  of  an  earthly  shield,  to 
can  ;  premising,  however,  that  they  speak  of  them  as  engraven  on  it 
contain  the  only  instance  (that  has  (which  Lord  Derby  does,  to  our 
struck  us)  in  which  the  noble  trans-  surprise,  in  lines  H40,  Ml),  rather 
lator  has  failed  to  give  the  full  poetic  than  as  personally,  though  inde- 
force  of  one  of  Homer's  conceptions,  scribably,  present  in  it.  ^ith  this 
We  mean  the  description  of  Athene's  exception,  nothing  can  be  finer  than 
shield  in  the  lines  we  are  about  to  the  whole  passage. 

"  Pallas,  the  child  of  a-gis-licaring  Jove, 
Within  her  father's  threshold  dropp'd  her  veil, 
Of  airy  texture,  work  of  her  own  hands  ;  S'.l't 

The  cuirass  donn'd  of  cloud-compelling  .love, 
And  stood  accoutred  for  the  bloody  fray. 
Her  tassell'd  ;i-gis  round  her  shoulders  next 
She  threw,  with  Terror  circled  all  around  ; 
And  on  it*facf  wrrefiyurd  dred.*  of  arm*.  810 

And  Strife,  find  Conni'/e  hii/h,  (Hid  jtnnlc  J\ont  ; 
There  too  *  Gorgon's  head,  of  monstrous  si/.e, 
Frown'd  terrible,  portent  of  angry  Jove  : 
And  on  her  head  a  golden  helm  she  plac'd, 
Four-crested,  double-j>eak'd,  whoso  ample  verge  84"i 

A  hundred  cities'  champions  might  suflice  : 
Her  fiery  car  she  mounted  :   in  her  hand 
A  s[R-ar  she  bore,  long,  weighty,  tough  ;  wherewith 
The.  miijlitij  dtiuylit'-r  >f  a  mit/lity  fin- 
Sweeps  down  Uie  ranka  of  (Jio#e  /IT  hate  pursue*.  850 


446  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  [April, 

Then  Juno  sharply  touch'd  the  flying  steeds  ; 

Forthwith  the  gates  of  Heav'n  their  portals  wide 

Spontaneous  open'd,  guarded  by  the  Hours, 

Who  Heav'n  and  high  Olympus  have  in  charge 

To  roll  aside,  or  draw  the  veil  of  cloud.  855 

She  urg'd  her  horses  ;  nothing  loth,  they  Jlew  875 

Midway  between  the  earth  and  starry  Jfeav'n  : 

Far  as  his  sight  extends,  who  from  on  high 

Looks  from  his  watch-toiv'r  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea, 

So  far  at  once  the  neighing  horses  bound. 

But  when  to  Troy  they  came,  beside  the  streams  880 

Where  Simiiis  and  Scamander's  waters  meet, 

The  white-arm' d  goddess  stay'd  her  flying  steeds, 

Loos'd  from  the  car,  and  veil'd  in  densest  cloud. 

For  them,  at  bidding  of  the  river-God, 

Ambrosial  forage  grew  :  the  Goddesses,  885 

Swift  as  the  wild  wood-pigeon's  rapid  flight, 

Sped  to  the  battle-iield  to  aid  the  Greeks." 

From  tlie  sixth  book  we  shall  singular  power  of  rendering  Horn- 
extract  the  well-known  but  ever-  eric  expressions  word  for  word, 
touching  comparison  of  the  rapidly  without  any  awkwardness  or  con- 
succeeding  generations  of  men  to  straint :  the  third  and  seventh  line 
forest  leaves,  in  the  dialogue  be-  are  especially  remarkable  for  their 
tween  Glaucus  and  Diomed,  as  a  point  and  neatness  : — 
good  instance  of  the  translator's 

' '  To  whom  the  noble  Glaucus  thus  replied : 
'  Great  son  of  Tydeus,  why  my  race  enquire  ? 
The  race  of  man  is  as  the  race  of  leaves: 
Of  leaves,  one  generation  by  the  wind 
Is  scatter'd  on  the  earth ;  another  soon 
In  spring's  luxuriant  verdure  bursts  to  light. 
So  w it/i  our  race  ;  these  flourish,  those  decay." 

It    is   in   the    same   book    that  which   is  familiar  to  most  of  our 

Hector  retires  to  Troy  for  a  brief  readers  as  the  '  Parting  of  Hector 

space,  to  command  the  unavailing  and  Andromache '  in  Pope's  Iliad, 

offering  to  Athene  ;  and,  returning  We  have  only  space  for  LordDerby's 

again  to  the  host,  bids  his  wife  and  most  beautiful  version  of  the  first 

infant  son  that  touching  farewell,  part  of  Andromache's  speech  : — 

"  Dear  Lord,  thy  dauntless  spirit  will  work  thy  doom  : 
Nor  hast  thou  pity  on  this  thy  helpless  child, 
Or  me  forlorn,  to  be  thy  widow  soon  : 
For  thee  will  all  the  Greeks  with  force  combin'd 
Assail  and  slay  :  for  me,  'twere  better  far, 
Of  thee  bereft,  to  lie  beneath  the  sod; 
Nor  comfort  shall  be  mine,  if  thou  be  lost, 
But  endless  grief  ;  to  me  nor  sire  is  left, 
Nor  honoured  mother ;  fell  Achilles'  hand 
My  sire  Ee'tion  slew,  what  time  his  arms 
The  populous  city  of  Cilicia  razed, 
The  lofty -gated  Thebes;  he  slew  indeed, 
But  stripp'd  him  not ;  he  reverenc'd  the  dead ; 
And  o'er  his  body,  with  his  armour  burnt, 
A  mound  erected ;  and  the  mountain  nymphs, 
The  progeny  of  tegis-bearing  Jove, 
Planted  around  his  tomb  a  grove  of  elms.* 

*  The  mournful  satisfaction  with  which  Andromache  here  recalls  her  father's 
funeral  rites,  adds  additional  pathos  to  her  anguish  at  the  ill-treatment  of  the 
dead  body  of  her  husband  in  the  last  books. 


1865.] 


The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby. 


417 


There  were  sov'n  Brethren  in  my  father's  house  ; 
All  in  one  day  they  fell,  amid  their  herds 
And  fleecy  (locks,  l>y  tierce  Achilles'  hand. 
My  ini'ther,  (,>uecn  nf  I'lacos'  woody  height. 
Brought  with  the  captives  here,  lie  soon  releasM 
For  costly  ransom  ;   but  l>y  l)ian's  shafts 
She  in  her  father's  house.  was  stricken  down. 

But,  Hector,  thou  to  me  art  all  in  one. 
Sire,  mother,  brethren  !  thou,  my  wedded  love  !* 
Then,  pitying  us,  within  the  tow'r  remain.'" 


We  had  marked  Hector's  re- 
joinder, but  find  it  too  long  to  in- 
sert here.  It  is  equally  well  trans- 
lated, and  admirably  preserves,  like 
the  speech  of  Andromache,  all  the 
fine  touches  by  which  the  model 
husband  and  wife  of  antiquity  arc 
set  before  us  in  Homer.  Many  of 
them  are  lost  to  us  in  the  dialogue 
between  Pope's  "  beauteous  prin- 
cess "  and  her  "  too  daring  prince." 
Hut  here  we  have  Homer's  unrival- 
led picture  of  conjugal  and  paren- 
tal love  in  all  its  noble  simplicity  ; 


and  that  matchless  delineation  of 
gentle  heroism  and  almost  mourn- 
ful resignation,  by  which  he  distin- 
guishes, from  the  unreflecting  cour- 
age of  his  antagonists,  Hector,  the 
support  of  a  cause  predestined  to 
defeat,  and  of  a  city  foredoomed  to 
destruction. 

The  beautiful  image  by  which 
Homer  depicts  the  death  of  the 
young  (lorgythion  in  the  eighth 
book  (which  Virgil  imitates  with 
such  effect  for  his  Euryalus)  is  very 
well  translated  here  : — 


"  Down  sank  his  head,  as  in  a  garden  sinks 
A  rii>en'd  poppy  charg'd  with  vernal  rains; 
So  sank  his  head  beneath  his  helmet's  weight." 


The  numerous  speeches  in  the 
ninth  book  well  justify  the  trans- 
lator's confidence  in  the  metre  he 
has  chosen.  It  seems  impossible 
to  give  better  effect  than  he  has 
there  done  to  their  strongly-marked 
individuality;  as  the  secret  mean- 
ness of  Agamemnon,  the  bravery 
of  Diomed,  the  prudence  of 
Nestor,  stand  forth  each  revealed 
by  their  own  lips  in  council. 
No  three  characters  in  Homer 
arc  better  contrasted,  no  speeches 
more  characteristic,  than  those  of 


the  three  ambassadors  sent  by 
Nestor's  advice  to  disarm  the  wrath 
of  Achilles  ;  old  Pluenix,  mighty 
Ajax,  and  sage  Ulysses.  P.ut  we 
have  no  space  for  the  elaborate  argu- 
ments with  which  the  prudence  of 
the  last-named  strives  to  effect  the 
reconciliation,  which  Hector's  ex- 
ploits have  made  the  Greeks  long 
for  so  ardently.  Nor  would  short 
extracts  do  justice  to  the  vehement 
speech!  in  which  Achilles  scornfully 
rejects  all  Agamemnon's  overtures  ; 
to  its  withering  sarcasms,  Or  to  its 


*  Few  of  our  readers  will  need  to  be  reminded  of  the  Itcautiful  opening  of  one 
of  the  finest  poems  in  the  '  Christian  Year'  (Monday  before  Easter)  furnished  by 
these  two  lines  -  themselves  perhaps  the  two  most  pathetic  in  any  author. 

t  The  gifts  which  Achilles  in  this  speech  indignantly  rejects,  he  declares  a 
strong  wish  for  in  the  sixteenth  l>ook  ;  where,  when  he  sends  1'atroclus  to  the  tight, 
he  expresses  a  hope  that  he  may  obtain  for  him 

"  Honour  nii'l  jrlnry  in  tho  eyes  of  fireerp ; 
And  that  the  U-auteon.s  nmi'len  to  my  arms 
They  may  restore,  with  costly  gifts  to  boot." 

To  some  persons  this  apparent  contradiction  has  seemed  a  strong  argument  for 
the  ditFerent  authorship  of  the  two  books.  But,  when  we  consider  that  the  re- 
venge of  Achilles,  unsatisfied  in  the  ninth  book,  has  nearly  attained  its  end  in  the 
sixteenth  ;  that  even  then  the  gift*  he  si»eaks  of  are  from  the  (i  reeks,  and  not  from 
Agamemnon  ;  and,  above  all,  that  imj>etuous  rage  leads  men  to  reject  the  very 
things  which,  in  their  calmer  moments,  they  desire — we  shall  scarcely  attach  much 
weight  to  the  objection. 


448  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  [April, 

passionate  outpouring  of  burning  ancient   practice  of  hauling  ships 

indignation  at  undeserved  ill-treat-  up  on  the  beach  and  encamping  by 

ment.      Its  translation  here  is  so  them) — 

admirable,  that  Lord  Derby  should  „  Hc  ^  ^.^  big          „  &c 

not  allow  it   to  be  blemished   by 

even  such  a  slight   inaccuracy  as         Equally  successful  is  the  version 

appears  in  his  version  of  the  33 2 d  of  the  tender  prolixity  of  the  old 

line,  in  which   he   makes  Achilles  man  Phoenix,  who  vainly  tries  to 

say  of  Agamemnon,  prevail  on  his  beloved  pupil  by  les- 

"Ho  safe  on  loard  his  ships,  my  spoils  sons  drawn  from<  old -world  tales; 

receiv'd."  and   of   the   soldier-like   bluntness 

The  original  is  napb.  v^i :  and  clear-  with  which  Ajax  bids  Ulysses  break 

ly  requires  (as  does  the  well-known  off  the  conference,  saying,— 

"Achilles  hath  allow'd  his  noble  heart 
To  cherish  rancour  and  malignant  hate  ; 
ISTor  recks  he  of  his  old  companions'  love, 
Wherewith  we  hononr'd  him  above  the  rest. 
Relentless  he  !   a  son's  or  brother's  death, 
By  payment  of  a  fine,  may  be  aton'd ; 
The  slayer  may  remain  in  peace  at  home, 
The  debt  discharg'd  ;  the  other  will  forego, 
The  forfeiture  reeeiv'd,  his  just  revenge ; 
But  thou  maintain'st  a  stern,  obdurate  mood, 
And  for  a  single  girl  !  we  offer  sev'n, 
Surpassing  fair,  and  other  gifts  to  boot.'  "     Etc. 

The   grand   pictures   which   the  and   are   forced   to  withdraw  and 

eleventh  and  twelfth  books  present  suffer  Hector  to  fight  his  way  to 

of  the  tide  of  battle,  surging  now  the  ships,  are  translated  here  with 

forward,  now  backward,  till  nearly  the  utmost  spirit.     We  must  find 

all  the  Greek  chiefs  receive  wounds,  room  for  the  advance  of  Ajax  : — 

"As  a  stream, 

Rwoll'n  by  the  rains  of  Heav'n,  that  from  the  hills 
Pours  down  its  wintry  torrent  on  the  plain  ; 
And  many  a  blighted  oak,  and  many  a  pine 
It  bears,  with  piles  of  drift-wood,  to  the  sea  : 
So  swept  illustrious  Ajax  o'er  the  plain, 
O'erthrowing  men  and  horses;*  though  unknown 
To  Hector;  he,  upon  Scamander's  banks, 
Was  warring  on  the  field's  extremest  left, 
Where  round  great  Nestor  and  the  warlike  King 
Idomeneus,  while  men  were  falling  fast, 
Rose,  irrepressible,  f  the  battle-cry." 

Hector  is  summoned  to  assist  the  Trojans  upon  whom  Ajax  is  pressing  : 

' '  He  said,  and  with  the  pliant  lash  he  touch'd 
The  slcek-skinn'd  horses  ;  springing  at  the  sound, 
Betiveen  the  Greeks  and  Trojans,  light  they  bore 

*  Translated  by  Pope  as  follows  : — 

"  Fierce  Ajax  thus  o'erwhclms  tlie  yielding  throng  ; 
Men,  steeds,  and  chariots  roll  in  heaps  along  :  " 

the  only  point  in  which  the  comparison  with  the  torrent  could  not  hold. 

t  Most  admirable  for  £<r/Be<n-os  !  Pope  turns  the  "  cry  of  battle  "  into  "  loud 
groans."  And  where,  directly  after,  Hector  is  said  to  work  deadly  deeds,  «7x«* 
0',  'nnro<rvirri  re,  which  Lord  Derby  properly  renders  "with  spear  and  car;"  Pope 
gives  us  : — 

"  There  fierce  on  foot,  or  from  the  chariot's  height, 
His  sword  deforms  the  beauteous  ranks  of  fight." 


18C5.J 


The  Iliad,  translated  l>y  Lord  Dtrly. 


-1  I'J 


ThfjtiJtniJ  rar,  n'rr  cnrf>*f*  fif  t/lf  tlriin 

And  broken  Im  rl:l  f  r.i  tr<inifitiii;i  ;  all  licncath 

Was  plash'd  with  1.1.  MM!  tin-  axle,  an.  I  the  rails 

Around  tin-  car.  as  fn>m  tin-  h»rsc.s'  f«-«  t, 

Ami  from  tin-  felloes  ..f  tin-  whceN,  were  thrown 

The  MiMNly  gouts  ;  jet  .Hi  lie  sp'-d,  t<>  join 

The  strife  of  men,  ami  break  th'  opposing  rank.-'. 

But  Jove,  hi-li  throii'd.  the  soul  ..f  Ajax  lill'd 
With  fear;   ttijhuxt  ht   *>•,<„  I  ;  I,  /.<  *.  r  „/„/,/  *lnrld 
lie  tfti-'W  lifli'nnl  /i  !.i  IMK-I;,  ninl,   tr>  iii/i/iii'/,  ijnz'tl 
I'jutil  tilt'  r/-i,iril  ;    tin  n,   like  .•"///<•    /,<  n.tt  ';/'/''''  .'/> 
Font  xlitir'ii  I'ullniriiiij  hint,*  r<l  iic'nnt  tiirn'il. 
As  when  the  rustic  youths  ami  .Ings  have  driv'n 
A  tawny  lion  from  the  cattle  fol.l, 
Watching  all  ni.u'ht,  ami  l>aulk'.l  him  of  his  j.r.-y  : 
Hav'nini^  for  llesh,  he  still  th'  att.  nipt  renews, 
Hut  still  in  vain:   f»r  many  a  jav'lin,  hurl'd 
I>V  viy'nms  arms,  confronts  him  t»  his  fa.---. 
And  blazing  fagots,  that  his  c..iir;iLe  .launt  ; 
Till,  with  the  dawn,  reluctant  he  retreat  : 
So  from  before  the  Trojans  Ajax  turn'.l, 
Kcluctnnt,  tearing  for  the  ships  of  (  In-,  ec." 

Nothing  ran  l>c  finer  th;in  the  in;in-  reply  to  Polydanias,  in  tlio  twelfth 
ncr  in  which  these  lines  preserve  book,  is  translated,  are  also  very 
to  us  the  swiftness  of  Hector's  striking.  It  is  given  word  for  word, 
approach  ;  or  the  way  in  which  they  and  almost  line  for  line.  J'oly- 
intimate  to  us,  by  the  same  frequent  dainas  lias  endeavoured  to  deter 
pauses  as  the  original,  in  the  retreat  Hector  from  advancing  farther  to- 
of  Ajax,  his  stout  heart's  stubborn  wards  the  ships,  by  pointing  out  to 
resistance  to  the  unwonted  fear  him  tin-  adverse  portent.  Hector 
which  invades  it.  The  force  and  answers  :  — 
precision  with  which  Hector's  noble 

"  '  I'oly.lrmias, 

This  speech  of  thine  is  alien  t»  my  soul  : 

Thy  better  judgment  better  counsel  knows. 

Hut  if  in  earnest  such  is  thine  advice, 

Thee  of  thy  senses  have  the  <!.>ds  bereft. 

Who  fain  w.mldst  have  us  disregard  the  word 

And  promise  by  the  nod  of  .Jove  confirm  'd, 

And  put  our  faith  in  birds'  expanded  wings; 

Little  of  these  1  reck,  nor  care  to  look, 

If  to  the  right,  and  tow'rd  the  morning  sun, 

Or  to  the  left,  and  shades  of  night,  they  fly. 

Put  we  our  trust  in  Jove's  eternal  will, 

Of  mortals  and  Immortals  King  supreme. 

The  best  of  omens  is  our  country's  cause.'  " 

He  leads  the  assault  against  the  wall  which  defends  the  Greek  ships. 
Missiles  lly  on  each  side. 

"Thick  as  the  snow-flakes  on  a  wintry  day, 
When  Jove,  the  lord  of  counsel,  down  on  men 
His  snow-storm  sends,  and  manifests  his  pow'r  : 
Hush'd  are  the  win.  Is  ;   the  Hakes  continuous  fall, 
That  the  high  mountain  tops,  and  jutting  crags, 
And  lotus-cover'd  meads  are  buried  deep, 
And  man's  productive  labours  of  the  Held  ; 
On  hoary  Ocean's  ln*ach  and  bays  they  lie, 
Th'  approaching  waves  their  Itouml  ;  o'er  all  hcsiile 
Is  spread  by  Jove  the  heavy  veil  of  snow." 


450  The  Iliad,  translated  l>y  Lord  Derby,  [April, 

For  a  while  the  result  is  doubtful. 

"  As  a  woman  that  for  wages  spins, 
Honest  and  true,  with  wool  and  weights  in  hand, 
In  even  balance  holds  the  scales,  to  mete 
Her  humble  hire,  her  children's  maintenance  ;  * 
So  even  hung  the  balance  of  the  war, 
Till  Jove  with  highest  honour  Hector  crown'd. " 

Then  we  have  Hector's  brief  hour     the  gate  is  magnificently  rendered 
of    triumph.      His    crash    against     here : — 

"  Close  to  the  gate  he  stood  ;  and  planting  firm 
His  foot,  to  give  his  arm  its  utmost  pow'r, 
Full  on  the  middle  dash'd  the  mighty  mass. 
The  hinges  both  gave  way  ;  the  pond'rous  stone 
Fell  inwards  ;  widely  gap'd  the  op'niug  gates  ; 
Nor  might  the  bars  within  the  blow  sustain  : 
This  way  and  that  the  sever'd  portals  flew 
Before  the  crashing  missile ;  dark  as  night 
His  lowering  broiv,-\-  great  Hector  sprang  within  ; 
Bright  flash' d  the  brazen  armour  on  his  breast, 
As  through  the  gates,  two  jav' tins  in  his  hand, 
fie  sprang ;  the  Gods  except,  no  pow'r  might  meet 
That  onset ;  blaz'd  his  eyes  with  lurid  fire. 
Then  to  the  Trojans,  turning  to  the  throng, 
He  call'd  aloud  to  scale  the  lofty  wall ; 
They  heard,  and  straight  obey'cl ;  some  scal'd  the  wall ; 
Some  through  the  strong-built  gates  continuous  pour'd ; 
While  in  confusion  irretrievable 
Fled  to  their  ships  the  panic-stricken  Greeks." 

Again,  the  translation  of  that  splen-     which  describes  Hector's  second  as- 
did  passage  in  the  fifteenth  book,     sault  on  the  ships,  is  very  good : — 

"Fiercely  he  rag'd,  as  terrible  as  Mars 
With  brandish' d  spear;  or  as  a  raging  fire 
'Mid  the  dense  thickets  on  the  mountain  side. 
The  foam  was  on  his  lips  ;  bright  flash'd  his  eyes 
Beneath  his  awful  brows,  and  terribly 
Above  his  temples  wav'd  amid  the  fray 
The  helm  of  Hector  ;  Jove  himself  from  Heav'n 
His  guardian  hand  extending,  him  alone 
With  glory  crowning  'mid  the  host  of  men  ; 
But  short  his  term  of  glory ;  for  the  day 
Was  fast  approaching,  when,  with  Pallas'  aid, 
The  might  of  Peleus'  son  should  work  his  doom. 
Oft  he  essay'd  to  break  the  ranks,  where'er        T 
The  densest  throng  and  noblest  arms  he  saw  ; 
But  strenuous  though  his  efforts,  all  were  vain : 
They,  mass'd  in  close  array,  his  charge  withstood ; 
Firm  as  a  craggy  rock,  upstanding  high, 
Close  by  the  hoary  sea,  which  meets  unmov'd 
The  boisfrous  currents  of  the  whistling  winds, 
And  the  big  waves  that  bellow  round  its  base; 

*  Pope  omits  this  line  ;  and,  by  doing  so,  destroys  much  of  the  beauty  of  this 
homely  and  touching  comparison,  in  which  the  ancients  loved  to  imagine  a  refer- 
ence to  Homer's  own  mother. 

t  Here  Homer's  fine  contrast  between  the  gloom  of  his  hero's  brow  and  the  light- 
ning flashes  from  his  armour  (damaged  by  Pope's  unseasonable  introduction  of 
the  "  two  shining  spears  "),  is  well  preserved ;  and  the  awful  fire  of  Hector's  eyes 
is  rightly  reserved,  as  Homer  does  and  as  Pope  does  not,  for  the  climax  of  the 
whole  description. 


1868  TV*  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  451 

So  Htood  unniovM  thi>  (Jrot-ks,  and  undiamay'd. 

At  length,  all  l>l:i/inu'  in  his  arms,  he  sprang 
I'IMHI  tho  mass  ;  no  jilunijinij  down,  ax  u-lun 
On  ntnif  full  rr.ifu  I,  from  lirnrnlh  the  dunlin 
A  ifiniit  billotr,  trni/i>'M(->i>trf'tl,f  drucend* : 
Thf  dffk  it  drinck'd  in  /mini  ;  tJie  xtoriny  wind 
llntrl*  in  tin'  /Jinnidn  ;  t/i'  tijTr'ajht-'d  urttini-n  (jiunl 
Inj'mr,  hut  little  trinjj'nnn  drnth  rniun''d  ; 
So  <|uail'd  the  spirit  in  every  (Jrecian  breast." 

The  clanger  of  the  (Jreeks,  and  aid  them  with  his  fre-di  troops, 
the  entreaties  of  Patroclus,  move  The  Trojans  are  finally  driven  from 
Achilles  to  .send  forth  the  latter  to  the  ships. 

"  As  in  th'  autumnal  season,  when  the  earth 
With  weight  "f  rain  is  saturate;  when  J»vc 
I'oiirs  down  his  fiercest  storms  in  wrath  to  men. 
Who  in  their  courts  unrighteous  judgments  p;i.-,>, 
And  justice  yield  to  lawless  violence, 
The  wrath  of  Heav'n  despising;  ev'ry  stream 
Is  brimming  o'er  ;  the  hills  in  gullies  deep 
Are  by  the  torrents  seam'd,  which,  rushing  down 
From  the  high  mountains  to  the  dark-blue  sea, 
With  groans  and  tumult  urge  their  headlong  course, 
Wasting  the  works  of  man  ;  so  urg'd  their  Might, 
So,  as  they  tied,  the  Trojan  horses  groan'd. " 

lint   Patroclus,  in  the  ardour  of  the  grief  of  the  immortal  coursers 

victory,  disregards  the  injunctions  of  Achilles  for  his  friend's  death, 

of  Achilles ;  pursues  the  routed  foe  is  rendered  with  truly  admirable 

to  the  walls  of  Troy,  and  is  slain  by  conciseness  :      the   first    seventeen 

the  spear  of  Hector.     The  transla-  lines  representing,  and  adequately 

tion  of  the  touching  passage  in  the  expressing,  the  same    number    of 

seventeenth  book,  which  describes  the  longer  lines  of  the  original  : — 

"  But,  from  the  fight  withdrawn,  Achilles'  steeds 
Wept,  as  they  heard  how  in  the  dust  was  laid 
Their  charioteer,  by  Hector's  inurd'rous  hand. 
Automedon,  Diores'  valiant  son, 
Kssay'd  in  vain  to  roust;  them  with  the  lash, 
In  vain  with  honey 'd  words,  in  vain  with  threats  ; 
?s"or  to  the  ships  would  they  return  again 
By  the  broad  Hellespont,  nor  join  the  fray  ; 
But  <os  a  column  stands,  which  marks  the  tomb 
Of  man  or  woman,  so  immovable, 
Beneath  the  splendid  car  they  stood,  their  heads 
Down-drooping  to  the  ground,  while  scalding  tears 
l>ropp'd  earthward  from  their  eyelids,  as  they  mourn'd 
Their  charioteer;   and  o'er  the  yoke-band  shed 
Down  strvam'd  their  ample  manes,  with  dust  detil'd. 
The  son  of  Saturn  pitying  saw  their  grief, 
Ami  sorrowing  shook  his  head,  as  thus  he  mus'd  : 
•  Ab,  hapless  horses  !  wherefore  gave  we  you 
To  royal  I'eleus,  to  a  mortal  man, 
You  that  from  age  and  death  are  l>oth  exempt  ! 
Was  it  that  you  the  miseries  might  share 
Of  wretched  mortals?  for  of  all  that  breathe 
And  walk  upon  the  earth,  or  creep,  is  nought 
More  wretched  than  th'  unhappy  race  of  man.'" 

It  is  during  the  fight  which  troclus,  that  Ajax  breathes  that 
rages  round  the  dead  body  of  IV  prayer,  which  many  a  champion, 


*   iivffi.(rrpt<t>*t. 
VOL.   XCVII. — NO.  PXCIV.  2  II 


452  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  [April, 

on  other  fields  and  in  far  different  kinds  of  conflict,  has  seen  good  cause 
to  utter  after  him  : — 

"  '  0  Father  Jove,  from  o'er  the  sons  of  Greece 
Remove  this  cloudy  darkness  ;  clear  the  sky, 
That  we  may  see  our  fate,  and  die  at  least. 
If  such  thy  will,  in  th'  open  light  of  day.'  " 

The  splendid  description,  in  the     Patroclus,  is  very  beautifully  trans- 
eighteenth  book,  of  the  advance  of     lated  : — 
Achilles  to    rescue   the   corpse   of 

"  Pallas  threw 

Her  tassell'd  ;egis  o'er  his  shoulders  broad  ; 
His  head  encircling  with  a  coronet 
Of  golden  cloud,  whence  fiery  Hashes  gleam'd. 
As  from  an  island  city  up  to  Heavn 
The  smoke  ascends,  which  hostile  forces  round 
Beleaijuer,  and  all  day  with  cruel  war 
From  its  own  state  cut  off ;  but  when  the  sun 
Hath  set,  blaze  frequent  forth  the  beacon  fires  ; 
High  rise  the  flames,  and  to  the  dwellers  round 
Their  signal  flash,  if  haply  o'er  the  sea 
May  come  the  needful  aid  ;  so  brightly  flash'd 
That  liery  light  around  Achilles'  head. " 

Nor  must  we  omit  to  notice  the     ginning  of  the  same  book,  over  her 
lamentations  of  Thetis,  at  the  be-     son's  calamity  : — 

"  '  Me  miserable  !  me,  of  noblest  son, 
Unhappiest  mother  !  *  me,  a  son  who  bore, 
My  brave,  my  beautiful,  of  heroes  chief  ! 
Like  a  young  tree  he  throve  :  I  tended  him, 
In  a  rich  vineyard  as  the  choicest  plant ; 
Till  in  the  beaked  ships  I  sent  him  forth 
To  war  with  Troy  ;  him  ne'er  shall  I  behold 
Returning  home,  in  aged  Peleus'  house.'  " 

Attended  by  her  sister  Nereids  readers),  Thetis  rises  from  the  ocean 

(the  long  list  of  whose  names  Lord  caves  and  goes  to  comfort  her  sor- 

Derby  curtails,  no  doubt  much  to  rowing  son  : — 
the  satisfaction   of  his   unlearned 

' '  There,  as  he  groan' d  aloud,  beside  him  stood 
His  Goddess-mother  ;  weeping,  t  in  her  hands 
She  held  his  head,  while  pitying  thus  she  spoke  : 
'  Why  weeps  my  son  ?  and  what  his  cause  of  grief  ? 
Speak  out,  and  nought  conceal ;  for  all  thy  pray'r 
Which  with  uplifted  hands  thou  mad'st  to  Jove, 
He  hath  fulfill'd,  that,  flying  to  their  ships, 
The  routed  sons  of  Greece  should  feel  how  much 
They  need  thine  aid,  and  mourn  their  insult  past. '  J 
To  whom  Achilles,  deeply  groaning,  thus  : 
'  Mother,  all  this  indeed  hath  Jove  fulfill'd  ; 
Yet  what  avails  it,  since  my  dearest  friend 
Is  slain,  Patroclus  ?     .     .     . 

Now  is  bitter  grief  for  thee  in  store, 
Mourning  thy  son ;  whom  to  his  home  return'd 
Thou  never  more  shalt  see  ;  nor  would  I  wish 
To  live  and  move  amid  my  fellow -men, 

v  SvcrapiffroTOKfta. 

+  "  Weeping"  sounds  but  weak  for  o£u  5e  /cco/cc^tracra,  which  exactly  means, 
"  with  a  shrill  shriek." 

^  These  four  words    are  hardly  an  adequate  rendering  of  iraOefiv  T'  a 
fpya,  though  they  certainly  represent  their  spirit. 


1865.1 


The  Iliad,  translated  l»j  Lard  l)erl>i/. 


I'nlfM  tlint  llrclar,  ronijuinlt'il  In/  my  »jif<ir. 

Mm/  lam  liitt  fnrfi  it  itl'r,  null  /'".'/  thr  jiricc 

O/fiinl  <li*li<innur  tu  I'lilrarliiM  dan>\' 

To  whom,  HIT  tears  oYrllowing,  Thetis  thus  : 

'  Kv'n  as  tin >u  say'st,  my  son,  thy  term  is  short  ; 

N»r  long  shall  Hector's  fate  precede  thine  own.' 

Achilles,  answ'ring,  spoke  in  piiN-xionntc  grief: 

'  Would  I  miu'ht  .lie  this  hour,  who  fail'd  to  ,-avi: 

My  comrade  slain  !   far  from  his  native  land 

He  died,  sore  needing  my  protecting  arm  ; 

And  I,  who  nc.'er  again  must  see  my  home, 

Nor  to  1'atroehis.  nor  the  many  (I  recks. 

Whom  Hector's  hand  hath  slain,  have  ivnd'T'd  aid 

I'.ut  idly  here  I  sit,  ciimb'ring  the  ground  : 

I,  who  amid  the  (ireeks  no  equal  own 

In  light.  .... 

Krom  death  not  ev'n  the  might  of  Hercules, 

Though  best  lielov'd  of  Saturn's  son,  could  fly, 

l>y  fate  ami  Juno's  liittcr  wrath  subdu'd. 

I  too,  since  such  my  doom,  must  lie  in  death  ; 

}"<  t,  i  r<'  /  I/if,  iiin/iortftl  /''//*••  iri/l  win  ; 

And  fi'iiin  Hi'  ir  i/i /,'<••:(>'  i-ltuk't,  deep-lioitonid  dumes, 

liiirdmi  mi'/  Trajan,  />!//>  r  tinrx  sliall  iri/n', 

And  grunn  ni  anyuixh  ;  then  shall  all  men  know 

How  Ion''  I  have  been  absent  from  the  tic-Id." 


This  nolile  version  does  full  jus- 
tice to  one  of  the  most  touching 
.scenes  in  the  Iliail;  a  scene  of 
which  Pope's  treatment  is  more 
than  usually  unsatisfactory.  The 
immortal  mother's  sorrow  over  the 
short  span  assigned  to  her  sun's 
life  ;  the  grief  of  both  over  a 
prayer  granted  to  its  oH'erer's  in- 
jury ;  the  two  grand  redeeming 
features  of  the  otherwise  selfish 
character  of  Achilles,  his  love  to 
his  mother  and  his  friend  (this  last 
so  strong  that,  though  passionately 
loving  life,  he  would  rather  lose  it 
than  leave  Patroclus  unavenged)  ; 
his  self-reproach  when  standing  face 
to  face  with  the  calamity  which  his 
long-indulged  anger  has  brought 
forth  ;  and  his  dual  determination 


in  favour  of  a  glorious  death  rather 
than  an  inglorious  life,  affect  us 
here  as  they  do  in  Homer. 

On  the  other  hand,  Pope  exag- 
gerates some  of  these  elements  to 
the  destruction  of  the  rest.  The 
theatrical  exclamations  of  /tin  Achil- 
les fail  to  give  a  just  idea  of  the 
deep-seated  sadness  of  the  Achilles 
of  11  oiner.  Pope's  Achilles  curses 
the  day  of  his  parent's  marriage, 
instead  of  only  expressing  tender 
pity  for  the  sorrow  which  is  so 
soon  to  afllict  his  mother.  His 
wish  to  avenge  Patroclus  is  as- 
cribed by  Pope  chictly  to  a  tender 
concern  for  his  own  honour  ;  so  that 
In  concludes  the  passage  which  we 
have  italicised  in  the  first  speech  of 
Achilles  thus : — 


"  '  On  those  conditions  will  I  breathe  ;  till  then 
I  blush  to  walk  among  the  race  of  men.' '' 

I5ut  most  amusing  of  all  is  Pope's     have  distinguished  by  italics  at  the 
version  of  the   passage   which   we     end  of  Achilles'  second  speech  : — 

"  '  Shall  I  not  force  some  widow'd  dame  to  tear 
With  frantic  hands  her  long  dishevcll'd  hair? 
Shall  I  not  force  her  breast  to  heave  with  sighs. 
And  the  soft  tears  to  trickle  from  her  eyes? 
Yen,  I  nhiill  tjive  the  fair  tln'tf  mournful  charms.' 

Such  a  view  of  a  widow's  grief     crous  disguise  for  the  savage  exul- 
is  incomparably  more  (Jallie  than     tation  of  the  Homeric  hero. 
Hellenic,  and   forms  a  most  ludi-         "\Ve  have  not  space  for  the  visit 


454  Tlie  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derby.  [April, 

of  Thetis  to  Hephaestus,  nor  for  the  reconciliation  of  Achilles  and  Aga- 

celebrated  description  of  the  shield  memnon  ;  nor  for  the  laments  of 

he  prepares  and  the  arms  he  forges  the  restored  Briseis  over  the  body 

at  her  request  for  Achilles ;  trans-  of  Patroclus.     We  must  hasten  at 

lated  with  the  skill  which  distin-  once  to  the  death  of  Hector.    Achil- 

guishes  all  Lord  Derby's  versions  of  les  prepares  to  encounter  him  in  the 

the  descriptive  portions  of  the  poem,  nineteenth  book.     He  puts  on  the 

Neither  can  we  find  room  for  the  armour,  his  mother's  gift : — 

' '  Then  took  his  vast  and  weighty  shield,  whence  gleam'd 
A  light  refulgent  as  the  full-orb'd  moon  ; 
Or  as  to  seamen  o'er  the  wave  is  borne 
The  watch-fire's  light,  which,  high  among  the  lulls, 
Some  shepherd  kindles  in  his  lonely  fold : 
As  they,  reluctant,  by  the  stormy  winds, 
Far  from  their  friends  arc  o'er  the  waters  driven."* 

But  various  circumstances  delay  the  other  Trojans  have  found  rc- 

the  deadly  combat  till  the  twenty-  fuge  within  the  city)  to  confront 

second  book.     It  is  then  that  Hec-  Achilles,  who  is  first  descried  by 

tor,  stayed   by  his   evil   doom,  re-  Priarn  advancing — 
mains  outside  the  Scsean  gate  (when 

"  In  arms  all  dazzling  bright, 
Like  to  th'  autumnal  star,  whose  brilliant  ray 
Shines  eminent  amid  the  depth  of  night, 
Whom  men  the  dog-star  of  Orion  call ; 
The  brightest  he,  but  sign  to  mortal  man 
Of  evil  augury  and  fiery  heat: 
So  shone  the  brass  upon  the  warrior's  breast." 

Hector's    aged   parents   beseech  Troy  ;    the     treachery    by    which 

him,  but  in  vain,  to  shun  his  dread-  Athene  lures  him  to    destruction, 

ful  antagonist.      Then  follow   his  and  his  final  stand  against  Achilles, 

panic  flight   around  the  walls    of  exclaiming — 

' '  '  Not  in  my  back  will  I  receive  thy  spear, 

But  through  my  breast,  confronting  thee,  if  Jove 
Have  to  thine  arm  indeed  such  triumph  giv'u.'  " 

Lord  Derby  finely  renders  Hec-     deserted  by  Athene,  he  sees  himself 
tor's  last  heroic  resolution,  when,     given  over  to  die  : — 

' '  '  Now  is  my  death  at  hand,  nor  far  away  : 
Escape  is  none ;  since  so  hath  Jove  decreed, 
And  Jove's  far-darting  son,  who  heretofore 
Have  been  my  guards ;  my  fate  hath  found  me  now. 
Yet  not  without  a  struggle  let  me  die, 
Nor  all  inglorious ;  but  let  some  great  act, 
Which  future  days  may  hear  of,  mark  my  fall. ' 
Thus  as  he  spoke,  his  trenchant  sword  he  drew, 
Pond'rous  and  vast,  suspended  at  his  side  ; 
Collected  for  the  spring,  and  forward  dash'd  : 
As  when  an  eagle,  bird  of  loftiest  flight, 
Through  the  black  clouds  swoops  downward  on  the  plain, 
To  seize  some  tender  lamb,  or  cow' ring  hare  ; 
So  Hector  rush'd,  and  wav'd  his  sharp-edg'd  sword. 
Achilles'  wrath  was  rous'd :  with  fury  wild 
His  soul  was  fill'd :  before  his  breast  he  bore 
His  well- wrought  shield ;  and  fiercely  on  his  brow 
Nodded  the  four-plum' d  helm,  as  on  the  breeze 

*  The  beauty  of  this  simile,  in  which  both  terms  of  the  comparison,  the  light 
and  the  peril  of  those  who  behold  it  from  afar,  hold  good,  is  very  remarkable. 


18G5.] 


Tht  Iliad,  translated  l>y  Lord  l)crl>y. 


45' 


Floated  the  golden  hairs,  with  which  the:  crest 
By  Vulcan's  hand  was  thickly  interlaced  ; 
Ami  fM  (itniil  l/i r  *(< ir.i'  unnumbrr'ti  hont, 
W/irn  tiri/ii/fit  i/ii/il*  to  nil/fit,  our  xdtr  <i/>/>?tirfi, 
Ili'sjii'r,  (In1  hritfliti'Mt  #t<ir  thnt  nhinf.i  in  lltnv'n, 
iili  inn'd  I/if  nhni-ji  jKiint'il  Inner,  which  in  hi«  right 
Achilles  pois'd,  on  godlike  Hector's  doom 
Intent." 

The  lance-  finds  the  fatal  opening  l»o<ly.  Achilles'  fierce  rejection  of 
in  Hector's  armour.  He  falls,  and  his  suit  is  rendered  with  singular 
with  his  dying  breath  beseeches  his  felicity,  as  is  the  expiring  man's  re- 
victor  to  permit  the  ransom  of  his  joinder  : — 

"  '  I  know  thee  well  ;    nor  did  1  hopr 
To  change  thy  purpose  ;    iron  is  thy  soul. 
Hut  see  that  on  thy  head  1  bring  not  down 
The  wrath  of  Heav'n,  when  by  the  Se;i'an  gate 
Th<;  hand  of  I'aris,  with  Ajtollo's  aid, 
Bravo  warrior  as  thou  art,  shall  strike  thee  down.' 

"  Kv'n  as  he  spoke,  his  eyes  were  clos'd  in  death  ; 
And  to  the  viewless  shades  his  spirit  tied, 
Mourning  his  fate,  his  youth  and  vigour  lost. 

"To  him,  though  dead,  Achilles  thus  replied  : 
'  I)ii-  thou  !  my  fate  1  then  shall  meet,  whene'er 
Jove  and  th'  immortal  gods  shall  so  decree.'  " 


The  lamentations  of  the  Trojans 
at  the  fall  of  their  brave  defender  ; 
of  Priam,  who  deplores  Hector's 
death  more  than  that  of  the  many 


other  "  stalwart  sons,"  of  whom 
Achilles'  hand  before  deprived 
him  ;  of  Hecuba,  who  bewails 
her  fate — 


"  '  Bereft 

Of  thec,  who  wast  to  me  by  night  and  day 
A  glory  and  a  boast ; '  " 


lose  none  of  their  true  pathos  in 
this  translation.  Neither  does  that 
most  affecting  speech,  in  which 
Andromache  laments  alike  her  own 
widowed  lot,  and  the  sad  fate  likely 
to  befall  her  infant  son,  deprived 
of  a  father's  care  :  the  orphan  left 
to  be  despised  and  ill-treated,  now 
that  the  strong  arm,  which  was  his 
shelter,  is  laid  low.  The  burst  of 
womanly  grief  at  the  end  of  this 
speech  (the  most  characteristic  ex- 
pressions of  which  Pope  ha.s  sacri- 
ficed to  indolence  or  over-refine- 


ment) receives  full  justice  here.  And 
Lord  Derby  suffers  Andromache  to 
give  utterance  to  all  her  anguish  at 
the  thought  of  her  husband's  body, 
as  it  lies  by  the  Clreek  ships,  strip- 
ped and  insulted  ;  while  not  one 
single  robe  may  shroud  it  from 
sight,  of  all  the  store  of  goodly 
raiment  which  she  had  taken  de- 
light in  preparing  for  her  lord. 

Achilles,  having  in  part  appeased 
his  thirst  for  vengeance,  rests  be- 
side the  sea,  wearied  out  by  his 


"  Hot  pursuit 
Of  Hector  round  the  breezy  heights  of  Troy." 

The  "  mournful  shade  "  of  Patroclus  stands  over  him  in  his  sleep,  saying 
to  him — 

"  '  Sleep' st  thou,  Achilles,  mindless  of  thy  friend, 
Neglecting,  not  the  living,  but  the  dead  ? 
Hasten  my  fun'ral  rites,  that  1  may  pass 
Through  Hades'  gloomy  gates  ;  ere  those  l>e  done, 
The  spirits  and  spectres  of  departed  men 
]>rivc  me  far  from  them,  nor  allow  to  cross 


456  Tlie  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Derly.  [April, 

Th'  abhorred  river ;  but  forlorn  and  sad 

I  wander  through  the  wide-spread  realms  of  night. 

And  give  me  now  thy  hand,  whereon  to  weep ;  * 

For  never  more,  wlien  laid  upon  the  pyre, 

Shall  I  return  from  Hades  ;  never  more, 

Apart  from  all  our  comrades,  shall  we  two, 

As  friends,  sweet  counsel  take  ;  for  me,  stern  Death, 

The  common  lot  of  man,  has  op'd  his  mouth ; 

Thou  too,  Achilles,  rival  of  the  Gods, 

Art  destin'd  here  beneath  the  walls  of  Troy 

To  meet  thy  doom;  yet  one  thing  must  I  add, 

And  make,  if  thou  wilt  grant  it,  one  request. 

Let  not  my  bones  be  laid  apart  from  thine, 

Achilles,  but  together,  as  our  youth 

Was  spent  together  in  thy  father's  house, 

So  in  one  urn  be  now  our  bones  enclos'd, 

The  golden  vase,  thy  Goddess-mother's  gift.'  " 

An  exquisite   rendering  !    Equally     scribe  the  so-often-imitated  failure 
good  are  the  three  lines  which  de-     of  Achilles  to  embrace  his  friend : — • 

"  He  spread  his  longing  arms 
Bat  nought  he  clasp'd  ;  and  with  a  waiting  cry,"}" 
Vanish'd,  like  smoke,  the  spirit  beneath  the  earth." 

The  description  of   the   funeral  veys   to   her  son  the   mandate  of 

rites,  which  immediately  follow,  and  Zeus  to  release  Hector's  body.    Iris 

that   of   the   games   celebrated   in  is  sent  by  him  to  enjoin  Priam  to 

honour  of  the  deceased  Patroclus,  implore  its  restoration  from  Achil- 

a re  translated  admirably ;  the  latter  les.     Hermes  meets  the  old  man  on 

with  all  the  spirit  called  forth  by  a  his  way  from  Troy,  and  guides  him 

congenial  theme.     But  we  must  not  in  safety  to  the  terrible  hero's  tent, 

linger  over  them.     We  must  hasten  On  their  way  he  gladdens  Priam's 

to  make  our  latest  extracts  from  heart   by  the   assurance   that   the 

the  pathetic  scenes  which  so  beau-  gods  have  guarded  his  son's  corpse, 

tifully  conclude  the  Iliad.  and  that   it  is   yet  untouched  by 

In  the    commencement  of   the  corruption.     The  old  man  joyfully 

twenty- fourth  book,  Thetis J  con-  responds — 

"  '  See,  my  son,  how  good  it  is 
To  give  the  immortal  Gods  their  tribute  due  ; 
For  never  did  my  son,  while  yet  he  liv'd, 
Neglect  the  Gods  who  on  Olympus  dwell ; 
And  thence  have  they  remember'd  him  in  death.'  " 

The  supplication  of  Priam,  when  so  well  translated  here,  that  no- 
he  enters  the  tent  of  Achilles,  one  thing  could  possibly  give  the  Eng- 
of  the  most  deeply  moving  of  all  lish  reader  a  better  notion  of  its 
the  pathetic  passages  in  Homer,  is  powerful  effect  in  the  original : — 

"  '  Think,  great  Achilles,  rival  of  the  Gods, 
Upon  thy  father,  ev'n  as  1  myself 


*  Unless  Lord  Derby  can  establish  some  different  reading  for  the  (perhaps  sus- 
picious) 6\o<pvpop&i  of  the  usual  text,  it  should  be  rendered,  "  I  beg  with  tears." 

+  TtTpiyvta. 

£  Lord  Derby  preserves  the  description  of  her  anticipated  mourning  for  her 
son,  in  all  its  naivete,  as  well  as  old  Chapman  himself  does  by  his — 

"  She  said,  and  tooke  a  sable  vaile;  a  blacker  never  wore 
A  heavenly  shoulder." 


186.').]  The  Iliad,  translated  by  Lord  Deri*/.  457 

l"|H>n  the  thresh. >M  <>f  unjoyotin  ago  : 

And  haply  he,  from  them  that  dwell  around, 

May  MiiM'cr  wrong,  with  no  protector  near 

To  give  liiin  aid  ;   yet  hi1,  rejoicing,  known 

That  thou  still  liv'st;   ami  day  l>y  "lay  may  hope 

To  sec  his  son  returning  safe  from  Troy  ; 

\\ 'hilc  I,  all  hapless,  that  have  many  sons. 

The  best  ami  bravest  through  tin-  hn;a<lth  of  Tn-y, 

BeL'ottcn,  deem  that  mine  an-  left  me  now. 

Fifty  there  were,  whe.ii  came  the  sons  of  (Jreece  ; 

Then  tholl.   Aehilles,   reverence  the  (!ods  ; 

Ami,  for  thy  fatlier's  sake,  look  pitying  down 
<  >n  me,  more  uci'ding  pity ;  since  I  bear 
Such  grief  as  never  man  on  earth  hath  borne, 
Who  stoop  to  kiss  the  hand  that  slew  my  son.'  " 

Achilles  grants  the  old  man's  pray-     the   hor.ilil.  his  companion,  return 
or;  and,  by  early  morning,  he  and     to  Troy  with  Hector's  body:  — 

''They  witli  fun'ral  wail 
Drove  cityward  the  horses  ;   following  came 
The  mules  that  drew  the  litter  of  the  dead. 
The  plain  they  traversM  o'er,  observ'd  of  none, 
Or  man  or  woman,  till  Cassandra,  fair 
As  golden  Venus,  from  the  topmost  height 
Of  Pergamus,  her  father  in  his  ear 
I'pstamling  saw,  the  herald  at  his  side. 
Htm  too,  n!i'  .-niii;  ii-hn  on  tin   lift*  r  l<uj  ; 
Then  lifted  up  her  voice,  and  cried  aloud 
To  all  the  city,  '  Hither.  Trojan-;,  come, 
Both  men  and  women,  Hector  see  restor'd  ; 
If,  while  he  liv'd,  returning  from  the  tight, 
Ye  met  him  e'er  rejoicing,  who  indeed 
Was  all  the  city's  ehiefest  joy  and  pride." 
She  said  ;   nor  man  nor  woman  then  was  left 
Within  the  city  ;  o'er  the  minds  of  all 
CJrief  pass'd  resistless  ;  to  the  gates  in  throngs 
They  press'd,  to  crowd  round  him  who  brought  the  dead. 
The  first  to  clasp  the  body  were  his  wife 
And  honour'd  mother;  eagerly  they  sprang 
On  the  smooth-rolling  wain,  to  touch  the  head 
Of  Hector;   round  them,  weeping,  stood  the  crowd. 
Weeping,  till  sunset,  all  the  live-long  day, 
Had  they  before  the  gates  for  Hector  mourn' J  ; 
Had  not  old  Priam  from  the  car  address'd 
The  crowd  :   '  Make  way,  that  so  the  mules  may  pass  ; 
When  to  my  house  I  shall  have  brought  my  dead, 
Yc  there  may  vent  your  sorrow  as  ye  will.'  " 

Then  follow  the  three  lamenta-  these,  as  has  often  been  remarked, 

tions  over  the  slain  hero :  the  wife's,  is  the  deepest  in  its  pathos;    and 

the  mother's,  and  that  of  the  tin-  affords  the  last  and  the  fairest  tes- 

happy  Helen.     The  translator  has  timony  to  the  gentleness  and  true 

done  justice  to  the  varied  character  nobleness  of  soul  of  the  real  hero 

of   each   of   them.      The  third   of  of  the  Iliad. 

"Then  Helen,  third,  the  mournful  strain  rcnew'd : 
'  Hector,  of  all  my  brethren  dearest  thou  ! 
True,  godlike  Paris  claims  me  as  his  wife, 
Who  bore  me  hither  -would  1  then  had  died  ! 
But  twenty  years  have  pass'd  since  here  1  came, 
And  left  my  mUive  land ;  yet  ne'er  from  the?     • 


458 


The  Iliad,  translated  ly  Lord  Derby. 


[April, 


/  heard  one  scornful,  one  degrading  word  ; 

And  when  from  others  I  have  borne  reproach, 

Thy  brothers,  sisters,  or  thy  brothers'  wives, 

Or  mother  (for  thy  sire  was  ever  kind 

Ev'n  as  a  father),  thou  hast  checlcd  them  still 

With  tender  feeling,  and  with  gentle  words. 

For  thee  I  weep,  and  for  myself  no  less ; 

For,  through  the  breadth  of  Troy,  none  love  me  now, 

None  kindly  look  on  me,  but  all  abhor.'  "  * 


In  concluding  our  extracts  from 
this  most  satisfactory  translation, 
we  can  assure  our  readers  that  the 
lines  which  have  been  quoted  are 
only  fair  specimens  of  its  general  ex- 
cellence. They  will  find  the  whole 
work  distinguished  by  the  same 
power  of  language,  the  same  clear- 
ness of  expression,  and  the  same  high 
poetic  beauty,  as  the  passages  cited. 
If  we  have  stopped  here  and  there 
to  indicate  what  appear  to  us  to  be 
slight  inaccuracies,  it  has  been  from 
no  love  of  fault-finding,  from  no  wish 
to  attach  importance  to  the  trifl- 
ing oversights  inevitable  in  such  a 
great  undertaking — "  namque  opere 
in  longo  fas  est  obrepere  somnum ; " 
— but  simply  from  the  feeling  that 
a  single  useful  suggestion  towards 
the  perfecting  of  so  noble  a  work 
is  a  worthier  tribute  to  it  than 
would  be  whole  pages  of  unintel- 
ligent admiration.  We  rather  won- 
der that  the  mistakes  seem  so 
few,  and,  in  general,  so  unimport- 
ant ;  and  that  the  translator  has 
succeeded  so  happily  in  combining 
so  much  accuracy  of  detail  with 
such  a  spirited  and  life-like  repro- 
duction of  his  great  original.  To 
set  the  men  of  the  Homeric  age 
before  us  as  they  breathed  and 
moved ;  to  think  their  thoughts ; 
to  glow  with  their  wrath,  to  melt 
with  their  tenderness,  unrestrained 
by  conventional  restrictions ;  to 
rush  in  spirit  to  the  fight  with 
those  old  warriors,  who  had  no- 
thing but  the  still  small  voice  with- 


in to  teach  them  reverence  for  the 
weak,  and  pity  for  the  fallen ;  to 
do  justice  to  the  sincerity  of  their 
belief  in  the  gods  whom  they  so 
ignorantly  worshipped;  to  sympa- 
thise with  that  fear  of  death  which 
could  not  but  enslave  heroes  to  whom 
this  present  life  was  all  in  all :  can 
we  wonder  that  Pope,  the  artificial 
product  of  a  highly  artificial  age, 
proved  as  conspicuously  incapable 
of  all,  or  of  any,  of  these  tilings,  as 
even  the  few  extracts  which  we 
have  given  from  his  Iliad,  suffice 
to  show  him  to  have  been1?  We 
feel  a  pardonable  pride  when  we 
see  all  this  done  by  an  English 
statesman  of  our  OAvn  day. 

And  if  there  is  any  one  of  the 
olden  poets,  a  good  translation  of 
whom  can  never  fail  to  be  accept- 
able ;  of  whom  even  those  who  care 
least  for  the  classics  in  general, 
must  wish  to  know  all  they  can ; 
concerning  whom  no  decay  of  learn- 
ing can  ever  wholly  extinguish  curi- 
osity: it  must  surely  be  Homer. 
Not  to  speak  here  of  the  nice  dis- 
crimination of  character,  the  truly 
poetic  imagery,  the  vast  resources 
of  invention,  the  genuine  love  of 
nature,  the  deep  pathos,  the  sub- 
lime and  transcendent  genius,  which 
delight  us  in  each  book  of  the 
Homeric  poems  (gifts,  it  may  be 
observed,  not  so  common  in  any 
age  as  to  incline  us  readily  to  adopt 
the  suggestion,  that  those  books 
were  the  work  of  many  different 
minds);  Homer  comes  to  us  in- 


*  Pope's  version  of  Homer's  simple,    "  Weeping  she  spoke,  and  with  her  wept 
the  crowd,"  is  this:— 

"  So  spoke  the  fair,  with  sorrow-streaming  eye; 
Distressful  beauty  melts  each  stander-by. " 

This  unjust  representation  of  the  Trojans,  as  distracting  their  attention  from 
the  bier  of  their  brave  defender,  to  gaze  on  Helen  in  her  grief,  is  a  grave  error. 


Tht  Iliarf,  translated  by  Lord 


4.V.) 


vested,  to  an  eminent  decree,  with 
the  combined  charm  of  novelty  and 
of  antiquity. 

Of  novelty  and  freshness:  for 
we  know  no  poet  (except  the  sacred 
bards)  before  him.  When  we  read 
Homer,  we  stand  by  the  well-head 
whence  gush  out  the  fresh  waters, 
which  we  first  saw  hundreds  of 
miles  on  their  downward  course. 
The  metaphor,  which  poet  after 
poet  has  borrowed  from  him — and 
improved  upon  sometimes,  more 
frequently  spoilt — was  a  new  thing 
in  hi.*  lips.  The  poetical  fictions 
which  his  successors  have  learned 
from  him,  used  as  mere  machinery, 
worn  threadbare  and  then  dropped, 
are  realities  to  Homer.  The  Muses 
whom  lie  invokes  are  true  god- 
desses ;  to  him  the  gods  actually 
dwell  upon  Olympus.  He  had  no 
need  to  pause  before  expressing  a 
sentiment,  as  poets  do  now,  to  ask, 
Is  it  new  enough  to  interest/  Is 
it  sufficiently  dignified  ?  To  him 
everything  in  life  and  nature  was 
interesting  ;  and  all  truth  had  dig- 
nity. For  he  sang  in  the  childhood 
of  the  world.  Unworn,  unwearied 
by  centuries  of  crime  and  sorrow, 
to  him  its  grass  was  greener,  its  sky 
was  brighter  than  to  us.  Should 
we  not  rather  pity  than  blame  Pope 
for  having  failed  to  understand  his 
childlike  simplicity;  for  having 
thought  to  do  honour  to  his  pure 
light,  by  transmitting  it  to  others 
through  a  highly  -  coloured  me- 
dium ! 

Again  those  attributes  of  ex- 
treme old  age,  with  which  a  youthful 
poem*  of  the  Laureate's  invests 
Homer,  belong  of  right  to  the  most 
ancient  of  profane  writers  ;  the  man 
on  whom  so  many  ages  have  gazed 
with  reverence ;  who  looms  forth 
to  us  through  the  mist  of  interven- 
ing centuries,  great  and  venerable 
as  one  of  the  majestic  objects  of 
nature.  When  we  try  to  bridge 
over  in  some  way  the  wide  chasm 
which  separates  us  in  our  modern 


life  from  "  the  mighty  spirits  of  the 
elder  day" — when,  after  reflecting 
on  the  many  things  which  if  possess 
and  they  wanted,  and  on  much  in 
f/ifir  life  to  which  ours  is  altoge- 
ther a  stranger,  we  turn  at  last 
to  the  things  which  we  enjoy  in 
common  with  them, — we  may  re- 
collect that  tliey  looked  (though 
with  a  somewhat  different  eye)  on 
the  same  great  sights  of  nature  that 
we  see — upon  sun  and  moon,  upon 
sea  and  upon  land — and  that  they 
read  the  same  Homer.  From  him 
is  derived  the  story  which  forms 
the  groundwork  of  the  noble  tri- 
logy of  the  grandest  of  the  tragic 
poets  of  (Jreece.  In  two  out  of  the 
seven  extant  plays  of  Sophocles, 
in  no  less  than  eight  of  the  dramas 
of  Euripides,  are  there  characters 
from  the  Iliad.  Plato  allegorises 
Homer's  legends  of  the  gods  in 
his  '  Dialogues,'  and  confesses  their 
power  by  banishing  them  from  his 
'Republic.'  Aristotle  draws  illus- 
trations, from  Homer's  writings,  of 
moral  and  political  truth.  Hispupil, 
''the  great  Fmathian  conqueror/' 
was  not  satisfied  till  he  had  imi- 
tated Homer's  Achilles  even  in  one 
of  his  worst  deeds  ;  and  mourned 
to  think  that  he  had  no  such  poet 
to  sing  his  exploits,  as  had  that  an- 
cient hero.  Evidently  the  Hom- 
eric poems  were  to  him  and  to  his 
oflicers,  all  that  were  the  lays  of 
Arthur  and  of  Charlemagne  to 
the  chivalry  of  medieval  Europe. 
Cicero  found  a  pleasant  pastime 
in  the  grounds  of  his  Tusculan 
villa,  in  trying  to  fit  a  Latin  garb 
on  to  chosen  fragments  of  Homer; 
while  Virgil  and  the  later  Latin  poets 
drank  inspiration  from  him,  and 
handed  down  such  traditions  of  his 
story  as  enabled  the  romancers  of 
the  middle  ages  to  sing  of  the  tale 
of  "Sir  Hector  of  Troye, "  and  of 
''  FaireDame  Helene."  Quotations 
from  the  Homeric  poems  were  as 
completely  "  household  words1'  to 
the  ancient  world,  as  are  citations 


'The  Palace  of  Art.' 


460 


The  Iliad,  translated  TJIJ  Lord  Derby. 


[April, 


from  Shakespeare  to  the  English 
now.  Nay,  they  held  a  higher 
place  still,  as  we  might  naturally 
expect,  among  those  who  knew  of 
no  book  more  venerable.  It  is  a 
striking  illustration  of  this  that 
we  hear  a  line  out  of  the  Iliad 
from  the  dying  lips  of  one  of 
the  vilest  men  of  antiquity;  an- 
other from  those  of  its  best  and 
greatest  sage.  Nero,  awaiting  the 
punishment  of  his  evil  deeds,  rouses 
himself  to  anticipate  his  execu- 
tioners, as  he  hears  the  distant 
trampling  of  their  horses,  with  the 
exclamation,  "ITTTTCOV  /x'  uxvTrodav  djjL(f)\ 
KTvrros  ovara  /3d\Aei.*  —  II.  X.  535. 
And  Socrates  informs  Crito,  three 
days  before  the  fatal  hemlock- 
draught,  that  a  majestic  female  form 
appeared  to  him  in  his  sleep,  clad  in 
white,  and  thus  addressed  him  — 

Kfv  rpi.Ta.Tta    <bd[rjv 


"Three   days   will   bear   thee  home   to 
Phthia's  shore  !"  —  11.  is. 


Lord  Derby  has  put  it  within 
the  power  of  the  general  English 
public,  as  it  never  was  before  in  the 
same  degree,  to  become  acquaint- 
ed with  an  author  on  so  many  ac- 
counts so  interesting.  In  their 
name  we  beg  to  thank  him,  and  in 
our  own  also  for  all  the  pleasure 
which  his  delightful  book  has  given 
us.  We  are  glad  to  think  that  in  a 
work  which  will  procure  for  others 
so  much  enjoyment,  he  has  him- 
self found  satisfaction  and  interest. 
And  we  congratulate  him  most 
heartily  on  having  •  added  to  his 
other  laurels  this  unprecedented 
success.  An  English  Iliad  alike 
satisfactory  to  the  scholar  by  its 
accuracy;  to  the  tasteful  lover  of 
ancient  literature,  by  its  wonderful 
reproduction  of  Homer's  character- 
istic epithets  and  picturesque  ex- 
pressions ;  and  to  all  readers,  by  its 
vigour  and  transparent  clearness  of 
style,  and  by  the  easy  flow  of  its 
grand  and  harmonious  verse. 


"The  sound  of  horses,  hurrying,  strikes  mine  ear." 


•)•  Crito.  44. 


1S65.] 


Thf  Lavs  ft', Short  ]\'hist. 


•HJl 


TIIK    LAWS    or    SHORT    WHIST. 


IT  was  a  good  inspiration  that 
suggested  the  little  volume  whose 
title  we  have  placed  above.  Cases 
were  continually  occurring  in  which 
men  disputed  curtain  points,  on  the 
assumption  that  the  rules  which 
applied  to  the  old  game  of  Long 
Whist  were  not  applicable  to  the 
new  Bailie  ;  and  others  were  disposed 
to  quote  the  practice  of  particular 
clubs  as  an  authority  ;  so  that  .some 
standard  was  really  necessary,  to 
which  all  great  Whist-playing  com- 
munities might  conform,  and  to 
whose  dti-td  all  should  subscribe. 

The  present  volume  has  fulfilled 
this  requisite,  and  we  have  no 
doubt  that  it  will  be  accepted,  not 
only  by  the  long  list  of  clubs  which 
have  already  given  in  their  adhe- 
sion, but  largely  wherever  this  de- 
lightful game  is  played  and  enjoyed. 

Nothing  is  more  common  in  the 
world  than  the  censure  which  in- 
discriminately and  unjustly  classes 
all  manner  of  "(.lames''  under  one 
head,  and  distributes  the  same 
measure  of  condemnation  to  each. 
It  would  be  good  service  to  ety- 
mology, as  well  as  to  ethics,  if 
people  would  distinguish  between 
gamester  and  gambler — between 
the  man  who  plays  for  the  pleasure 
imparted  by  an  intellectual  pas- 
time, and  him  who  sits  down  to 
play  as  a  pecuniary  speculation. 

The  non-playing  community  will 
make  no  difference  between  these, 
and  are  prone  to  confound  the 
Chess  and  the  Whist  player  with 
the  votary  of  Jtoufje-cl-noir  and  the 
follower  of  ]t<nil<-tte.  This  is  illib- 
eral, and  it  is  unwise. 

Now,  a  game  of  skill  and  ad- 
dress is  to  a  game  of  pure  ha/ard 
pretty  much  as  the  legitimate  plea- 
sures of  life  are  to  the  unlicensed 
excesses  of  the  debauchee.  In  the 
one  case  there  are  laws  to  which 
you  must  conform — obligations  to 


fulfil — limits  to  observe — penalties 
to  submit  to.  There  is,  in  fact,  a 
little  (Hide  to  which  you  must  yield 
obedience,  instilling  in  all  its  de- 
tails those  lessons  which  in  the 
larger  a  Hairs  of  life  are  no  mean 
aids  to  civilisation,  lle.sides  there 
are  the  neces.-ities  for  a  mental 
effort,  for  watchfulness,  caution, 
memory,  promptitude,  and  readi- 
ness. In  the  game  of  chance  none 
of  these  are  called  for.  lie  who 
can  go  through  the  manual  exploit 
of  depositing  his  stake  is  the  equal 
of  the  best  around  the  table. 

Whist,  in  a  pre-eminent  degree, 
exacts  the  exercise  of  a  large  range 
of  faculties — and  faculties,  too,  of 
a  very  varied  and  dissimilar  order. 
It  is  very  common  to  hear  a  pre- 
ference accorded  to  Chess  over 
Whist,  on  the  ground  that  in  Chess 
no  element  of  chance  enters,  and 
that  the  whole  conduct  of  the  game 
is  resolvable  to  mathematical  cer- 
tainty. Now,  it  is  precisely  for 
this  very  difference  that  we  claim 
the  superiority  for  Whist.  It  is  in 
this  same  element  of  chance  that 
Whist  so  closely  resembles  real  life. 
It  is  in  this  same  element  of  what 
may  or  may  not  be,  that  we  have  a 
field  for  the  exercise  of  those  pow- 
ers which  calculate  probabilities, 
and  argue  from  the  likely  or  un- 
likely, and  draw  conclusions  from 
premises  not  absolutely  certain, 
but  still  as  probable  as  are  the 
greater  number  of  the  unaccom- 
plished events  in  our  actual  lives. 
If  there  be  a  game  which  sets  the 
line  edge  on  the  reasoning  powers  of 
the  man  of  the  world — of  him  who 
is  to  be  conversant  with  the  daily 
incidents  of  life,  and  those  who 
set  them  in  motion — it  is  Whist. 
Show  me  a  first-rate  Whist-player, 
and  I  will  engage  to  show  you  a 
man,  to  whose  knowledge  of  the 
world,  to  whose  tact,  to  whose 


'The  L:I\VH  of  Short  Whist.'     Edited  by  J.  L.  Baldwin.     Harrison,  London. 


462 


Tlie  Laivs  of  Short  Whist. 


[April, 


powers  of  computing  the  cost  of 
any  action,  and  striking  the  balance 
of  advantage  or  disservice  it  might 
entail,  you  may  apply  in  a  moment 
of  doubt  or  difficulty.  Show  me 
a  first-rate  Whist-player,  and  you 
show  me  one  who  combines  patient 
powers  of  a  judicial  order  with  the 
energetic  rapidity  of  a  man  of  action; 
who  has  the  keenest  appreciation 
of  the  la,ws  of  evidence,  along  with 
the  steady  courage  of  the  soldier  ; 
and  in  whose  balanced  intellect  no 
undue  prominence  is  ever  accorded 
to  one  class  of  faculties  at  the  ex- 
pense of  another. 

I  know  that  a  great  many  people — 
excellent  people,  estimable  in  every 
way — will  regard  what  I  say  here 
as  exaggeration,  and  will  exclaim, 
"  What  absurdity  it  is  to  talk  of 
such  qualities  as  these  being  en- 
listed in  a  mere  game  !  "  A  mere 
game !  And  what,  may  I  ask,  are 
the  daily -recurring  difficulties  of 
life  but  mere  games  1  Is  not  every 
operation  of  commerce,  every  spec- 
ulation, every  lawsuit,  a  game  ]  Is 
not  every  occasion  in  which  man  is 
pitted  against  man,  and  intelligence 
pitted  against  intelligence,  a  game  ? 
Does  not  Fortune  deal  out  cards  to 
us  every  day  we  live  1  and  are  we 
not  triumphant  in  our  trumps  or 
manfully  struggling  under  the  dif- 
ficulties of  a  bad  hand  1 

Don't  despise  the  faculties  em- 
ployed upon  a  mere  game,  unless 
you  be  prepared  to  disparage  the 
qualities  which  are  daily  exercised 
in  the  great  affairs  of  life.  They 
are  precisely  the  self-same  forces, 
though  they  be  swayed  with  differ- 
ent intentions. 

Games  are,  I  insist,  far  more  in- 
tellectual as  pastimes,  better  as 
stimulants,  better  as  reliefs  to  the 
actual  drudgery  of  life,  than  the 
great  majority  of  those  "  conversa- 
tions "  which  people  assume  to  be 
the  acme"  of  social  culture,  and 
which  are  for  the  most  part  made 
up  of  repetitions  and  reiterations. 
It  is  often  of  great  consequence  to 
relieve  an  overworked  brain  —  to 
relax  the  tension  of  over-strained 


faculties.  Absolute  rest  will  not 
suffice.  There  is  a  certain  amount 
of  intellectual  activity  required ; 
and  just  as  we  see  that  a  man  can 
sit  longer  without  fatigue  in  a 
spring-carriage  than  he  could  rest 
in  the  best -stuffed  arm-chair,  so 
it  is  there  is  more  real  rest  im- 
parted by  moderate  occupation 
than  by  total  inertness.  A  game 
will  do  this — a  game  will  call  for  a 
certain  activity  of  mind  stimulated 
by  a  constant  interest ;  and  it  is 
in  the  alternate  play  of  occupation 
and  amusement  a  really  active  mind 
will  take  its  most  pleasurable  re- 
pose. The  rapid  results  keep  the 
faculties  awake  and  in  the  interest 
of  the  play ;  a  man  learns  to  forget 
what  all  the  solicitude  of  friends, 
and  all  the  blandishments  of  beau- 
ty, were  not  able  to  banish  from  his 
brooding  imagination. 

Of  the  little  '  Treatise  on  Whist,' 
by  J.  C.,  included  in  the  volume,  I 
have  not  much  to  say ;  but  it  is  al- 
most all  praise.  The  hints  he  gives 
as  to  leads  and  the  call  for  trumps 
are  good,  and  will  be  valuable  to 
young  players.  I  do  not  completely 
agree  in  his  comparative  estimate 
of  French  and  English  play,  and 
I  opine  that  the  Jockey  Club  in 
Paris  has  players  of  a  certainly 
more  brilliant  order  than  any  we 
can  match  against  them  in  our 
country.  In  the  Dummy  Game  the 
Germans  are  unquestionably  our 
superiors.  Both  French  and  Ger- 
man are  bolder  than  we  are,  more 
prone  to  play  out  trumps,  and  start 
earlier  in  "  stride,"  so  to  say,  than 
we  do,  who  usually  keep  the  "rush" 
for  the  end  of  the  game,  and  are 
satisfied  with  scoring  the  trick — 
winning  the  "  heat "  where  we  ought 
to  have  won  the  "  race." 

The  notion  of  "  first  saving  the 
game  before  you  think  of  winning 
it "  is  totally  subversive  of  all  that 
combination  by  which  a  really  good 
player  manages  to  play  out  in  ima- 
gination two  or  three  different 
issues  to  his  "hand"  before  he  de- 
posits a  card  on  the  table.  He  who 
cannot  do  this,  and  who  cannot  do 


1865.] 


The  Laws  of  Short  }\'hut. 


•U53 


it  as  rapidly,  as  instinctively,  as  lie 
arranges  his  curds  in  his  hand,  is  no 
Wbiat-plnyer. 

Nor  is  the  dashing  character  of 
the  French  game  so  haxardous  as 
men  deem  it  generally.  The  frank 
lead  of  trumps  is  just  a.s  often  se- 
curity as  rashness;  and  particularly 
is  this  the  case  when  the  player, 
perceiving  that  his  own  .share  of 
the  combat  must  be  that  of  a  sub- 
ordinate, at  once  devotes  his  whole 
strength  to  the  support  of  his 
stronger  partner.  In  this  quick, 
almost  instinctive  appreciation  of 
the  part  assigned  to  him  by  for- 
tune, the  French  player  is  vastly 
superior  to  the  English.  Your 
French  partner's  lead  is  a  candid 
declaration  of  what  amount  of 
strength  lie  can  contribute  to  the 
struggle.  He  says — "  Count  upon 
me  for  this  ;  do  not  depend  on  me 
for  that."  Your  own  fault  must  it 
be  if  you  have  to  complain  after- 
wards of  disappointment. 

.Since  Deschapelles  there  has  been 
110  such  player  in  Europe,  except 
perhaps  a  Greek — a  M.  Kalergi, 
the  brother  of  the  Minister  of  that 
name.  His  play,  I  am  convinced, 
has  no  equal  amongst  the  present 
race  of  W lusters.  It  combined 
every  quality  of  intrepidity  and 
caution,  and  had,  besides,  a  recuper- 
ative power,  by  which,  when  he  dis- 
covered a  particular  line  of  attack 
or  defence  impracticable,  he  adopt- 
ed another  with  instantaneous  rapi- 
dity, and  often  with  such  adroitness, 
too,  as  to  mislead  the  adversary, 
who  still  believed  him  in  pursuit  of 
his  former  intention. 

Another  great  gift  was  his  : 
which  was  to  measure — and  almost 
in  a  moment — the  capacity  of  his 
partner ;  to  divine  all  his  peculi- 
arities, and  to  note  all  the  preju- 
dices he  possessed,  liis  power  of 
adapting  himself  to  the  ever-vary- 
ing caprices  of  his  partners  was  an 
exhibition  of  mental  dexterity  that 
resembled  the  .skill  of  an  Indian 
juggler  with  his  balls.  This,  how- 
ever amusing  to  witness,  conveyed 
no  teaching  to  the  Whist -player 


who  looked  over  him — no  more 
than  the  skill  of  a  particular  physi- 
cian in  his  detection  of  disease  ad- 
vances the  science  of  medicine  : 
these  things  belong  to  the  indivi- 
dual ;  they  are  not  a  portion  of  the 
art. 

('.  very  justly  observes  that  there 
is  a  wide  difference  between  the  Eng- 
lish and  French  schools  of  whist  ; 
but  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  lie 
has  not  accorded  its  full  meed  of 
praise  to  the  latter,  and  1  protest 
strongly  against  that  middle  course 
he  would  adopt  between  the  two 
systems.  The  French  game  is  un- 
questionably bold — it  is  bold  in 
attack  and  bold  in  defence ;  but 
there  is  this  to  be  said  for  the  sys- 
tem of  playing  out  trumps,  that,  as 
no  amount  of  foresight  will  enable 
a  man  to  say  when  a  suit  may  not  be 
"  ruffed,"  the  exhaustion  of  trumps, 
in  removing  that  difficulty,  enables 
a  skilful  player  to  make  more  and 
more  daring  "finesses"  than  he 
could  possibly  have  attempted  were 
trumps  still  held  in  hand.  This  of 
course  is  a  subordinate  reason  for 
the  trump  game,  but  it  constitutes 
a  mode  of  play  which  I  have  seen 
a  I-'rench  whister  employ  with  im- 
mense success.  Leading  trumps, 
too,  from  a  weak  trump  hand,  is 
in  some  cases  an  admirable  game. 
Your  highest  trump,  a  knave  or 
even  a  ten,  will  frequently  prove 
the  "  complement  "  of  your  part- 
ner's hand  ;  for,  as  every  one  who 
has  played  much  will  acknowledge, 
your  weak  suit  will,  in  three  cases 
out  of  five  at  least,  be  the  strong 
one  of  your  partner.  It  is  essential, 
too,  that  your  partner,  with  a  strong 
suit,  should  not  be  left  to  lead  up 
to  you  with  a  weak  one.  By  the 
avowal  made  in  your  lead  of  a  ten 
or  a  nrne,  he  will  understand  this 
at  once,  and  immediately  measure 
his  ambition  in  the  game  by  the 
amount  of  his  <>tcn  strength. 

C1.  says  nothing  on  a  line  of  play 
that  French  and  Russian  players 
frequently  practise,  which  is  to  in- 
duce the  adversary  to  attack  by 
some  simulated  weakness.  In  this 


464 


The  Laws  of  Short  Whist. 


[April, 


way,  for  instance,  with  a  strong 
hand  in  trumps  and  a  long  suit, 
I  have  seen  a  Singleton  played, 
which  being  followed  by  a  ruff, 
the  adversary  at  once  led  trumps, 
and  in  this  way  fell  into  an  ambus- 
cade. Kalergi  practised  this ;  but 
I  suspect  he  did  it  chiefly  to  vary 
his  game,  so  that  he  defeated  all 
the  efforts  of  those  who  would  try 
to  learn  his  peculiar  mode  of  play. 

C.,  however,  insists  so  much  on 
the  clear  understanding  that  should 
subsist  between  partners,  that  it  is 
highly  probable  he  would  reject 
whatever  seemed  to  invalidate  this 
great  precept.  It  is  well,  however, 
to  bear  in  mind,  that  every  indica- 
tion you  convey  to  your  partner  of 
your  strength  or  of  your  intentions, 
is  at  once  understood  by  your  ad- 
versaries, who  are  as  two  to  one 
against  you  in  the  mystery;  and 
there  are  times — I  will  not  say  that 
they  occur  in  every  game  —  but 
there  are  moments  when  your  part- 
ner is  so  palpably  unable  to  assist 
you,  it  would  be  a  mere  waste  of 
candour  on  your  part  to  take  him 
into  your  confidence,  at  the  cost  of 
exposing  yourself  to  the  adversary. 
I  do  not  wish  to  occupy  space  by 
an  illustration,  but  every  whist- 
player  will  be  able  to  supply  one. 
I  wish  C.  had  devoted  a  chapter, 
or  part  of  one,  to  an  enumeration 
of  the  most  glaring  faults  which 
bad  players  commit.  I  am  certain 
it  would  go  further  to  correct  the 
ordinary  transgressions  than  all  the 
precepts  that  ever  were  given  for 
good  play.  In  fact,  laws  are  al- 
ways denunciatory.  Men  are  not 
advised  to  be  virtuous ;  they  are 
not  warned  not  to  be  wicked. 

I  am  confident  I  should  not 
have  had  a  grey  hair  in  my  head 
these  ten  years  to  come,  if  it  were 
not  for  that  wretch  who  refused  to 
lead  back  my  trump  in  order  that 
he  might  make  one  miserable  trick 
by  a  ruff.  The  "  second  murderer," 
too,  who  never  will  lead  twice  for 
the  same  suit,  has  aged  me  more 
than  all  my  gout. 

As  to  the  fatuous  imbecile  that, 


when  he  plays  a  card,  always  looks 
at  his  partner,  and  never  once  at 
the  board,  there  is  not  a  club  in 
Europe  without  some  dozens  of 
them.  And  are  they  not  a  heavy 
infliction  !  There  are  others  who 
cannot  be  taught  the  manual  part 
of  the  game,  but  are  constantly 
dropping  cards,  playing  out  of  turn, 
or,  heresy  of  heresies,  mistaking 
the  trump  !  The  defaulter  is  post- 
ed who  merely  defrauds  you  of  your 
money;  and  here  is  a  fellow  who 
impairs  your  digestion,  sets  your 
nerves  ajar,  and  actually  curdles 
the  whole  milk  of  your  existence, 
suffered  to  go  free  and  unpunished! 

There  is  a  moral  obliquity  in  cer- 
tain whist-players  far  more  signifi- 
cant than  all  the  elevations  on  the 
frontal  bone,  or  the  bumps  on  the 
occiput.  How  I  wish  I  could  draw 
attention  to  this  point — how  I  wish 
I  could  make  men  alive  to  the  fact 
that  whist  has  its  ethical  side  ;  and 
that,  as  an  indication  of  a  man's 
nature,  of  his  tendencies  to  hope  or 
to  despair — of  his  self-reliance,  of 
his  boldness,  of  his  timidity,  or  de- 
pendence, there  never  yet  was  in- 
vented a  gauge  to  be  compared  to 
this  game.  Don't  sneer  at  this,  and 
say.  Pshaw  !  it  is  a  mere  pastime  : 
so  it  is,  but  it  is  a  pastime  every 
step  of  which  unfolds  a  trait ;  and 
as  an  episode,  a  man's  rubber  is  as 
complete  as  any  incident  that  ever 
befell  him. 

There  is  no  better  remark  in  C.'s 
whole  book  than  "  The  Americans 
rarely  play  the  right  card,  if  they 
have  one  to  play  which  is  likely  to 
deceive  everybody."  0  that  Messrs 
Lincoln  and  Seward  would  medi- 
tate over  this,  and  see  that  the  little 
sport  in  trumps  they  tried  in  the 
Trent  affair,  and  the  false  attempt 
to  score  honours  where  they  had 
not  held  them,  have  so  shown  their 
hands  that  nothing  they  do  here- 
after will  give  them  a  character  for 
fair-dealing  and  frankness  ! 

It  is  not  so  easy  to  answer  those 
who  object  to  Whist  on  the  score  of 
its  gambling  tendencies,  and  that 
men  occasionally  convert  it  into  a 


1805. 


The  Lairs  of  ,^/iort  H'hist. 


positive  career.  Hut  let  us  be  can- 
did :  was  there  ever  anything  mor- 
tal which  could  not  l>e  abused  ? 
Do  all  men  marry  for  love,  or  are 
there  not  three  or  four  every  year 
who  basely  sacrifice  themselves  for 
money  I  Have  there  not  been  sol- 
diers who  liked  "  loot'1  I  and  is  not, 
generally  speaking,  a  war  in  China 
more  favourably  regarded  by  the 
service  than  a  campaign  in  New 
Zealand  ?  1  am  afraid  we  should 
even  find  the  sons  of  letters — ay. 
poets  themselves — a  little  given  to 
lucre  if  we  pushed  our  inquiries  in 
this  direction  ;  and  neither  hus- 
band, soldier,  nor  author  should  be- 
set down  as  unworthy  seekers  after 
riches.  Money  was  but  an  element 
in  their  temptation.  Money,  in  short, 
typified  success.  "When  a  man  won 
— wife  or  odd  trick  as  it  might  be — • 
he  was  paid  ;  and  very  little  confu- 
sion of  mind  was  needed  to  mix  up 
two  pleasurable  events  and  imagine 
them  to  be  one.  For  myself  I  can 
honestly  say,  and  I  call  upon  my 
friends  to  corroborate  me,  that  I 
scold  my  partner  as  virulently,  and  1 
invoke  as  many  misfortunes  on  his 
head  for  his  shortcomings,  at  six- 
penny points,  a.s  if  we  were  playing 
pounds,  and  twenty  on  the  rubber. 
C.  concludes  his  chapter  on  the 
"Grand  CW/>  "  by  what  he  calls 
the  Great  Vienna  Couj)  at  Double 
Dummy.  The  problem  is  pretty  and 


ingenious,  but  certainly  not  diffi- 
cult of  solution.  At  the  same  time, 
one  might  demur  to  the  fact  a.s  .set 
down  in  the  text,  that  as  soon  as 
the  cards  were  exposed  the  player 
exclaimed,  "  Why,  1  shall  make  in 
all  thirteen  tricks  .'"  Jt  is  hard  to 
believe  that  any  <•<,*//,  </'<///  >hould 
go  thus  far,  though  it  is  not  by  any 
means  difficult  to  suppose  that, 
after  a  brief  computation,  the  re- 
sult miulit  be  arrived  at.  Had 
the  author  given  this  problem  a.s 
an  illustration  of  the  "  pressure  of 
the  discard/'  instead  of  placing  it 
at  the  end  of  his  remarks  on  the 
Grand  <'"»/>,  it  would  be  perhaps 
more  easy  of  .solution  by  his 
readers. 

Deschapelles's  Grand  ('<>iij>  was 
an  adaptation  derived  from  his 
Chess-playing.  It  was  the  Gam- 
bit transposed  into  Whist. 

I  have  for  years  been  meditating 
a  great  book  on  Whist. — Whist 
treated,  as  a  German  would  >ay,  in 
all  its  many-sidedness.  To  accom- 
plish this  worthily,  however,  would 
require  so  many  conditions  of  time, 
peace,  tranquillity,  retirement,  with 
occasional  intercourse  with  the 
world,  that  I  half  fear  my  "  span  '' 
will  run  out  without  my  being  able 
to  bequeath  to  posterity  this  tes- 
timony of  my  affectionate  interest 
in  their  culture  and  in  their  enjoy- 
ment. 


4G6 


John  Leech. 


[April, 


JOHN    LEECH. 


THE  year  which  has  just  passed 
opened  sadly  with  the  death  of 
William  Makepeace  Thackeray;  be- 
fore it  closed,  John  Leech  was 
laid  by  the  side  of  his  schoolfellow, 
his  friend,  and  his  fellow-labourer. 
There  Avas  hardly  a  household  in 
the  United  Kingdom  over  which  a 
gloom  was  not  cast  by  the  tidings 
of  his  death— a  Christmas  hearth 
round  which  he  was  not  mourned,  or 
whose  brightness  was  not  dimmed 
by  his  loss.  It  was  as  if  an  old 
familiar  face  were  missed,  a  friendly 
voice  hushed.  The  kindliest  of 
moralists,  the  gentlest  of  satirists, 
was  no  more ;  but  the  spirit  that 
had  so  lately  fled  seemed  still  to 
linger  round  the  Christmas-tree,  to 
mingle  in  the  sports  it  had  loved  so 
well,  to  wreathe  itself  in  the  smiles 
and  float  on  the  sweet  laughter  of 
childhood,  and  to  hover  lovingly 
over  the  scenes  it  had  so  often  ren- 
dered immortal. 

All  that  the  world  has  a  right  to 
ask  of  the  personal  history  of  John 
Leech  has  been  already  told.  That 
he  was  originally  destined  for  the 
medical  profession ;  that  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  strong  promptings  of 
genius  he  early  abandoned  it ;  that 
his  life  was  pure  and  noble;  that  he 
was  beloved  by  friends,  and  those 
nearer  and  dearer  than  friends, — 
this  is  all  we  are  entitled  to  know, 
and  it  is  enough. 

As  has  been  the  case  with  almost 
all  great  humorists,  there  was  a 
vein  of  melancholy  in  the  character 
of  Leech.  "Our  sweetest  songs 
are  those  that  tell  of  saddest 
thought;"  and  this  tone  of  mind 
seems  to  be  as  inseparable  from 
genius  as  the  plaintive  strains  are 
from  that  music  "  which  wakes 
our  tears  ere  smiles  have  left  us/' 

The  lines  in  which  the  character 
of  a  lamented  statesman  have  been 
so  vividly  drawn  in  these  pages 
might  with  truth  have  been  applied 
to  the  artist : — 


"His  mirth,  though  genial,  came  by  fits 

and  starts ; 
The  man  was  mournful  in  his  heart  of 

hearts. 

Oft  would  he  sit  or  wander  forth  alone, 
Sad, — why   I   know   nut, — was   it   ever 

known  ? 
Tears  came  with  ease  to  those  ingenuous 

eyes ; 

A  verse,  if  noble,  bade  them  nobly  rise. 
Hear  him  discourse,  you'd  think  he  hardly 

felt; 

No  heart  more  facile  to  arouse  or  melt, — 
High  as  a  knights  in  some  Castilian  lay, 
And  tender  as  a  sailor's  in  a  play." 

Silent,  gentle,  forbearing,  his  in- 
dignation flashed  forth  in  eloquence 
when  roused  by  anything  mean 
or  ungenerous.  Manly  in  all  his 
thoughts,  tastes,  and  habits,  there 
was  about  him  an  almost  feminine 
tenderness.  He  would  sit  by  the 
bedside  and  smooth  the  pillow  of 
a  sick  child  with  the  gentleness  of 
a  woman.  No  wonder  he  was  the 
idol  of  those  around  him  ;  but  it  is 
the  happiness  of  such  a  life  that 
there  is  so  little  to  be  told  of  it. 

In  an  article  upon  the  Public 
Schools  of  London,  which  appeared 
about  four  years  ago  in  the  pages 
of  'Once  a  Week,'  the  following 
passage  occurs  in  the  description  of 
the  Charterhouse  : — 

"  We  strolled  out  into  the  green 
again,  which  is  so  large  that  one  por- 
tion of  it  forms  an  excellent  cricket- 
ground.  It  is  surrounded  by  high 
walls,  and  is  overlooked  from  the  upper 
windows  of  the  houses  in  the  adjacent 
streets.  J.  mentioned  to  me  a  story 
of  a  young  Carthusian's  mother,  which 
was,  I  thought,  touching  enough.  She 
had  sent  her  little  boy,  then  a  mere 
child,  to  this  huge  school.  It  had  cost 
her  many  a  pang  to  part  with  him ; 
but,  as  she  was  a  lady  of  good  sense  as 
well  as  of  gentle  heart,  she  resolved  to 
abstain  from  visiting  him  at  his  board- 
ing-house. She  knew  it  was  right  that 
he  should  be  left  to  take  his  chance 
with  the  others,  and  she  had  sufficient 
strength  of  mind  not  to  sacrifice  his 
future  welfare  to  the  indulgence  of  her 
own  affection.  See  him,  however,  she 
would,  but  in  such  a  way  that  the  child 
could  not  see  her.  She  therefore  hired 


1665.] 


John  Ltech. 


407 


n  room  in  ono  of  tho  houses  which  com- 
manded .1  view  of  the  Carthusian  play- 
ing-ground  ;  and  hero  bhe  would  Hit 
iM'hind  a  Mind,  day  after  day,  happy 
and  content  so  that  she  could  get  a 
glimpse  of  her  child.  Sometimes  she 
\viiuld  see  him  strolling  al>oiit  with  his 
arm  round  the  neck  of  one  of  his  little 
companions,  as  the  way  of  HchooUniyu 
is;  .sometimes  he  was  play  ing  ami  jump- 
ing alx'iit  with  uhildUh  glee.  ;  l>ut  .still 
the  mother  kept  her  watch.  You  may 
see  the  place  where  she  did  it.  Look 
yonder,  that  upper  window,  ju.st  Inside, 
the  gold-heater's  arm." 

Tho  boy  in  this  story  was  John 
Leech.  How  much  of  tho  mingled 
firmness  and  tenderness  of  his  cha- 
racter may  he  have  inherited  from 
such  a  mother  / 

ilis  success  came  early.  There 
is  no  tale  to  be  told  of  the  struggles 
and  heartburnings  of  unacknow- 
ledged genius.  Before  he  was  livo- 
nnd-twenty  years  of  ago  he  was 
celebrated,  and  to  the  very  hour  of 
his  death  his  popularity  steadily 
and  constantly  increa-sed.  His  life 
was  short  when  measured  by  yeans  ; 
but  if  we  take  the  truer  measure  of 
sensation,  it  extended  far  beyond 
the  ordinary  limit  of  humanity. 
Ilis  brain  was  never  idle,  and  his 
hand  rarely  at  rest.  The  amount 
of  intellectual  labour  he  must  have 
gone  through  is  prodigious,  and  it 
is  wonderful  that  an  organ  so  finely 
constituted,  an  instrument  so  deli- 
cately tuned,  as  his  brain  must 
have  been,  did  not  give  way 
sooner. 

This  delicate  power  of  perception, 
tremblingly  alive  to  the  finest  and 
most  evanescent  characteristics  of 
every  object  that  presented  itself  to 
his  notice,  is  perhaps  the  most  dis- 
tinctive feature  of  the  genius  of 
Leech.  No  truer  record  of  the  man- 
ners and  habits  of  society  in  the 
middle  of  the  nineteenth  century 
can  be  conceived  than  that  which 
is  found  in  the  productions  of  his 
pencil.  His  powers  of  satire  were 
rather  refined  than  deep.  Had  he 
worked  with  the  pen  instead  of  the 
pencil,  he  might  have  written  tho 
'  Precieusea  Kidicules,'  or  the  '  Rape 

VOL.  xcvu. — NO.  DXCIV. 


of  the  Lock;'  but  could  hardly 
have  produced  the  'Misanthrope'  or 
the  '  Moral  Essays.'  He  preferred 
laughing  at  follies  to  hashing  vicis. 
The  pretensions  of  a  "  snob,"  or 
the  vulgarities  of  a  "  gent,"  were 
the  favourite  objects  of  his  satire  ; 
like  Touchstone,  it  was  ''  meat  and 
drink  to  him  to  see  a  fool."  Vet  the 
kindliness  of  his  disposition  shows 
itself  in  the  mode  in  which  he  treats 
even  his  victim.  One  of  the  most 
popular  and  .successful  of  his  crea- 
tions is  "Old  Uriggs."  How  the 
character  grows  and  develops  un- 
der his  hand  from  the  fortunate 
day  when  "the cook  .says  she  thinks 
there's  a  loose  slate  on  the  root',  and 
fr  Uriggs  replies  that  the  sooner 
it  is  set  to  rights  the  better,  and  he 
will  see  about  it,"  through  all  the 
various  phases  of  house-keeping  and 
horse  keeping,  of  fox-hunting,  fish- 
ing, pheasant -shooting,  and  deer- 
stalking. And  here  we  may  ob- 
serve the  delicate  gradations  by 
which  the  artist  has  marked  the 
progress  of  Mr  Uriggs  in  his  sport- 
ing education.  On  his  first  intro- 
duction he  is  essentially  a  town 
man.  He  has  probably  spent  his 
life,  until  past  fifty  years  of  age.  in 
a  warehouse,  or  behind  a  desk  or  a 
counter,  Uut  the  strong  sporting 
instinct  has  only  lain  dormant  with- 
in him,  till  awakened  by  accident  ; 
and,  when  once  aroused,  breaks 
fortli  in  full  vigour.  Uriggs  is  a 
totally  different  character  from  tho 
Cockney  sportsman  who  was  the 
butt  of  Gilray  or  of  Seymour.  It  is 
impossible  not  to  feel  sympathy  and 
respect  for  the  perseverance  and  re- 
solution with  which  lie  pursues  his 
object,  or  affection  for  the  good- 
humour  with  which  he  meets  re- 
peated disappointment.  "Who  can 
help  rejoicing  heartily  with  him 
when  at  last  he  catches  that  mar- 
vellous salmon  i 

Little  Tom  Noddy  is  another  ad- 
mirable creation.  How  exquisitely 
ludicrous  is  the  whole  series  of  his 
sporting  adventures !  Vet  the  little 
man  never  loses  his  hold  on  our  af- 
fections. Here,  too,  we  find  a  re- 
2  I 


468 


John  Leech. 


[April, 


markable  proof  of  the  fertility  of 
genius  and  acute  observation  of  the 
artist.  Briggs  and  Tom  Noddy 
pass  through  the  same  scenes,  but 
the  ideas  are  always  new,  and  each 
character  is  stamped  with  its  own 
distinctive  idiosyncrasies.  They 
are  as  different  from  each  other  as 
Master  Slender  is  from  Froth,  or 
Touchstone  from  the  fool  in  Lear. 

As  a  political  caricaturist,  Leech 
holds  a  position  midway  between 
Gilray  and  Cruikshank  on  the 
one  hand,  and  H.  B.  on  the  other. 
His  satire  was  not  so  keen  nor  was 
his  pencil  so  vigorous  as  that  of 
the  two  former  artists ;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  times  have 
changed,  and  that  the  weapons 
with  which  Gilray  assailed  Pitt 
and  Fox,  and  those  which  Cruik- 
shank wielded  against  Castlereagh 
and  Sidmouth,  would  not  be  equally 
fitted  for  the  days  of  Peel  and  Lord 
John  Russell,  of  Lord  Palmerston 
and  Mr  Disraeli. 

Leech  possessed  the  finest  eye  for 
all  objects  of  natural  beauty.  A 
keen  sense  of  the  beautiful  dis- 
tinguishes him  from  almost  all 
other  caricaturists.  It  is  to  be 
found  occasionally,  though  rarely, 
in  the  earlier  works  of  Gilray,  and 
more  frequently  in  those  of  Row- 
landson,  but  disappears  almost  en- 
tirely from  the  later  productions 
of  both.  In  Cruikshank  it  finds 
its  chief  manifestation  when  he 
disports  himself  amongst  the  crea- 
tions of  fairyland ;  and  it  is  well 
worthy  of  remark,  that,  unlike  his 
predecessors,  this  sense  of  beauty 
seems  to  have  strengthened  instead 
of  diminishing  as  time  has  mel- 
lowed the  genius  of  that  great  mas- 
ter. Over  Leech  it  has  from  the 
first  exercised  an  abiding  influence, 
and  there  is  hardly  a  production  of 
his  pencil  in  which  some  touch  does 
not  appear  to  bear  testimony  to  his 
devotion.  His  power  of  expressing 
beauty  by  a  few  lines  strengthened 
with  years,  but  with  increasing 
facility  of  hand  came  in  some  de- 
gree the  defect  of  mannerism.  One 
type  of  beauty  took  possession  of 


his  heart,  and  he  too  often  content- 
ed himself  with  reproducing  it. 
There  are  other  artists  of  kindred 
genius  to  whose  works  we  might 
refer  as  examples  of  a  similar  habit ; 
and  when  it  is  remembered  how  ra- 
pid and  unceasing  the  call  upon  his 
creative  power  was,  that,  week  by 
week,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years, 
he  produced  designs  which,  for  the 
amount  of  thought  and  invention 
they  required,  were  equal  to  pic- 
tures, our  surprise  will  be  at  the 
variety  which  he  introduced  in  the 
character  and  expression  of  the  ac- 
tors in  the  scenes  of  his  comedy. 
Leech's  typeof  beautyis  thoroughly 
English  and  domestic — the  gay  mo- 
dest good-tempered  girl  who  is  the 
sunbeam  on  her  father's  hearth,  the 
beloved  of  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
the  adored  of  her  cousins,  who 
passes  by  natural  transition  into  the 
faithful  wife  and  fond  mother,  who 
bears  around  her  through  life  a 
halo  of  purity  and  innocence,  is  the 
muse  that  inspires  his  pencil.  This 
purity  is  a  constant  characteristic 
of  Leech's  beauties.  Constance, 
who  drives  her  private  hansom — 
Miss  Selina  Hardman,  who  asks 
poor  Robinson  to  "give  her  a  lead  " 
over  a  five-barred  gate — Diana,  who 
slips  off  at  an  ugly  fence,  leaving 
the  skirt  of  her  habit  on  the  pom- 
mel of  her  saddle — have  not  the 
most  remote  affinity  to  the  objec- 
tionable young  ladies  of  the  pre- 
sent day  who  ape  the  graces  of 
Anonyma  as  she  flaunts  in  the  Park, 
are  rather  proud  to  be  taken  for 
"  pretty  horsebreakers,"  and  expose 
themselves  to  the -ridicule  and  con- 
tempt of  their  partners  by  talking 
of  persons  and  places  of  the  mere 
knowledge  of  whose  names  they 
ought  to  be  ashamed.  It  is  difficult 
to  say  whether  the  hunting-field, 
the  park,  the  croquet -lawn,  the 
ball-room,  or  the  seaside  has  fur- 
nished the  richer  field  for  the  dis- 
play of  this  phase  of  the  genius  of 
Leech;  but  we  are  disposed  to  think 
that  all  these  must  yield  to  his  in- 
door scenes  of  domestic  life.  He 
revels  in  the  society  of  children. 


1865.] 


John  Leech. 


4(59 


Ruby  is  a  constant  source  of  delight 
to  him  ;  tin;  sports,  the  loves,  the 
joys,  ami  the  sorrows  of  childhood 
awaken  his  wannest  sympathy. 
We  know  of  nothing  more  perfect 
than  some  of  his  representations 
of  children's  parties  —  with  what 
kindly  satire  he  smiles  at  the  af- 
fectation of  the  little  premature 
men  and  women  ;  and  when  he 
takes  them  out  to  dabble  on  the 
seashore,  or  mounts  the  boys  on 
rough  ponies  and  starts  them  for  a 
ride  over  the  downs,  how  the  joyous 
shout  and  laugh  ring  in  our  ears. 

There  was  in  Leech  all  the  ma- 
terial of  a  great  landscape-painter. 
If  we  were  to  select  one  artist  from 
whose  works  we  should  seek  to 
give  a  foreigner  a  correct  idea  of 
Knglish  scenery,  it  is  to  his  sketches 
we  should  have  recourse.  His  back- 
grounds are  marvels  of  truth  and 
expression.  The  south  coast  of 
Kngland,  the  peaceful  valleys  of  the 
Thames,  the  brawling  streams  of 
Derbyshire,  the  broad  undulating 
turf  of  our  midland  counties,  the 
brown  moors  of  Yorkshire,  the 
Highlands  of  Scotland,  and  the 
strange,  wild,  weird  scenes  of  (Jal- 
way  and  Mayo,  are  all  rendered 
with  equal  fidelity  by  his  pencil, 
and  each  takes  its  appropriate  place, 
as  his  drama  shifts  with  the  .season 
from  yachting  and  bathing  to  trout- 
fishing,  deer-stalking,  shooting,  and 
fox  hunting.  With  Leech,  nothing 
was  conventional.  Kvery  accessory 
that  he  introduced  showed  his  per- 
fect knowledge  of  the  scene  he 
portrayed. 

The  backgrounds  alone  of  the 
4i  Briggs  "  series  will  repay  hours 
of  study  ;  and  we  have  no  hesitation 
in  expressing  our  confident  opinion 
that  in  future  years  these  slight 
and  apparently  subordinate  works 
will  take  a  high  place  in  the  esti- 
mation of  those  who  make  landscape 
art  their  study.  We  know  no 
better  advice  for  a  student  than 
that  he  should  look  at  nature  with 
his  own  eyes,  and  then  study  care- 
fully how  she  presented  herself  to 
those  of  Leech.  His  inemorv  must 


have  been  extraordinary,  for,  from 
the  conditions  under  which  In- 
worked,  most  of  these  designs  must 
have  been  produced  in  the  studio  ; 
but  the  slight  memoranda  in  his 
pocketbook.s  show  th.it  he  never 
missed  an  opportunity  of  noting 
down  even  the  most  evanescent  as- 
pects of  nature,  the  curl  of  a  wave 
or  the  toss  of  the  branches  of  a  tree. 
All  his  designs  are  full  of  move- 
ment and  action.  His  horses  espe- 
cially are  alive,  and  almost  as  full 
of  character  as  his  men.  Kadi  is 
characteristic  of  his  owner.  Kriggs's 
horse  is  as  distinct  from  Tom 
Noddy's  "  playful  mare,"  as  their 
respective  masters  are  from  each 
other.  1  lis  .studies  of  horses  began 
early,  and  in  a  school  which  was 
probably  unique. 

Leech  was  a  boy  at  the  Charter- 
house in  the  palmy  days  of  coach- 
travelling.  In  those  days  the 
north  mails,  after  leaving  the  post- 
otiice,  passed  along  (Joswell  Street, 
••lose  by  the  wall  which  bounds  the 
playground  of  the  Carthusians.  It 
was  a  glorious  proce»ion,  such  as 
our  sous  will  never  see  and  can 
hardly  fancy.  How  the  light,  com- 
pact, neatly  -  appointed  vehicles 
wound  their  rapid  way  along  the 
crowded  street  behind  their  well- 
bred,  high  conditioned  teams — how 
gaily  the  evening  sun  glittered  on 
the  bright  harness  and  glossy  coats 
of  the  horses,  and  the  royal  uniform 
of  the  men!  How  cheerily  the 
''yard  of  tin"  rang  out  its  shrill 
summons!  Here  and  there  a  fast 
night  coach  as  well  horsed  and  ap- 
pointed mingled  in  the  procession, 
and  "All  the  blue  bonnets,"  or 
''The  Swiss  boy" — forgotten  melo- 
dies— were  carolled  forth  by  that 
obsolete  instrument  the  key-bugle. 
Pleasant  are  the  memories  of  "  the 
road."  In  the  days  of  our  boyhood 
the  box  of  a  fast  coach  was  a  throne 
of  delight.  The  young  Carthusians 
were  far  too  ingenious  to  permit  the 
wall  of  their  playground  to  shut 
them  out  from  so  glorious  a  sight. 
They  cut  notches  and  drove  spikes 
in  the  trunks  of  a  row  of  trees  from 


470 


John  Leech. 


[April, 


the  higher  branches  of  which  they 
could  obtain  a  view  into  Goswell 
Street,  and  there  they  rigged  up  a 
kind  of  crows'  nests  where  they 
could  sit  at  ease  and  watch  coach 
after  coach  as  it  passed.  This  was 
young  Leech's  study,  and  he  has 
left  a  charming  sketch  of  a  boy 
sitting  in  such  a  "  coach-tree,"  as  it 
was  called,  with  an  expression  of 
calm  and  thoughtful  delight  as  he 
gazes  on  the  spectacle  below.  The 
trees  are  gone,  their  successors  are 
just  beginning  to  show  their  lead- 
ing shoots  above  the  wall,  but  no 
future  generation  will  ever  climb 
their  branches  to  feast  their  eyes 
on  such  a  sight  as  delighted  those 
of  Thackeray  and  Leech  in  their 
boyhood. 

There  was  no  less  justice  than 
generosity  in  the  remark  of  Mr 
Millais,  when,  in  his  evidence  be- 
fore the  Commission  on  the  Royal 
Academy,  he  mentioned  Leech  as 
a  striking  instance  of  an  artist 
worthy  of  the  highest  honours 
Avhich  the  Academy  could  bestow, 
but  who  was  excluded  by  the  nar- 
row rule  which  restricts  those  hon- 
ours to  artists  who  work  in  one 
peculiar  medium.  Had  this  re- 
mark proceeded  from  one  whose 
opinion  carried  less  authority,  it 
might,  perhaps,  have  been  met  by 
a  sneer ;  but,  coming  from  one  who 
had  himself  acquired  the  highest  of 
those  honours,  who  had  been  train- 
ed in  the  schools  of  the  Academy, 
and  who  had  at  a  singularly  early 
age  been  marked  out  for  the  suc- 
cess he  subsequently  achieved,  it 
commanded  respect  and  won  assent. 
Any  one  may  understand  and  relish 
the  infinite  humour  and  truth  of 
Leech,  but  only  one  who  was  a 
great  artist  himself  could  fully 
know  how  great  an  artist  he  was. 
When  Opie  was  asked  what  he 
mixed  his  colours  with,  the  surly 
Cornishman  growled  out,  "  Brains, 
sir ! "  When  a  lady  once  asked 
Turner  what  was  his  secret,  he 
replied,  "  I  have  no  secret,  ma- 
dam, but  hard  work."  The  fer- 
tility of  the  soil  was  apparent  to 


every  one,  but  the  laborious  hus- 
bandry which  enabled  it  to  yield 
so  rich  a  crop  was  known  to  but 
few.  The  labour  was  no  doubt 
rendered  more  severe  by  the  want 
of  professional  education.  The 
early  training  which  makes  the 
hand  the  prompt  and  obedient 
slave  of  the  brain,  and  which  en- 
abled Gilray  to  draw  at  once  on 
the  copper,  was  wanting  to  Leech, 
and  he  supplied  its  place  by  the 
closest  and  most  accurate  study. 
Not  only  did  he  note  down  in 
small  sketch-books  each  object  as 
it  was  presented  to  his  eye,  but  he 
made  careful  pencil -drawings  of 
every  one  of  his  designs  before  he 
transferred  them  to  the  copper  or 
the  wood  block.  These  drawings 
have  most  fortunately  been  care- 
fully preserved  ;  and  we  would 
strongly  impress  upon  the  trustees 
of  the  British  Museum,  or  some 
other  public  body,  the  importance 
of  securing  for  the  nation,  at  any 
rate,  the  political  series.  It  is  hard- 
ly possible  to  overrate  their  im- 
portance and  value  to  the  historian, 
the  antiquary,  or  the  artist.  There 
is  not  one  that  does  not  illustrate 
some  historical  event,  or  that  does 
not  contain  the  living  portrait  of 
some  man  of  note.  If  once  dis- 
persed they  can  never  be  re-united. 
We  give  thousands  for  a  doubtful 
antique  or  a  mutilated  bronze. 
Surely  we  shall  not  permit  such  a 
record  of  contemporary  history  as 
these  drawings  afford  to  be  broken 
up  into  fragments  and  distributed 
amongst  the  portfolios  of  private 
amateur  collectors,  its  utility  de- 
stroyed, and  its  beauty  concealed 
for  ever. 

The  world  is  a  hard  task-master 
to  those  who  cater  for  its  amuse- 
ment. Moliere  died  on  the  stage 
with  the  words  of  one  of  his  own 
immortal  comedies  on  his  lips. 
The  pencil  fell  from  the  hand  of 
Leech  upon  an  unfinished  wood- 
block which  he  was  preparing  for 
Punch's  Almanack.  The  same 
continuous  labour,  the  same  tax 
on  the  brain  which  stilled  the 


IS  05.] 


Ktnniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


471 


tongue  of"  Mellifluous  Follott,"  was 
fatal  to  him.  Host  might  have 
saved  him,  but  for  him  there  was 
ix>  rest.  The  weekly  call  must  he 
answered,  he  it  at  what  cost  it  may. 
The  ordinary  symptoms  of  an  over- 
taxed brain  began  to  show  them- 


selves, his  nervousness  and  sensi- 
bility became  extreme,  and  that 
generous  heart  which  had  only  felt 
too  warmly,  and  prompted  too  open 
a  hand  for  the  relief  of  others, 
gave  one  agonising  throb,  and  then 
ceased  to  beat  for  ever. 


KTON1AXA,    ANCIKNT    AM>    MOLKIIN. 


CONCI.I  SION. 


ANOTIIKU  curious  old  Eton  cus- 
tom, of  a  much  more  barbarous 
character  than  the  Montem,  and 
wisely  abolished  at  a  much  ear- 
lier date,  was  the  "  Hunting  of  the 
Ham."  It  is  said  that  the  college 
butcher  was  obliged,  under  some 
ancient  agreement,  to  provide  a 
ram  annually  to  be  hunted  by  the 
scholars  on  Election  Saturday.  ( >u 
one  occasion  the  unfortunate  ani- 
mal swam  the  river,  and  rushed 
into  the  crowded  market-place  at 
Windsor  with  the  boys  in  full 
chase  ;  and  so  much  mischief  and 
confusion  was  the  consequence,  that 
the  hunting  was  from  that  time 
given  up;  but  the  victim  was  still 
provided,  and  despatched  by  a  pro- 
cess quite  as  cruel,  and  which  had 
not  even  the  excuse  of  the  popular 
excitement  of  a  chase.  After  being 
ham-strung  to  prevent  his  escape, 
he  was  knocked  on  the  head  in  the 
school-yard  with  clubs  specially 
provided  for  the  occasion.*  The 
young  Prince  William  (Duke  of 
Cumberland)  wielded  a  club,  as  an 
amateur,  on  one  of  these  occasions: 

"  IT.'H).  Sat.,  Aug.  1,  waa  celebrated 
at  Kt<>n  the  anniversary  diversion  of 
Hunting  the  Ham  by  the  scholars.  What 
made  tin-  ceremony  the  more  remark- 
able, was,  that  His  H.H.  Duke  William 
wan  pleased  to  honour  it  with  liin  pre- 
Konce.  The  captain  of  the  school  pre- 
sented him  with  a  ram-cluh,  with  which 
His  Koyal  Highness  struck  the  lirst 
stroke.  If.  H.H.  was  in  at  the  death  of 
the  ram,  and  his  club  was  Motived 
according  to  custom.  There  was  after- 


wards a  speech  made  l»y  the  captain,  at 
which  the  Dukr  was  also  present.  H»: 
then  procerdi-d  t"  see  the  hall,  the 
library,  the  school,  and  the  long  cham- 
ber, and  it  was  generally  observed  that 
H.I!  H.  returned  to  Windsor  very  well 
pleased."  llawl.  MS.,  vol.  ii.  l.Vf. 

It  is  singular  that  he  should  thus 
early  in  life  have  earned  his  title  of 
"The  Butcher."  Some  verses  in 
the  '  Mus;e  Ktoiien.ses,'  written  for 
the  ensuing  Montem,  commemorate 
this  royal  visit : — 

''  Hue  adus,  o  puer  almc,  meas.]uo  inviso 
catervas, 

1  >i^na  sit  auspit/iis  l>c!lioa  potnpa  tuis  ; 
Arietis  ;i<l  mortem  venisti  clavi^er;   <>  si 
1'ollicc   et    hos    Indus    fautor  utroijuo 
prol>es  I  " 

The  green  rugs,  which  have  been 
mentioned  among  the  festal  decora- 
tions of  Long  Chamber,  were  a  gift 
from  the  Duke  to  the  collegers 
either  at  this  or  some  subsequent 
visit. 

The  barbarous  ceremony  was  abo- 
lished altogether  in  1747  ;  but  Hug- 
get  asserts  that  the  ram  still  made 
his  appearance  at  the  high  table  in 
pasties  at  the  Election  Monday  din- 
ner at  the  date  of  his  writing,  1760. 

Boating  has  for  many  generations 
been  one  of  the  most  popular  amuse- 
ments at  Eton,  the  neighbourhood 
offering  what  an  American  would 
call  "  water  privileges  "  which  no 
other  school  can  boast.  But,  until 
a  recent  date,  the  river  has  been,  in 
theory  at  least,  forbidden  ground. 
The  boys  would  boat,  of  course, 
and  did  boat,  systematically ;  but 


*  See  the  charge  for  a  "  ram-club  "  in  Patrick's  bill,  p.  22"),  note. 


472 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


the  system  was  only  winked  at  by 
the  authorities.    Few  attempts  were 
made,  in  fact,  at  any  school,  until 
very  lately,  to  encourage  or  to  metho- 
dise that  valuable  and  needful  ad- 
junct to  all  mental  training,  active 
out-door  exercise  and  amusement. 
The  modern  tendency  is  perhaps  too 
much  in  the  other  direction.     The 
reason  of  putting  the  river  out  of 
bounds  was  the  danger  incurred  by 
boys  who  could  not  swim.      The 
prohibition  seemed  justified  by  the 
number  of  accidents  which  really 
occurred.    Boys  were  drowned  from 
time  to  time,  though  not  so  often 
as  might  have  been  feared;  amongst 
others,  the  young  Earl  of   Walde- 
grave  in  1794.     Henry  Angerstein 
was  drowned  at  Surly  in  1820,  in 
the  full  sight  of  the  crews  of  the 
long  boats,  there  being  among  them 
110  swimmer  good  enough  or  bold 
enough  to  jump  in  to   save   him. 
Afterwards  the  boating  was  partially 
recognised  by  the  school  authorities, 
and  watermen  were  appointed,  one 
of  whom  was  to  go  in  each  of  the 
lower  boats,  to  prevent  accidents  as 
far  as  possible.     At  last,  after  the 
death  of  Charles  Montagu,  who  was 
jerked  out  of  a  boat  by  the  tow-rope 
of  a  barge  and  drowned  in  1840,  the 
idea  suggested  itself  of  opening  the 
river  to  those,  and  those  alone,  who 
had   attained   such   proficiency   in 
swimming  as  to  have  a  fair  chance 
of  saving  themselves  in  case  of  an 
accident.      The    swimming -school 
was   organised   by  Mr  Evans  (the 
"Dame"),    in    conjunction    with 
Bishop    Selwyn   of   New   Zealand, 
who  was  then  a  private   tutor  at 
Eton,  and  had  been  one  of  the  best 
swimmers   and   oarsmen  *   in    the 
school.     From  that  time  forth  the 
boats  have  been  under  the  regular 
superintendence  of  one  of  the  mas- 
ters, and  no  fatal  accident  has  oc- 
curred since.     No  boy  is  now  al- 
lowed to  go  into  a  boat  until  he  has 
passed  an  examination  in  swimming 
before  a  committee  of  masters  at 


"  Athens,"  or  at  Cuckoo  Weir.-  Yet 
swimming  has  always  been  an  Eton 
accomplishment,  at  least  amongst  the 
few;  and  it  maybe  doubted  whether 
the  feats  of  earlier  days  could  be 
surpassed  now,  with  all  the  advan- 
tage of  this  special  training.  Fifty 
years  ago,  two  boys  floated  on  their 
backs  all  the  way  from  Surly  to 
"  The  Cobbler,"  below  bridge  ;  and 
it  was  no  uncommon  exploit  to  take 
"headers"  from  old  Windsor  bridge, 
especially  on  Sunday  mornings, 
when  the  river  was  full,  owing  to 
the  sluices  being  shut  :  an  exhibi- 
tion which  would  rather  startle  the 
Windsor  and  Eton  public  now. 

There  is  but  one  school  with 
which  Eton  has  any  opportunity  of 
trying  its  real  strength  in  an  eight- 
oared  race.  Harrow,  Rugby,  and 
Marlborough  —  the  only  schools 
which  approach  in  point  of  num- 
bers— have  no  facilities  for  boats. 
Shrewsbury  has  a  river,  but  the 
numbers  there  are  too  small  to 
insure  a  good  crew.  Westminster 
alone  has  had  any  chance  with 
Eton  afloat,  and  in  its  better  days 
made  the  contest  pretty  equal. 
Eton  won  the  three  first  races  in 
succession  —  in  1829,  1831,  and 
1836  —  but  were  beaten  in  their 
own  water  at  Datchet  the  following 
year.  King  William  IV.  was  pre- 
sent at  the  race,  and  the  excite- 
ment was  very  great.  His  Majesty 
declared  that  the  Eton  boys  lost 
it  because  Dr  Hawtrey  was  there 
looking  on.  In  this  last  race  the 
boats  were  for  the  first  time  steered 
by  their  own  coxswains,  the  lines 
having  been  hitherto  taken  by 
London  watermen.  The  victory  of 
1847  at  Putney  left  Eton  the  win- 
ners of  five  races  out  of  nine. 
Owing  to  objections  made  by  the 
authorities  of  both  schools,  the  con- 
test was  not  renewed  until  I860, 
when  Eton  won  again ;  indeed,  of 
late  years,  the  decreasing  strength 
of  Westminsterhas  given  themlittle 
chance  against  their  opponents, 


*  This  excellence  has  been  hereditary ;  his  son,  A.  J.  Selwyn,  was  stroke  of 
the  Cambridge  University  boat  in  1863. 


Etvniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


473 


though  tlic  smaller  school  has  still 
supplied  a  crew  to  pull  a  losing 
race  with  all  the  pluck  of  more  .suc- 
cessful days.*  For  the  last  three 
or  four  years  Kton  has  found  a  new 
antagonist  in  Uatlley  College,  who 
have  pulled  against  them  in  fail- 
style  at  Henley;  but  in  this  case, 
as  in  the  case  of  Westminster,  a 
crew  picked  out  of  lli()  boys  is 
necessarily  overmatched  in  weight 
and  strength  by  a  school  which  has 
the  choice  of  Mto. 

The  "  captain  of  the  boats  "  is 
perhaps  the  greatest  person  in  the 
school  next  to  the  head-master, — it', 
indeed,  he  docs  not  rival  that  great 
authority  in  the  estimation  of  the 
boys.  The  whole  regulation  of  the 
boats,  both  as  to  the  selection  of  the 
crew  of  the  racing  "  eight,"  and  of 
the  "captains"  of  the  several  boats 
which  form  the  Fourth  of  June 
procession,  rests  entirely  with  him; 
and  as  he  has  a  great  deal  of  this 
kind  of  patronage  at  his  disposal, 
his  influence  is  very  considerable. 
The  boat-crews  are  in  some  sort 
looked  upon  as  the  aristocracy  of 
the  school,  and  for  this  reason 
the  position  is  an  object  of  social 
ambition  amongst  the  boys.  .So 
long  as  there  were  no  public  races, 
and  the  great  tield-day  was  the 


mere  show  on  the  Fourth  of  June, 
the  selection  of  the  crew  of  the  first 
boat — the  ten-oar — of  which  the 
captain  always  pulled  stroke,  wa.s 
very  much  a  matter  of  favouritism, 
and  it  was  complained  that  it  too 
often  got  into  the  hands  of  a  clique. 
But  since  the  contest  with  West- 
minster has  been  revived,  and  Kton 
has  also  put  on  a  boat  at  the  Henley 
Kegatta,  where  they  have  had  to 
try  their  strength  against  the  Uni- 
versities, a  much  fairer  system  of 
choice  has  necessarily  prevailed,  and 
the  captain  picks  his  crew  from  the 
best  oarsmen  in  the  school,  without 
reference  to  the  "set"  in  which 
they  may  lie.  The  expenses  of  the 
amusement  are  very  considerable — 
much  more  so  than  they  need  be. 
The  old  boat-builders  have  a  sort 
of  monopoly,  and  exorbitant  charges 
of  every  kind  are  kept  up  by  custom, 
which  schoolboys  are  not  apt  to 
dispute.  For  this  reason  it  has 
never  hitherto  been  the  custom  for 
the  King's  scholars  (who  may  be 
supposed,  as  a  rule,  to  be  the  sons 
of  less  wealthy  parents)  to  join  the 
regular  boats  at  all,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  "  college  four,"  which 
now  forms  part  of  the  procession  on 
the  Fourth  of  June.  A  colleger, 
however,  was  in  the  "eight"  last 


*  The  rivalry  between  the  two  great  schools  was  very  marked  in  those  earlier 
•lays.  It  breaks  out  continually  in  the  writings  both  of  Kton  and  Westminster 
men.  (Jeorge  Hardinge,  an  Etonian  heart  ami  soul,  cannot  conceal  his  satisfac- 
tion that,  during  the  eleven  years  of  liaruard's  rule  at  Kton,  "  the  rival  school, 
though  a  very  excellent  one,  ami  more  likely  as  l>oing  in  the  metropolis  to  obtain 
patronage,  was  stationary  in  its  number  and  its  fame."  l>r  Barnard  himself,  who 
had  looked  forward  to  a  bishopric  (which  he  is  said  to  have  lo^t  l>y  a  political 
harangue  against  the  Court  at  a  Buckinghamshire  election),  was  doubly  mortified 
when  "his  rival  Markham,"  head-master  of  Westminster,  got  the  mitre  instead. 
Kit-hard  Cumberland,  on  the  other  hand,  writing  as  an  old  Westminster,  is  jealous 
of  the  sunshine  of  royalty  in  which  Ktonians  were  just  then  rejoicing  :  "  the  vici- 
nity of  Windsor  Castle,"  he  says,  "  is  of  no  henetit  to  the  discipline  and  go.nl  order 
of  "Kton  school."  It  lia<l  probably  no  great  effect  one  way  or  the  other;  but 
(Jeorgo  III.  was  a  constant  patron  both  of  boys  and  masters.  Dr  Coodall,  as  has 
l>een  said,  had  many  qualifications  for  a  courtier;  ami  Langford,  who  was  fora 
long  time  lower  master,  was  such  a  favourite  that  the  King  used  to  send  for  him 
down  to  Weymouth  to  preach  before  him-— to  the  considerable  disgust,  a-s  was 
natural,  of  the  non-Ktonian  divines  of  Weymouth.  His  Majesty  took  a  consider- 
able jH'rsonal  interest  in  the  boys,  and  knew  the  most  distinguished  of  them  by 
name  and  sight.  "All  j>eoplc  think  highly  of  Kton—  -everybody  praises  Kton," 
ho  said  to  yoiin™  De  Quineey.  He  was  hospitable.  t<>  them,  in  his  odd  way.  On 
one  occasion  lie  sent  to  invite  them  in  a  body  to  the  Torraco,  and  kept  them  all 
to  supper—"  remembering  to  forgot"  to  extend  the  entertainment  to  the  masters 
who  had  accompanied  them,  ami  who  returned  home  in  great  dudgeon. 


474 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


year,  for  the  first  time  in  the  an- 
nals of  Eton  boating ;  though  the 
offer  of  a  place  has  been  made  to 
one  of  their  body  before. 

Since  the  glories  of  Montem  have 
departed,  the  Fourth  of  June  has 
taken  its  place  as  the  great  yearly 
festival  of  Etonians.  It  was  insti- 
tuted in  commemoration  of  a  visit 
of  King  George  III.,  and  is  held 
on  his  birthday.  It  is  the  great 
trysting-day  of  Eton,  when  her  sons 
gather  from  far  and  wide,  young 
and  old,  great  and  small, — no  mat- 
ter who  or  what,  so  long  as  they 
are  old  Etonians  ;  that  magic  bond 
binds  them  all  together  as  brothers, 
and  levels  for  the  time  all  distinc- 
tions of  age  or  rank.  The  pro- 
ceedings begin  with  the  "Speech- 
es," delivered  in  the  Upper  School 
at  12  noon  before  the  provost,  fel- 
lows, masters,  and  a  large  audience 
of  the  boys'  friends.  Selections 
from  classical  authors,  ancient  or 
modern,  are  recited  by  the  Sixth- 
form  boys,  who  are  dressed  for  the 
occasion  in  black  swallow-tail  coats, 
white  ties,  black  knee-breeches  and 
buckles,  silk  stockings,  and  pumps. 
Then  follows  the  provost's  lunch- 
eon, given  in  the  college  hall  to  the 
more  distinguished  visitors,  while 
similar  entertainments  on  a  smaller 
scale  are  going  on  in  the  various 
tutors'  and  dames'  houses.  At 
3  o'clock  there  is  full  choral  service 
in  chapel.  At  6  P.M.  all  hands  ad- 
journ to  the  Brocas,  a  large  open 
meadow,  to  witness  the  great  event 
of  the  day — the  procession  of  the 
Boats  to  Surly  Hall,  a  public-house 
of  that  name,  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  river,  some  three  and  a  half 
miles  from  Windsor.  The  boats 
are  divided  into  two  classes — Upper 
and  Lower.  The  Upper  division 
consists  of  the  Monarch  ten-oar, 
the  Victory,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  or,  as  it  is  more  usually 
called,  the  Third  Upper.  The  Lower 
boats  are  the  Britannia,  Dread- 
nought, Thetis,  and  St  George ; 
sometimes,  when  the  number  of 
aspirants  to  a  place  is  larger  than 
usual,  an  eighth  boat,  called  the 
Defiance,  is  added.  The  collegers 


have  also  for  some  years  put  on  a 
four-oar — latterly  expanded  into  an 
eight — which  follows  in  the  pro- 
cession. The  flotilla  is  preceded 
by  the  Eton  racing  eight-oar,  man- 
ned by  the  picked  crew  who  are 
to  contend  at  Putney  or  Henley. 
Each  boat  has  its  distinctive  uni- 
form. Formerly  these  were  very 
fanciful — Greek  pirates,  or  galley- 
slaves  in  silver  chains,  astonishing 
the  quiet  reaches  of  the  Thames  for 
the  clay.  The  crews  of  the  Upper 
boats  now  wear  dark-blue  jackets 
and  trousers,  and  straw  hats  with 
ribbons,  displaying  the  name  of  the 
boats  in  gold  letters ;  the  coxswains 
are  dressed  in  an  admiral's  uniform, 
with  gold  fittings,  sword,  and  cock- 
ed-hat. The  captain  of  each  boat 
has  an  anchor  and  crown  embroi- 
dered in  gold  on  the  left  sleeve  of 
his  jacket.  In  the  Lower  boats,  the 
crews  wear  trousers  of  white  jean, 
and  all  ornaments  and  embroidery 
are  in  silver.  Each  boat  carries  a 
large  silk  flag  in  the  stern.  The 
procession  is  headed  by  a  quaint 
old-fashioned  boat  (an  Eton  racing- 
boat  of  primitive  days)  rowed  by 
watermen,  and  conveying  a  military 
band.  The  scene  at  Boveney  Locks 
is  very  striking;  the  boats,  with 
their  gay  flags  and  costumes,  crowd- 
ed together  in  the  narrow  pass, 
make  the  locks  appear  carpeted 
with  bright  colours.  Opposite  to 
Surly  Hall,  a  liberal  display  of  good 
things,  spread  on  tables  on  shore, 
awaits  the  arrival  of  the  crews — 
the  Sixth-form  alone  being  accom- 
modated with  a  tent.  After  a  few 
toasts,  and  as  much  champagne  as 
can  be  fairly  disposed  of  in  a  short 
time,  the  captain  of  the  boats  gives 
the  word  for  all  to  re-embark,  and 
the  flotilla  returns  to  Eton  in  the 
same  order.  This  order,  however, 
is  by  no  means  such  as  would 
delight  the  eye  of  a  critical  first- 
lieutenant  in  H.M.  navy:  singing, 
shouting,  racing,  and  bumping,  all 
go  on  together  in  the  most  harmoni- 
ous confusion.  This  racing  home 
(combined  with  the  libations  at 
Surly)  caused  a  good  deal  of  ex- 
citement in  former  days  ;  and  once 


1805.] 


Ktoniana,  A  ncient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


— sonic  sixty  years  ago — the  Dread- 
nought and  Defiance  huviiif;  u  dis- 
pute about  a  "  bump,"  the  two 
crews,  steerers  included,  agreed  to 
tight  it  out  in  the  playing-fields 
afterwards,  and  were  actually  rang- 
ing themselves  in  order  of  battle, 
when  lioodall,  then  head-master, 
interposed,  and  stopped  this  last 
resort. 

The  time-honoured  custom  of 
"sitting  a  boat''  must  hero  claim 
mention.  Some  old  Etonian,  of 
generous  and  festive  disposition 
(generally  an  old  "  oar  "),  signifies 
to  the  captain  of  a  boat  his  inten- 
tion of  presenting  the  crew  with 
a  certain  quantity  of  champagne. 
In  return  he  is  entitled  to  be  rowed 
up  to  Surly  in  the  boat  to  which 
he  presents  the  wine  ;  he  occupies 
the  coxswain's  seat,  who  kneels  or 
stands  behind  him.  This  giver  of 
good  things  is  called,  from  this  cir- 
cumstance, a  "  .sitter  ;  "  and  the 
question,  "  Who  sits  your  boat  I  " 
or,  "  Have  you  a  sitter?"  is  one 
of  some  interest,  which  may  often 
be  heard  addressed  to  a  captain. 
The  seat  of  honour  in  the  ten-oar 
is  usually  ottered  to  some  distin- 
guished old  Etonian.  Mr  Canning 
occupied  it  in  Ib24.* 

The  boats,  after  their  return 
through  Windsor  1'ridge,  turn  and 
row  two  or  three  times  round  an 
eyot  in  the  middle  of  the  stream 
above  the  bridge.  During  this 
time  a  grand  display  of  fireworks 
takes  place  on  the  eyot.  The  ring- 
ing of  the  fine  old  bells  in  the  Cur- 
few Tower,  the  cheering  of  the 
crews,  and  the  brilliant-coloured 
fires  which  strike  across  the  water 
and  light  up  the  dense  masses  of 
spectators  along  the  bridge,  the 
rafts,  and  the  shore,  produce  an 
ett'ect  not  easily  forgotten.  A  pyro- 
technic illumination  of  the  college 
arms  (displaying  last  year  some- 
thing meant  to  represent  the  "  Eton 
eight  "  rowing  solemnly  beneath  it) 


concludes  the  ceremonies,  and  is 
the  signal  for  the  crews  to  land 
and  march  in  jubilant  disorder 
back  to  college.  The  crowds  break 
and  disappear,  special  trains  da.-h 
on"  to  their  respective  destinations, 
and  the  Fourth  of  June  is  over. 

An  almost  identical  fete  takes 
place  on  "  Election  Saturday,''  the 
last  Saturday  in  July,  so  called 
from  being  the  day  of  the  annual 
election  t<>  King's  College.  This, 
however,  is  now  much  shorn  of  its 
former  glories.  There  used  also  to 
be  certain  rehearsals  of  the  Fourth  of 
. I  line  performances  (called  "check- 
nights  "),  which  took  pla'v  every 
alternate  Saturday  in  the  boating 
season,  when  the  crews  rowed  up 
to  Surly  in  their  uniform,  and  re- 
galed themselves — thestaple  luxury 
being  ducks  and  green  pease.  These 
suppers  were  open  to  much  objec- 
tion, and  the  custom  has  lately 
been  done  away  with.  Besides 
these  show  festivals,  there  are  an- 
nual races  on  the  river— silver  oars 
being  the  prizes  for  pair-oars,  and  a 
silver  cup  for  scullers. 

During  the  summer  half-year, 
cricket  is  a  formidable  rival  to  the 
attractions  of  the  river.  Like  row- 
ing, it  requires  a  good  deal  of  time 
and  practice,  and  very  few  boys 
excel  in  both.  In  fact,  the  school 
is  divided  into  "wet-hobs"  and 
"  dry-bobs"  as  they  are  called  ;  the 
former  devoting  themselves  to  the 
boats,  and  the  latter  to  the  playing- 
fields.  Of  course,  a  "  dry-bob 1J 
boats  occasionally,  and  a  "wet-bob" 
plays  cricket,  for  his  amusement  ; 
but  each  lays  himself  out  for  excel- 
lence in  his  special  line. 

Cricket  began  at  Eton  at  least 
as  early  as  at  any  public  school, 
but  its  distant  records  are  scanty. 
William  (.Joldwin  (who  went  off  to 
King's  in  1700,  and  was  afterwards 
Fellow  of  Eton  and  Master  of  Hris- 
tol  grammar  -  school)  published, 
amongst  his  "  MUSH-  Juveniles,"  in 


*  No  one  entered  more  cordially  into  the  spirit  i»f  those  Eton  reunion!*.  At  the 
Montem  of  the  previous  year  he  met  Hrougham,  for  the  first  time  since  their 
fracas  in  the  House,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  him,  amidst  the  hearty  applause  of 
the  crowd  of  bystanders. 


476 


JStoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


170G,  a  poem  called  Certamen  Pilae, 
•which  proves  that  even  at  that 
date  a  cricket-match  had  some  in- 
terest for  Eton  boys.  The  game  was 
played  there  in  Horace  Walpole's 
time ;  and  the  nephew  and  namesake 
of  his  friend  and  correspondent, 
Sir  Horace  Mann,  was,  either  there 
or  in  after  life,  a  celebrated  player. 
The  earliest  Etonian  celebrity  of 
whom  any  distinct  record  is  pre- 
served is  the  eighth  Earl  of  Win- 
chelsea,  who  was  the  great  patron 
and  supporter  of  the  oldest  known 
club  in  England,  the  Hambledon — 
a  band  of  ancient  heroes  held  in 
honour  by  all  cricketers,  though 
they  might  fail  to  command  the  ad- 
miration which  they  formerly  ex- 
cited, if  they  were  to  appear  once 
more  upon  the  ground  in  their  uni- 
form of  "  sky-blue  coats  and  velvet 
collars."  Lord  Winchelsea  intro- 
duced what  he  considered  an  im- 
provement in  the  game,  by  increas- 
ing the  stumps  to  four,  but  it  never 
became  popular  ;  though  in  the 
match  between  the  gentlemen  and 
the  players  in  1 837,  in  order  to  equa- 
lise the  contest,  the  latter  under- 
took to  defend  four  stumps  instead 
of  three.  His  Lordship  made  an 
innings  of  54  in  a  match  of  "  Old 
Etonians  against  the  Gentlemen  of 
England,"  played  in  1791,  on  the 
old  "  Lord's "  ground,  on  the  site 
of  the  present  Dorset  Square.  The 
first  recorded  match  played  by  an 
eleven  of  the  school  itself  is  that 
against  the  Oldfield  Club,  whom 
they  beat  easily,  in  1797.  Sumner, 
the  future  archbishop,  was  one  of 
the  bowlers.  The  first  public  school 
match  of  which  Mr  Lillywhite's 
researches  have  recovered  any  ac- 
count is  Eton  against  Westminster, 
at  old  Lord's,  in  1799.  It  must 
have  been  either  a  very  short  or  a 
very  careful  day's  play  ;  for  Eton, 
in  their  only  innings,  made  but  47 
runs,  and  Westminster  had  scored 
13,  with  five  wickets  to  fall,  when 
the  stumps  were  drawn.  The  match 
was  said  to  be  "  postponed,"  but 
there  is  no  account  to  be  found  of 


its  ever  having  been  resumed.  The 
schools  played  again  the  following 
year,  when  Eton  had  an  easy  vic- 
tory, making  a  score  of  213  in  one 
innings,  against  Westminster's  54 
and  31.  The  King's  scholars  in 
those  days  formed  the  strongest 
part  of  the  eleven.  Benjamin  Drury 
(afterwards  assistant-master),  Jo- 
seph Thackeray,  and  Thomas  Lloyd, 
elder  brother  of  the  bishop,  were 
the  bowlers,  and  all  the  largest  in- 
nings were  made  by  collegers.  The 
match  had  a  melancholy  sequel  : 
Lloyd,  after  beating  the  West- 
minster innings  off  his  own  bat, 
died  of  a  sudden  chill  caught  after 
his  exertions.  No  matches  seem 
afterwards  to  have  been  made  with 
Westminster;  but  in  1805  they 
played  their  first  match  with  Har- 
row, at  Lord's,  beating  them  in 
a  single  innings.  Eight  out  of 
the  eleven  (among  whom  was 
Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe)  were 
again  collegers.  The  two  schools 
are  said  to  have  played  several 
times  between  this  date  and  1818  ; 
but  this  assertion  is,  to  say  the 
least,  very  questionable,  and  no 
scores  are  to  be  found  until  that 
year,  when  Harrow  beat  Eton,  and 
again  in  1822.  A  contemporary  let- 
ter from  a  young  Etonian,  antici- 
pating victory  on  the  latter  occasion, 
explains  the  former  defeat  (losers 
are  never  slow  at  an  excuse)  by  the 
statement  that  only  two  *  of  their 
best  men  were  present  at  Lord's, 
the  rest  of  the  eleven  being  made 
up  of  such  Etonians  as  could  be 
collected  on  the  ground.  In  the 
following  year  Eton  retrieved  its 
honour,  and  again  beat  Harrow  in 
one  innings ;  and  from  that  time 
forth  victory  has  been  pretty  fairly 
balanced.  E.  Bayley's  great  innings 
of  152,  in  1841,  had  never  yet  been 
exceeded  by  any  player  in  a  public 
school  match,  until  A.  Lubbock,  in 
1863,  made  the  still  grander  score 
of  174  (not  out)  against  Winches- 
ter. An  Eton  eleven  appears  first 
to  have  played  this  latter  school 
in  1826,  and  were  beaten.  From 


*  These  were  Donald  Maclean  and  W.  Pitt. 


1865.1 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


477 


1830  the  two  .schools  have  had  a 
match  nearly  every  year,  with  toler- 
ably even  success,  including  a  tie  in 
1M">,  when  the  interest  and  excite- 
ment were  very  great  indeed.  In 
lh5G,  neither  school  being  allowed 
to  come  up  to  London,  the  match 
was  played  at  Winchester,  and  since 
that  date  the  elevens  have  met  on 
the  Eton  and  Winchester  ground 
alternately.  The  years  most  to  be 
remembered  in  the  Kton  cricket 
annals  are  1^:5:2  and  1M(»,  when 
they  beat  both  Winchester  and 
Harrow  in  a  single  innings. 

Three  of  the  fastest  gentlemen- 
bowlers  in  England — and  all  good 
ones — have  been  at  different  times 
in  the  Kton  eleven.  (Jeorge  Osbald- 
eston — long  before  he  was  known 
to  the  sporting  world  as  Master 
of  the  C^uorn  and  Pytchley,  and 
the  boldest  rider  in  England— had 
been  known  both  in  the  Kton 
playing-fields  and  at  Lord's  for  the 
lightning- speed  of  his  delivery. 
John  Henry  Kirwan  took  every 
wicket  in  the  second  innings  of  the 
M.  C.  C.  in  the  match  of  lMjr>. 
Walter  Maroon  —  '-11  and  '-1:2 — is 
reputed  to  have  been  even  faster. 
Those  who  have  stood  up  against 
the  bowling  of  both  say  that  his 
pace  was  as  terrific  as  that  of 
(ieorge  Brown  of  Sussex — who, 
according  to  Mr  Lilly  white's  annals, 
whose  veracity  is  not  to  be  rashly 
questioned,  once  bowled  thmmjh  a 
man's  coat,  on  the  Brighton  ground, 
and  killed  a  dog  on  the  other  side. 
The  long-stop  of  Brown's  eleven 
always  prepared  for  him  by  having 
a  bagstulfed  with  hay  fastened  inside 
his  shirt  to  protect  his  chest,  with 
which  he  stopped  the  balls  ;  but  no 
Kton  long-stop  is  known  to  havecon- 
descended  to  this  defensive  armour. 
Perhaps  the  eleven  of  ':M  brought 
out,  in  C.  (1.  Taylor  and  W.  Picket- 
ing, two  of  the  finest  gentlemen- 
batsmen  in  England  ;  and  the  latter 
was  probably  the  youngest  player 
in  any  public  school  match,  being 
then  only  fourteen. 

The  custom,  which  has  now  be- 
come general  at  the  public  school 
matches,  of  "chairing"  any  very 


successful  player  —  carrying  him 
round  the  ground  in  triumph  upon 
the  shoulders  of  his  companions — 
took  its  origin  from  the  old  Eton 
ceremony  of  "  hoisting  " — a  compli- 
ment paid  to  the  great  champions 
of  each  side  at  football  and  cricket, 
or  the  winners  in  the  boat-races, 
who  are  paraded  in  this  distin- 
guished  fashion  "  after  six  "  through 
college  and  along  the  school  wall, 
with  great  .-hoiiting  and  rejoicing. 

Besides  cricket  and  football,  the 
only  game  now  recognised  at  Eton 
is  lives.  The  more  juvenile  amuse- 
ments have  long  been  voted  be- 
neath the  dignity  of  a  modern  pub- 
lic-school boy — a  fastidiousness  of 
taste  which  does  not,  perhaps,  in- 
crease the  happiness  of  the  little 
boys.  They  played  marbles  at  Eton 
as  late  as  1^21,  and  tops  survived 
many  years  longer;  being  regularly 
introduced  for  some  ten  days,  on  the 
return  of  the  school  after  the  summer 
holidays,  up  to  about  1 '•:',.">.  A  good 
deal  of  sport  has  been  afforded,  both 
in  modern  and  ancient  days,  by  a 
"scratch"  pack  of  beagles,  set  to 
hunt  a  drag,  and  followed  by  the 
sportsmen  on  foot — occasionally, 
in  traditionary  times,  on  horseback, 
by  the  more  aspiring  members  of 
the  hunt,  upon  such  wretched  ani- 
mals as  could  be  hired  in  Windsor. 
They  went  over  many  miles  of 
country,  and  great  leaps  were  taken 
(not  by  the  horses)  over  the  Hood- 
ed ditches  \\hich  surround  Eton. 
William  Codrington's  great  leap 
over  Chalvey  brook  is  famous  to 
this  day,  and  may  preserve  his  boy- 
ish fame  even  when  he  is  forgotten 
as  Master  of  the  Old  Berkshire. 
The  sport  was  stopped  from  time  to 
time  by  the  authorities  ;  and  many 
will  remember  one  remarkable  run 
(not  recorded  by  '  Bell's  Life'),  when 
the  well-known  Harry  Dupuis  took 
the  field  on  horseback,  and  the 
younger  sportsmen  were  obliged  in 
their  turn  to  become  the  pursued, 
and  were  many  of  them  captured. 
At  one  time  the  members  of  the 
hunt,  in  emulation  of  older  sports- 
men, determined  on  adopting  a  dis- 
tinctive button,  and  had  a  die 


478 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


struck  with,  the  letters  E.  C.  H. — 
Eton  College  Hunt.  Dr  Haw  trey 
soon  noticed  these  new  insignia  in 
school,  but  could  not  quite  make 
out  the  legend.  Meeting  a  boy  one 
day  in  the  school-yard,  he  literally 
took  him  by  the  button,  arid  asked 
what  the  letters  were  ;  but  when 
his  pupil,  with  some  slight  natural 
embarrassment,  read  out  the  mystic 
characters — the  Doctor's  own  ini- 
tials— further  question  or  comment 
was  unnecessary,  and  it  was  the 
master's  turn  to  look  embarrassed 
at  what  he  took  for  a  delicate  com- 
pliment from  his  pupils.  The  sport 
is  now  carried  on  without  any  in- 
terruption on  the  part  of  the  au- 
thorities, and  the  runs  are  duly  re- 
corded in  the  'Eton  Chronicle/  In- 
stead of  having  recourse  to  a  drag, 
they  can  now  usually  find  a  hare 
on  some  of  the  neighbouring  farms ; 
an  excellent  feeling  having  sprung 
up  between  the  boys  and  the 
farmers  (who  take  an  interest  in 
the  sport,  and  occasionally  have 
the  loan  of  the  beagles  for  their 
own  amusement),  instead  of  the 
traditionary  feuds  which  existed  in 
some  earlier  generations. 

Ash-Wednesxlay  used  to  be  a  day 
of  even  greater  mortification  at 
Eton  than  elsewhere.  Besides  the 
regular  work  of  a  whole-school-day, 
there  was  the  special  service  in 
chapel,  and  formerly  also  a  lecture 
from  one  of  the  fellows,  so  that  the 
boys  had  scarcely  half  an  hour  to 
themselves.  The  cause  assigned  for 
this  was  not  any  special  ecclesiasti- 
cal strictness,  but  to  prevent  the 
school  from  attending  the  Eton  pig- 
fair,  held  on  that  day.  The  pigs 
used  to  be  penned  in  the  public 
road  fronting  the  dames'  and  tutors' 
houses  ;  an  arrangement  which  sub- 
jected the  unhappy  animals  to  many 
indignities,  a  protruding  tail  being 
occasionally  cut  off  and  carried  away 
as  a  trophy.  This,  as  might  be  ex- 

*  See  Public  Schools  Report,  App.,  p.  140. 

t  This  wig  was  an  essential  property  to  the  character  of  the  noble  Roman. 
When  Richard  Cumberland  acted  in  the  tragedy  at  Bury  School,  he  says—"  A 
full-bottomed  periwig  for  Cato,  and  female  attire  for  Portia  and  Marcia,  bor- 
rowed from  the  maids  of  the  lodging-house,  were  the  chief  articles  of  our  scanty 
wardrobe." 


pected,  led  to  desperate  battles  with 
the  pig-drovers.  The  Windsor  fairs 
are  even  to  this  day  the  scene  of 
occasional  "  rows  "  with  the  show- 
men and  populace,  though  the  hos- 
tilities are  not  so  systematic  as 
formerly,  when  a  whole  troop  of 
strolling  players  —  clowns,  heroes 
in  armour,  and  even  "  ladies "  in 
tights  and  spangles — might  be  seen 
to  descend  from  their  outside  stage, 
stung  beyond  endurance  by  crack- 
ers and  pea-shooters,  and  engage  in 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  their  as- 
sailants below.  Windsor  Fair,  it 
should  be  said,  is  strictly  "  out  of 
bounds;"  for  which  reason,  we  are 
told  by  one  of  the  masters  in  his 
evidence,  "  every  boy  in  the  school 
makes  it  a  point  of  honour  to  go  ;;; 
no  real  attempt  is  made  to  stop  the 
practice,  but  (probably  as  a  point 
of  honour  on  the  side  of  the  mas- 
ters) "  one  or  two  lower  boys  who 
are  unlucky  enough  to  get  caught 
are  severely  punished."'* 

Mention  has  been  already  made 
of  the  Long  Chamber  Theatricals. 
Though  the  days  have  long  passed 
when  head-masters  like  Udall  and 
Bitwise  were  the  authors  and  mana- 
gers, and  cardinals  sat  amongst  the 
audience,  the  drama,  legitimate  or 
illegitimate,  was  revived  there  from 
time  to  time.  Addison's  '  Cato  ' 
was  got  up  for  representation  in 
Dr  Barnard's  mastership,  but  the 
performance  was  unfortunately  in- 
terrupted. George  Hardinge  (the 
Welsh  judge)  tells  the  story  in  a 
letter  to  Nichols.  He  was  to  per- 
form Cato  ;  and  in  those  days  Cato 
was  nothing  without  a  full-bot- 
tomed wig — at  least  so  Hardinge 
thought,  remembering,  as  he  says, 
Pope's  line — 

"Cato' s  long  wig,   flowered  gown,    and 
lackered  chair."  f 

An  old  wig  was  at  last  found  in 
the    shop    of    a   Windsor   barber, 


1SG5.] 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


479 


which  was  pronounced  quite  the 
cttrrect  thing,  and  whicli,  for  ;i 
small  consideration,  the  barber  un- 
dertook to  turn  out  as  good  as  now. 
Some  ladies  were  invited,  and  the 
performance  began ;  but  in  the 
midst  of  the  Roman's  soliloquy,  an 
unexpected  actor  rushed  upon  the 
stage — Dr  Barnard  himself,  boiling 
with  wrath  at  the  unlicensed  per- 
formance. He  tore  oil'  the  wig  and 
toga  from  the  dismayed  Cato,  and 
dispersed  actors  and  audience.  The 
wig  he  hung  up  in  his  .study  as  a 
trophy  ;  and  there,  after  some  time, 
it  was  recognised  by  Dr  J.urton, 
the  vice-provost,  as  his  own  cast- 
oil'  property.  .So  well  had  the 
barber  restored  it,  that  Burton, 
who  was  a  man  of  small  economies, 
claimed  it,  and  took  it  into  wear 
again,  declaring  that  it  was  really 
as  good  as  new.  "The  anecdote  ' 
(says  Hardinge)  "lasted  Barnard 
for  a  month."  He  ought,  indeed, 
to  have  had  more  .sympathy  with 
these  dramatic  aspirations  ;  for  he 
was  himself  an  admirable  mimic, 
and — according  to  the  same  author- 
ity— "  if  nature  had  given  him 
(Jarrick's  features  and  figure,  he 
would  have  been  scarcely  inferior 
to  him  in  theatrical  powers." 

llichard  I'orson  wrote  a  sort  of 
musical  mosque,  a  combination  of 
songs  and  dialogue,  which  was  also 
acted  in  Long  Chamber.  The  sub- 
ject was  the  "  wall  of  brass,"  sug- 
gested by  Friar  Bacon  as  a  na- 
tional fortification  ;  but  the  idea  is 
transferred  to  J)r  Faust  us.  The 
author  entitled  it,  '  Out  of  the 
Frying-pan  into  the  Fire.'  The 
east  was  os  follows: — Dr  Faustus, 
Stephenson  :  Satan,  C'hatie  ;  Luci- 
fer, Goodall  (afterwards  provost); 
1'unch,  I'orson  ;  Vulcan,  W.  Moore  ; 
Joan.  "  Mrs  Smith,  the  real  wife  of 
Hob  Smith."  The  piece,  of  no  re- 
markable merit,  is  still  preserved 
in  the  library  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge. 

But  the  palmy  days  of  Eton 
amateurs  were  after  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  Long  Chamber  perform- 
ances. There  had  been  more  than 
one  theatre  set  up,  at  different 


periods,  by  the  oppidans  ;  one  at 
least  during  (Joodalls  head-master- 
ship, in  which  Frederick  Hamilton 
Cornwall  and  Henry  Whittington 
were  leading  actors  ;  and  several 
during  Keate's  subsequent  reign. 
\Vith  the  best  of  these  later  com- 
panies (who  had  lost  some  of  their 
number  by  the  expulsions  which 
followed  the  Rebellion  of  1Mb), 
the  college  actors,  when  Long 
Chamber  was  tabooed,  coalesced, 
and  formed  a  very  strong  corps. 
Tliciv  arc  few  Ktonians  of  that  day 
\sliu  will  not  thank  us  for  preserv- 
ing in  thc-e  pages  the  vivid  lan- 
guage in  which  one  of  them  recalls 
the  triumphs  "  </</<//•"//;  /»?/>•  in<i<jnn 
/nit" : — 

"Our  theatre  was  first  started 
by  (iermaine  Lavie  and  Howard — 
the  late  Lord  Carlisle, — and  a  boat- 
lot't  belonging  to  Hester  was  the 
scene  of  action.  Afterwards  a  far 
better  establishment  was  formed  in 
Datchct  Lane,  Windsor,  where  a 
large  warehouse  was  hired  of  Mason 
the  coal-merchant,  and  in  the  man- 
agement of  whicli  Moultrie  con- 
ducted the  affairs  on  behalf  of  the 
collegers,  and  (  Yawfurd  represented 
the  oppidan  interests. 

"  1  look  back  with  wondrous 
pleasure  to  the  exhibitions  of  those 
days  :  we  certainly  had  some  pro- 
digiously fine  actors,  but  there  is 
one  who  is  indelibly  impressed 
upon  my  memory  —  St  Vincent 
Bowen :  his  Sir  1'etcr  Tea/.le, 
Oakley,  Bob  Acres,  Old  Rapid, 
Lord  Duberley,  Sir  Robert  Bram- 
ble, and  Old  1'hilpotts,  were  mar- 
vellous performances.  1  have  seen 
much  professional  acting,  and  have 
paid  much  attention  to  it  ;  but 
after  a  lapse  of  forty-five  years  I 
can  recall  every  look  and  gesture  of 
this  great  actor,  before  whom  we 
all  quailed,  and  I  can  safely  say 
that  I  never  saw  his  equal.  Moul- 
trie, Hare,  Maclean,  Bullock,  Craw- 
furd,  Wilder,  Buxton,  were  the 
other  chief  actors.  Never  were 
colleger  and  oppidan  feuds  more 
completely  quashed,  never  were 
nearer  and  dearer  boyish  friend- 
ships formed,  never  was  there  lesa 


480 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


of  mischief  and  profligacy  in  the 
school.  The  masters  knew  this 
well,  and  winked  at  the  contraband 
amusement ;  but  unluckily  our  suc- 
cess tended  to  vanity,  and  vanity 
to  ruin.  '  The  Iron  Chest '  was  got 
up  at  considerable  expense,  and 
very  strongly  cast,  as  follows : — 

"  THE  IRON  CHEST. 


Sir  EDWARD  MORTIME 

FlTZHARDING,       . 
WlLFORD,     . 

ADAM  WINTERTON, 
RAWBOLD,  . 

R,      Crawfurd. 

Wilder.  'f 
Buxton. 

Wilmot. 

ARMSTRONG 
ORSON, 
HELEN, 
BLANCHE, 
BARBARA, 
JUDITH, 

Battiscomle. 
Maturin. 

Cox. 
Pocklington. 
Beales.  § 

"  Penley's  theatrical  band  was 
hired  for  the  dramatic  music,  and 
the  choristers  from  St  George's 
Chapel  sang  the  concerted  pieces. 
Tickets  were  given  to  the  ladies  of 
Windsor  and  Eton,  to  the  officers 
of  the  garrison,  and  to  many  inhab- 
itants, and  some  of  these  wise- 
acres made  it  a  subject  of  conversa- 
tion on  the  same  day  at  the  pro- 
vost's table.  The  issue  was  obvious: 
the  unlucky  manager  was  sent  for 
into  chambers,  and  was  quietly  in- 
formed that  any  more  of  this  court- 
ing the  popularis  aura,  would  be 
immediately  followed  by  expulsion. 
We  once  more  played  '  Speed  the 
Plough,'  and  then  the  curtain 
dropped  for  ever  upon  Datchet 
Lane.  I  rambled  into  the  ware- 
house not  many  years  ago,  and 
there  still  remained  upon  the  walls 
the  old  dungeon-scene  painted  for 
'  Rob  Roy.'  I  question  whether  I 
should  have  gazed  on  the  real  Tol- 
booth  with  half  the  interest. 

"  In  my  unlimited  admiration  for 
that  great  actor,  Bowen,  I  must 
not  lose  sight  of  some  of  his  suc- 
cessors. Moultrie  in  domestic  pa- 
thos was  unrivalled ;  it  was  a 
strange  sight  to  see  tears  on  the 
cheeks  of  some  dare-devil  upper- 


division  boy — some  stalwart  stroke 
of  the  ten-oar,  or  captain  of  the 
eleven — as  they  contemplated  his 
Job  Thornberry;  while  in  broad 
farce — 
'Ratcatcher,  Quaker,  corporal,  or  Jew'|| — 

his  quaint  humour  was  equally  pop- 
ular. Wilder,  elegant  and  graceful 
in  declamation,  if  somewhat  artifi- 
cial; Donald  Maclean,  the  fop  or 
sparkling  man  of  fashion ;  Hare 
(Lord  Listowel),  admirable  as  an 
Irishman,  or  in  the  eccentricities  of 
Sir  Abel  Handy ;  Bullock  (the  late 
Common  Sergeant),  as  the  testy  old 
man,  especially  good  in  Sir  Anthony 
Absolute;  Howard  (Lord Carlisle), 
although,  me  judice,  a  failure  in 
tragedy,  and  ungainly  in  person  for 
the  heroes  of  comedy,  played  Mrs 
Oakley  and  Mrs  Candour  with 
extraordinary  power  and  success. 

"We  were  too  good  judges  to 
meddle  with  Shakespeare.  The 
brilliant  repartee  of  Sheridan  and 
the  sly  equivoque  of  Column,  by 
their  own  innate  merit,  aided  our 
boyish  interpretation  ;  and  we  cau- 
tiously avoided  the  usual  pitfall  of 
amateurs,  who,  seeing  a  piece  writ- 
ten especially  to  suit  the  qualifica- 
tions of  certain  actors,  seize  on  it 
eagerly> — of  course  merely  repro- 
ducing a  servile,  and  generally  an 
infamously  bad  imitation. 

"  The  contraband  nature  of  our 
amusement — like  the  peat -reek  of 
the  mountain -still,  or  the  snared 
pheasant  of  the  poacher — doubled 
its  zest.  I  have  seen  legitimised 
school  theatricals,  when,  under  the 
drill  of  a  dramatic  usher,  the  best 
boy  has  played  Cato,  the  favourite 
boy  Juba,  the  prettiest  boy  Marcia, 
and  the  naughtiest  boy  Syphax. 
I  have  seen  Colman  excised  and 
Bowdlerised ;  but  it  was  melan- 
choly work  :  and  between  the  acts 
one  could  not  but  remember  Quin's 
reflection,  '  If  eating  turtle  were 
but  a  crime,  the  enjoyment  would 
be  perfect.' 


*  Now  Lord  Cowley.         f  Now  Fellow  of  Eton.         J  Now  Major-General. 
§  Now  Revising  Barrister  for  Middlesex. 

II  '  The  Eton  Rosciad.' — By  Lord  Carlisle,  in  the  MS.  magazine  called  '  Horaa 
Otiosas.' 


1865.] 


Eluniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


"  1  cannot  but  acknowledge  tliat 
Sheridan  and  Column  somewhat 
usurped  the  rights  of  Homer  and 
Horace;  still,  when  we  look  to  the 
career  of  many  concerned,  we  can- 
not say  that  much  harm  was  done. 
Amongst  our  dramatis  jfrxoim-  we 
can  number  (besides  minor  honours) 
one  double-first  and  four  first  classes, 
a  Latin  Verse,  and  a  N'ewdigate,  at 
Oxford  ;  and  at  Cambridge  two 
•wranglers,  a  first-class  classic,  a 
Hell's  scholar,  two  Chancellor's 
English  medals,  and  one  Browne's. 
No  charge  of  effeminacy  attaches 
to  those  who  made  the  female 
characters  their  specialty.  The 
'  Helen  '  whom  we  .saw  bending  over 
the  lifeless  form  of  Mortimer  was 
second  to  none  over  Northamp- 
tonshire. Her  sr»M&/Y/fc  'Blanche1 
went,  and  probably  still  goes,  with 
the  best  with  Drake  and  the  Baron. 
Others  have  exchanged  the  ringlets 
for  the  counsellor's  wig,  and  the 
bands  for  those  of  the  Church; 
would  that  the  employments  of 
every  'after  four'  could  bear  as 
honest  a  scrutiny  as  those  atiord- 
cd  by  the  SYVMT  sin*  anl<vis  ft 
ostro'  of  Datchet  Lane!" 

Of  the  oppidan  manager,  Craw- 
furd,  his  brother  actor  Lord  Carlisle 
thus  speaks  in  the  concluding  lines 
of  the  '  Eton  Koseiad.'  [The  com- 
pany are  supposed  to  have  met  to 
choose  a  chairman  upon  Bowen's 
retirement]  :  — 


rawfurd  came  ;  but  vain  tho  weak 

pretence 

Justly  to  tell  hi*  varie'l  excellence. 
To  no  ratine  hounded.  t>y  no  part  repelled, 
Ilo  all  attempted,  ami  in  all  excelled  ; 
The  young,  tho  old,  the  country  and  the 

town, 
Th'   accomplished   gallant  or   tho  honest 

clown  ; 

Correct  with  spirit,  formed  alike  to  please 

NS'ith  comic  humour  and  with  native  caw. 

"The  crowd    hail  parsed  ;    the   judges 

were  agreed, 

And  thus  at  once  impartially  decreed  : 
'  lx>n^  may  yo  nil  in  fame  and  union  live  ! 
Applause   to   each,   as  each   deserves,  wo 

jrivo  : 
To  theo  the  preference  ;  —  Crawfurd,  take 

tho  chair, 
Nor  leave  it  till  you  placo  an  equal  there.'  " 

Kcate  was  not  inclined  to  deal 
hardly  with  these  unlicensed  the- 


atres, though  no  doubt  they  drew 
oil'  much  of  the  talent  of  tin-  school 
from  severer  studies.  It  was  re- 
marked that  the  Speeches  wen; 
never  so  good  at  Eton  as  during 
the  rage  for  the  drama.  The  Latin 
and  ( t  reek  declamations  (which 
generally  have  the  lion's  share  of 
the  programme)  are  never  very 
popular  with  schoolboys  ;  and  it 
had  been  always  the  custom  as 
soon  as  the  first  word  was  spoken 
on  Election  Monday  (on  which  day 
the  holidays  began),  for  the  boys 
to  rush  down  to  the  respective 
conveyances  which  were  in  waiting 
to  take  them  home.  In  IM'.i,  it 
was  known  that  the  two  last  speak- 
ers, Wilder  and  Crawfurd.  were  to 
give  a  taste  of  their  quality,  one  in 
tragedy  and  the  other  in  comedy, 
and  were  set  down  for  'Caracta- 
cus,'  and  Swift's  '  Monody  on  his 
own  death.'  Nearly  the  whole 
school  patiently  and  voluntarily 
sat  out  a  couple  of  hours  devoted 
to  Sallust,  Tacitus.  Sophocles,  and 
Demosthenes,  for  the  sake  of  wit- 
nessing this  last  appearance  of  their 
two  favourite  actors. 

Some  few  years  afterwards  tin* 
dramatic  spirit  revived  again,  and 
a  very  promising  company  was 
formed,  who  hired  what  is  now 
Turnock's  large  room  for  their 
scene  of  operations.  After  some 
successful  performances,  Sheridan  s 
'  Kivals  ' — that  stock  piece  of  am- 
ateurs— was  ca^t  for  representation. 
The  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  has 
gone  out  as  Chief  Justice  to  Cey- 
lon ;  the  late  Marquess  of  Down- 
shire  was  Sir  Lucius  ( )'Trigger  :  and 
the  present  worthy  Provost  of  Kton 
was  expected  to  be  great  in  Mrs 
Malaprop.  Hut  unluckily,  having 
taken  to  learn  their  parts  in  school, 
Keate  detected  the  whole  affair, 
even  to  the  cast  of  the  characters  ; 
and  startled  the  members  of  the 
corps  by  calling  them  up  one  by 
one  at  lesson,  under  their  assumed 
names,  beginning  with  the  ladies  ; 
and  the  performance  was  thus  un- 
fortunately stopped. 

There  have  been  modern  am- 
ateurs, more  or  less  successful,  at 


482 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


many  periods  since  this,  both  in 
college  and  among  the  oppidans  ; 
aspiring  even  occasionally  to  the 
performance  of  a  French  piece. 
And  the  Eton  authorities,  like 
those  of  some  other  public  schools, 
have  now  given  them  at  least  a  tacit 
sanction. 

Eton  was  the  first  public  school 
to  set  up  a  "  magazine"  of  its  own. 
The  original  attempt  was  a  com- 
plete success.  The  '  Microcosm' 
was  published  by  Charles  Knight 
the  elder,  then  a  bookseller  at 
Windsor,  in  178G  and  1787.  The 
working  editor  was  George  Can- 
ning, and  several  of  the  articles 
were  written  by  him.  The  other 
principal  contributors  were  Sydney 
Smith's  brother  llobert  (better 
known  as  "  Bobus"),  John  Frere, 
Lord  Henry  Spencer,  and  Joseph 
Melluish.  Knight  gave  fifty  guineas 
for  the  copyright  of  the  maga- 
zine— a  sum  surely  never  realised 
by  any  school  periodical  since — 
and  Canning  and  he  kept  up  a 
friendly  intercourse,  honourable  to 
both,  long  after  the  Eton  school- 
boy had  risen  to  be  a  statesman. 
But  the  'Microcosm'  lasted  scarcely 
two  years,  and  was  closed  at  the 
departure  of  its  leading  contri- 
butors from  the  school.  It  was 
not  until  sixteen  years  after  that 
the  '  Miniature'  succeeded  ;  edited, 
by  a  somewhat  remarkable  coinci- 
dence, by  Stratford  Canning,  cousin 
of  the  great  minister,  who  was 
then  a  King's  scholar,  and  after- 
wards became  Lord  Stratford  de 
Redcliffe.  It  was  clever,  but,  like 
its  predecessor,  shortlived.  Murray, 
the  publisher,  bought  up  the  old 
stock,  and  some  years  afterwards 
brought  out  a  new  edition.  It  did 
not  sell,  but  "  got  him  the  reputa- 
tion," says  Mr  Knight,  "  of  a  clever 
publisher,"  and  led  to  his  intro- 
duction to  George  Canning ;  and 
from  this  political  connection  arose 
in  time  the  '  Quarterly  Review.' 
Both  of  these  early  Eton  magazines 
were  somewhat  ambitious  in  their 
subjects,  and  more  didactic  in  their 
style  than  their  modern  successors. 
Of  these  there  have  been  several 


from  time  to  time,  of  some  of  which 
it  is  to  be  feared  the  very  names  have 
perished,  and  others  which  have  not 
much  better  claim  to  preservation. 
Among  these  ephemerals  were  the 
'Salt-bearer'  and  the  'College 
Magazine/  The  latter  was  in  man- 
uscript, and  was  published  in  occa- 
sional numbers  in  1818  and  1819. 
It  had  great  success  for  a  time  ;  but 
after  a  while,  whether  from  neglect 
or  from  the  want  of  the  infusion  of 
fresh  blood,  it  declined  both  in 
ability  and  prosperity.  Some  of  its 
contributors  seceded  :  chief  among 
them,  "Peter  Poeticus"  (destined 
soon  to  win  higher  favour  with  the 
public  under  the  signature  of 
"  Gerard  Montgomery"),  who,  with 
small  reliance  on  any  pen  but  his 
own,  started  a  rival  miscellany  with 
the  title  of  '  Horse  Otiosso.'  In 
those  pages — which,  like  the  maga- 
zine, were  not  printed — appeared 
"  My  Brother's  Grave,"  the  "  Lines 

to ,"  and  "  The  Hall  of  my 

Fathers  " — wonderful  productions 
for  a  boy  :  the  two  first  perhaps 
not  surpassed  by  any  poem  of  the 
writer's  maturer  years.  Each  num- 
ber opened  with  a  smart  address 
in  "  Whistlecraft "  metre,  "  de  om- 
nibus rebus  et  quibusdam  aliis,"  in 
which  the  knout — a  pretty  knotty 
one — was  freely  administered  to  all 
who  excited  Peter's  spleen  or  riv- 
alry. But  in  1821  appeared  'The 
Etonian' — lighter  and  more  popular 
in  style  than  its  predecessor  the  '  Mi- 
crocosm,' but  conducted  with  at  least 
equal  ability,  and  enjoying  a  wider 
general  reputation.  Poetry,  senti- 
mental and  comic,  romantic  fiction, 
and  the  realities  of  schoolboy  life,  all 
found  a  place  in  its  pages,  and  all 
were  more  or  less  cleverly  handled. 
There  was  a  pretty  numerous  body 
of  contributors,  but  the  controlling 
staff  were  a  set  of  some  seven  or 
eight,  who,  under  fictitious  names, 
formed  an  imaginary  society  called 
"  The  King  of  Clubs."  Some  of 
the  reported  meetings  of  this  club 
are  amongst  the  most  amusing 
articles.  The  real  names  of  these 
young  wTiters  are  now  sufficiently 
well  known,  and  several  have  won 


1SC5.] 


Etonians,  Ancisnt  an-l  .Vuilt-rn. — Conclusion. 


fur  themselves  high  literary  dis- 
tinction since.  Too  in;my  —  and 
those  of  the  highest  promise — have 
passed  away  before  their  full  de- 
velopment. Foremost  of  these  is 
Winthrop  Mackworth  Praed  —  a 
name  even  now  less  generally 
honoured  than  it  deserves  to  be, 
though  his  remains  have  at  last 
found  an  Knglish  publisher.  Many 
of  his  poems  have  a  grace  and 
beauty  which  has  never  been  sur- 
passed by  any  Knglish  writer  ;  and 
his  personal  character,  both  in  boy- 
hood and  in  manhood,  made  him 
as  warmly  loved  by  those  who  knew 
him  as  he  was  admired  for  the  bril- 
liancy of  his  powers. 

''  With   poignant  sarcasm    and   sly  04111- 

voijuo, 
Ami    nmnv  a  coruscation,  bright  though 

brief," 

Of  wit,  and  humour  moro  akin  than  wit 
To  genius  -drawing  on"  intrusive  eyes 
From  that  intensity  of  human  love, 
And  that  most  deep  and  tender  sympathy 
Close   guarded    in    the   chambers   of    his 

heart."* 

If  it  is  sad  to  think  that  Praed 
died  at  37,  it  is  sadder  still  that 
his  schoolfellow  poet  should  have 
had  to  say  of  him,  with  so  much 
truth,  that 

"  His  generation  knew  him  not," 

and  that  America  should  have  been 
beforehand  with  us  in  recognising 
his  remarkable  powers  by  a  col- 
lected edition  of  his  poems. 

But  Praed's  sun  at  least  went 
down  in  its  brightness.  It  was  not 
so  with  one  of  his  fellow- Etonian 
writers,  of  perhaps  even  greater 
ability  though  of  less  attractive 
personal  qualities.  William  Sydney 
Walker,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable amongst  Eton's  many 
remarkable  scholars,  has  left  even 
less  of  a  popular  name  and  far 
more  melancholy  recollections  be- 
hind him.  Possibly  the  very  pre- 
cocity of  his  genius  in  boyhood  was 
either  the  symptom  or  the  cause  of 


that  morbid  mental  excitement 
which  made  his  life  a  useless  one, 
and  threw  its  .shadow  over  all  his 
later  years.  Before  he  was  sent  to 
Eton,  lie  "  had  read  history  exten- 
sively" at  five  years  old.  At  Eton, 
the  feats  of  genius  recorded  of  him 
would  seem  quite  as  apocryphal,  if 
they  were  not  formally  vouched  for 
by  living  witnesses.  He  could  re- 
peat the  whole  of  Homer,  Horace, 
and  Virgil  by  heart,  says  an  Eton 
witness  before  the  Iloyal  Commis- 
sioners ;  and  not  only  that,  but 

"  He  could  IM-  called  up  in  school, 
having  an  Kaglish  Shakespeare  in  his 
hand  [instead  of  the  projH-r  hook],  and 
take  up  a  lesson  anywhere  that  it 
might  lie  going  oil  :  he  eoiilil  construe 
a  passage  expression  l>y  expression, 
parse  it  word  l>y  word,  answer  any 
question  that  was  a>ked  him,  and 
afterwards  Mt  down  to  his.  Shakc- 
Kl>eare."  + 

Some  one  once  told  Sir  J.  Mackin- 
tosh that  Walker  "could  turn  any- 
thing into  (ireek  verse."  Sir  James 
proposed  a  page  of  the  '  Court 
Guide  ;'  and  it  was  dune.  To  such 
a  boy.  of  course,  the  usual  "yojna"' 
of  lines  from  a  Greek  or  Latin  poet 
to  learn  by  heart  could  be  no  kind 
of  punishment  at  all  ;  so  that  when 
his  peculiar  powers  had  once  been 
discovered,  Greek  verses  were  set 
him  instead.  He  had  many  of 
the  unpleasant  habits  of  genius. 
Slovenly,  absent,  ill-tempered, 
awkward,  and  odd,  he  was  not 
happy  at  Eton.  He  was  the  sub- 
ject of  considerable  bullying,  in 
those  days  of  rougher  school  life, 
and  would  sometimes  even  rush 
into  the  masters'  rooms  to  escape 
from  his  tormentors.  It  has  been 
said  that  these  boyish  sufferings 
injured  his  health  and  broke  his 
spirit,  and  that  much  of  the  mental 
unhappiness  of  his  after  life  was 
the  consequence.  But  it  is  more  rea- 
sonable and  less  painful  to  believe, 
with  his  friend  and  biographer,  Mr 
Moult rie,  that  the  true  source  lay 


*   '  The  Dream  of  Life,'  by  John  Moultrie. 
t   llcv.  K.  Coleridge's  Evidence,  Kton,  .'57-0. 
VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCIV. 


2    K 


4S4 


Etoniana,  Ancient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


in  the  infirmities,  and  not  in  the 
persecutions  of  genius.  A  harass- , 
ing  disease  had  also  probably  its 
share  in  the  gloomy  religions  doubts 
which  embittered  his  mature  life, 
and  the  indolence  which  left  no 
worthy  result  from  such  extra- 
ordinary natural  powers.  He  re- 
signed his  fellowship,  and  would 
have  died  in  utter  poverty  but  for 
the  noble  generosity  of  an  old 
schoolfellow,  which  makes  even  his 
sad  story  bright  in  the  memory  of 
all  Etonians.  Winthrop  Praed  set 
him  free  from  debt,  and  made  a 
provision  for  his  future  years,  by 
a  little  pious  fraud  which  might 
spare  his  delicacy.  Another  friend 
and  fellow-collegian  (George  Craw- 
shay  of  Gateshead)  offered  him  a 
home  for  life,  which,  however,  he 
did  not  survive  long  enough  to 
accept. 

Henry  Nelson  Coleridge  was 
another  of  the  "  Club,"  and  Eton 
has  also  to  regret  his  loss  too  early 
in  a  useful  life,  But  several  sur- 
vive ;  and  John  Moultrie  at  least 
has  carried  out  the  promise  of  his 
'  Etonian '  authorship.  Several  of 
his  poems  which  appeared  there, 
have,  like  Praed's  youthful  verses, 
fully  maintained  their  ground  when 
republished  side  by  side  with  those 
of  the  author's  maturer  years.  Per- 
haps the  most  beautiful  of  all — 
"  Godiva" — has  not  been  included 
by  Mr  Moultrie  in  his  collected 
poems,  from  what  most  of  those 
who  remember  it  will  consider  an 
over-scrupulous  taste. 

There  have  been  a  host  of  modern 
successors,  at  different  dates,  to  the 
'  Etonian,'  but  none  have  made  any 
approach  to  it  in  ability,  and  none 
have  had  more  than  a  very  brief 
existence.  The  '  Eton  Miscellany  ' 
is  no  exception,  though  amongst  its 
•most  frequent  contributors  were 
William  Ewart  Gladstone,  Arthur 
Henry  Hallam,  and  Francis  Hast- 
ings Doyle.  The  '  Oppidan,'  the 
'  Bureau,'  the  '  Eton  School  Maga- 
zine,' the  '  Porticus  Etonensis,'  the 
'  Observer,'  and  the  '  Phrenix,'  are 
probably  all  but  forgotten  even  by 


their  contributors,  and  certainly 
have  no  claim  to  resuscitation.  The 
chief  literary  effort  of  the  present 
day  is  the  '  Eton  College  Chronicle,' 
started  in  1863,  which  assumes  to 
be  little  more  than  a  school  news- 
paper, eschewing  essays,  fiction,  and 
poetry,  and  merely  recording  such 
matters  of  fact  as  boat-races,  foot- 
ball and  cricket  matches,  &c.  &c., 
with  criticisms  thereupon.  The 
editors,  in  their  introductory  ad- 
dress, express  their  confidence  that 
it  will  prove  "  an  especial  boon  to 
parents,"  as  it  "will  in  a  great 
measure  supply  the  place  of  letters, 
which  often,  from  press  of  circum- 
stances and  time,  boys  omit  to 
write."  Of  this  latter  fact  there  is 
no  question  ;  and  whatever  parents 
may  think  of  the  "  boon,"  there  can 
be  little  doubt  that  many  a  fourth- 
form  boy,  who  is  under  a  chronic 
pressure  of  "circumstances"  as  re- 
gards his  correspondence,  will  find 
it  very  convenient  to  buy  a  ready- 
made  letter  (for  the  small  sum  of 
threepence)  requiring  nothing  but 
a  stamp  arid  an  address  to  be  ready 
for  the  post.  The  '  Chronicle'  is  at 
any  rate  very  well  managed,  and 
very  useful  in  its  way. 

The  Eton  Debating  Society  has 
had  a  longer  and  more  successful 
existence.  It  is  better  known  by 
its  soubriquet  of  "  Pop,"  supposed 
to  be  a  contraction  of  Popina,  the 
rooms  where  it  was  held  for  many 
years  having  been  over  a  cookshop 
or  confectioner's.  It  was  first  in- 
stituted in  1811,  when  Charles  Fox 
Townshend  (who  was  the  elder 
brother  of  the  late  Marquess,  and 
died  young)  was  the  first  president, 
and  it  has  gone  on  ever  since  with 
considerable  popularity  and  suc- 
cess. The  preparation  of  these 
speeches  leads  to  a  certain  amount 
of  historical  reading  for  the  pur- 
pose; but  the  chief  attraction  of 
"  Pop "  lies  in  its  being  a  sort  of 
social  club,  where  papers  and  re- 
views are  taken  in  ;  and,  as  the 
numbers  are  strictly  limited  (origin- 
ally twenty-two,  since  increased  to 
twenty-eight),  to  be  elected  into  the 


I  scr». ' 


Etvniana,  Anciriit  nitd  .\[a<!crn. — C<inc?nai<>n. 


Society  gives  a  boy  a  certain  degree 
of  prestige  in  the  school.  In  sum- 
IIKT  tho  debates  are  almost  nomi- 
nal, out-door  attractions  being  too 
strong  ;  but  in  winter  they  some- 
times last  for  several  hours,  and  are 
kept  up  with  great  spirit.  The 
members  are  almost  exclusively 
oppidans,  this  being  one  of  the 
points  where  the  jealousy  between 
them  and  the  collegers  comes  out 
very  distinctly.  A  few  of  the 
latter  are  admitted,  but  only  when 
they  have  some  special  claim  to 
popularity.  Modern  politics  are  by 
no  means  excluded  from  the  debates, 
as  is  the  rule  at  some  school  debat- 
ing-societies. Eton  boys  have  gene- 
rally been  enthusiastic  politicians, 
usually  of  the  thorough  "Church 
and  King"  type.  They  took  ( Jeorge 
IV.'s  side  in  the  matter  of  the 
Queen's  trial,  and  fought  the  Wind 
sor  mob  on  his  behalf  on  the  night 
of  his  coronation.  There  was  an 
"  opposition "  party  in  the  .school, 
small  in  number,  who  were  warm 
partisans  of  the  Queen,  and  had 
drawn  up  an  address  to  her,  which, 
however,  they  were  persuaded  not 
to  send.  The  traditions  of  the 
school  are  still,  in  the  main,  stoutly 
opposed  to  anything  like  radicalism, 
and  a  strong  body  of  the  boys  did 
battle  against  the  "  C'lewer  roughs" 
on  behalf  of  the  Conservative  can- 
didate at  the  last  Windsor  election. 
The  improvements  carried  out  of 
late  years  in  the  buildings  and  other 
arrangements  at  Eton  have  been 
very  great.  The  schools  in  which 
some  of  the  divisions  were  taught — 
especially  those  in  the  old  college 
chambers  on  the  ground  Moor — were 
very  close  and  inconvenient.  But 
in  the  summer  of  18(13  a  block  of 
new  buildings  was  completed,  which 
contains  thirteen  class-rooms,  be- 
sides a  music -room,  with  the  ac- 
cesses and  staircases  so  arranged 
as  to  avoid  the  crowding  and  con- 
fusion which  occasionally  used  to 
take  place.  The  old  Upper  and 
Lower  Schools  remain  unaltered  : 
indeed,  there  are  historical  interests 
associated  even  with  their  homeli- 


est features  which  no  Etonian  would 
wish  to  see  desecrated  by  any  mo- 
dern restorer.  The  latter  room  is 
still  very  much  what  it  was  in  Eli/ 
abeth's  days.  There  Vet  remain 
the  double  row  of  unsightly  oaken 
pillars  said  to  have  been  set  up  by 
Sir  Henry  Wotton  when  provo.st, 
and  to  have  had  painted  on  them 
portraits  of  (ireek  and  Latin  au- 
thors; and  which,  by  the  singu- 
larity of  their  arrangement,  gave 
rise  to  a  tradition  of  the  room  hav- 
ing been  originally  the  college  stable. 
Each  pair  of  pillars  h.i.s  been  con- 
nected by  wooden  arches  of  more 
modem  date,  probably  added  when 
the  t'pper  School  was  rebuilt  by 
Sir  Christopher  Wren.  On  the 
oaken  "shuts"  of  the  windows 
may  still  be  read  the  names  of  the 
scholars  carved  as  they  were  elected 
off  to  King's,  which  struck  IVpy.s 
on  his  visit  as  so  "pretty  "  a  cus- 
tom. On  the  farthest  shutter  are 
those  of  the  election  of  ir>(M,  the 
chief  authors  of  the  poems  which 
welcomed  Queen  Kli/.abeth  in  the 
previous  year;  and  there  are  some 
names  of  even  earlier  date.  The 
Hall  is  now  one  of  the  finest  inte- 
riors of  it*  kind,  having  been  en- 
tirely refitted  with  a  noble  open 
roof,  screens,  and  galleries,  chiefly 
by  the  liberality  of  one  of  the  pre- 
sent Fellows,  .Sir  Wilder.  In  the 
course  of  these  improvements  some 
fine  old  stone  fireplaces,  long  con- 
cealed, were  brought  to  light  and 
restored,  and  the  old  unsightly 
stove  in  the  middle  done  away  with. 
Tt  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  out- 
side is  still  disfigured  by  some  mo- 
dern excrescences  of  building.  The 
boys  have  now  an  excellent  library 
of  their  own,  first  originated  in 
1>20  by  some  of  the  contributors 
to  the  '  Etonian,'  and  held  at  the 
college  booksellers',  but  removed  in 
lS}.r)  to  the  very  handsome  room 
built  by  the  college  for  the  purpose, 
and  largely  increased  by  gifts  of 
books  from  Dr  Hawtrey,  then  head- 
master— one  of  the  many  instances 
of  his  liberality  in  all  that  could 
contribute  to  the  improvement  and 


Etoniana,  A  ncient  and  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


welfare  of  the  school.  Some  old 
Etonian  relics  are  collected  there ; 
amongst  them  hangs  on  the  wall  a 
long  roll  of  "  Bacchus  "  verses  by 
Porson.* 

In  the  matter  of  bullying,  fag- 
ging, and  fighting — which  in  ancient 
times  made  a  pnblic  school  a  word 
of  aAve  to  tender-hearted  English 
mothers — modern  Eton  has  become 
what  even  they  would  call  a  model 
school.  It  never  had,  at  any  time, 
the  evil  reputation  which  formerly 
attached  to  Westminster  and  Win- 
chester on  these  points.  So  smooth 
and  even  does  the  course  of  school- 
boy life  run  there  now,  that  Etonian 
fathers  are  apt  sometimes  to  doubt 
whether  their  sons  do  not  find 
things  made  rather  too  pleasant  for 
them — whether  a  little  more  of  the 
hardening  process  in  boyhood  might 
not  be  absolutely  good  for  those 
who  will  not  find  grown-up  life  en- 
tirely a  bed  of  roses.  They  do  not 
feel  sure  that  it  was  not  wholesome 
even  for  a  small  marquess  to  have  to 
use  his  fists ;  or  for  a  duke,  upon  his 
first  entrance  into  public  life,  to  get 
that  "  extra  kick"  which  was  once 
his  traditionary  welcome  at  Eton, 
and  which  might  serve  as  some 
counterpoise  to  the  extra  compli- 
ments which  society  was  sure  to 
award  him  hereafter.  They  look 
back  to  that  wager  of  combat  be- 
tween Dreadnought  and  Defiance 
in  the  playing-fields,  or  the  great 
"Battle  of  the  Bargees"  (a  dim 
tradition  even  amongst  the  oldest 
of  their  band,  and  which  unhappily 
seems  to  have  found  no  sacer 
vates),  and  say  to  themselves,  per- 
haps with  some  natural  exagger- 
ation of  the  past,  that  Eton  had 
its  giants  in  those  days.  When 
they  read  in  the  evidence  of  a 
modern  Etonian,  questioned  by  an 
old  Etonian  commissioner,  who  is 
surprised  to  find  the  boys  never 
fight,  the  naive  explanation  that  he 
supposes  it  is  "  because  they  funk 
each  other,''  t  they  protest  against  it 


as  a  libel  on  the  school.  It  is  with 
a  grim  satisfaction  that  they  hear 
still  of  collar-bones  broken  and 
knees  put  out  in  the  fierce  football 
bully,  when  heroes  meet  "  at  the 
wall."  For  they  have  not  forgot- 
ten the  great  Etonian  captain  who 
said  that  "  the  battle  of  Waterloo 
was  won  in  the  playing-fields  of 
Eton."  But  modern  or  ancient, 
colleger  or  oppidan,  they  hold  fast 
by  the  old  school,  wonderfully  un- 
changed in  tone  and  feeling  amidst 
the  many  social  changes  which  it 
has  only  shared  with  the  larger 
world  outside,  and  still  maintain- 
ing, not  only  in  their  own  partial 
estimate,  but  by  the  hearty  and  gene- 
rous testimony  of  non-Etonians,  the 
charter  of  the  "Eton  gentleman." 


POSTSCRIPT. — The  collection  and 
publication  of  these  notices  of  Eton 
has,  of  course,  involved  a  good  deal 
of  correspondence  with  Etonians  of 
all  dates.  We  have  received  letters 
critical,  complimentary,  co  -  opera- 
tive, and  corrective.  All  which  fell 
under  the  two  first  heads  we  have, 
with  a  magnanimous  impartiality, 
consigned  to  the  flames.  From  the 
others  we  make  a  selection  for  the 
benefit  of  our  readers,  who  will  find 
here  and  there  a  purpureus  pannus 
which  deserves  a  better  fate  than 
the  waste-paper  basket.  These  first 
fragments  give  a  lively  picture  of 
the  Eton  of  sixty  years  ago,  still 
bright  in  the  vigorous  memory  of 
the  writer  : — 

"  When  I  went  to  Eton,  Goodall 
was  head-master,  and  '  Cocky '  Keate 
ruled  the  lower  regions.  We  had  an  ex- 
cellent staff  of  lieutenants  :  Thackeray, 
afterwards  provost  of  King's  ;  Bethel,  a 
very  magnificent  gentleman ;  Carter, 
now  vice- provost ;  Sunnier,  the  most 
popular  of  tutors;  Drury,  eheu!  facile 
prlnceps,  in  all  things  the  Admirable 
Crichton  of  his  day,  but  who  disap- 
peared in  a  clonded  noon.  In  the  lower 
school  were  Charles  Yonge,  Plumtre, 
and  Knapp.  The  system  of  the  school 


*  See,  for  the  custom,  p.  218. 

f  Public  Schools  Evid.,  Eton,  7206. 


Etonians,  Anci>nt  and  M>  J<r». — Conclusion. 


was  then,  as  now,  to  prepare  the  le-sons 
of  the  day  with  OIIC'H  tutor,  and  then 
tak.  tin  in  up  to  con-true  t<>  the  master 
of  the  division.  There  wan  too  much 
tendency  to  favoritism  ;  either  from 
rank  or  ability,  some  had  the  lion's  share 
of  In-ing  called  up.  1  conclude  this  is 
a  weak  point  not  confined  to  any  age  or 
system  ;  but  it  acted  badly  at  Kton  in 
my  day  ;  it  damped  eager  aspirations, 
crushed  hope,  and  induced  carelessness. 
The  fairest  chance  a  lioy  had  was  in  his 
jiajters,  his  copy  of  verses,  his  theme, 
his  personal  stock  that  no  one  could 
touch  :  and  as  he  rose  in  the  school  and 
reached  'play'  (confined  to  the  Sixth 
and  a  few  of  the  upper  division,  before 
the  head-master),  whatever  abilities  he 
might  have  were  then  appreciated.  -But 
of  this  Kjiccial  teaching  the  collegers 
rcajied  the  chief  Item-lit  ;  not  many 
oppidans  remained  so  long;  there  was 
a  great  drain  in  those  days  for  the  army 
and  navy. 

"  Our  battle-ground  was  the  playing- 
fields.  The  great  battle  in  my  time 
was  lietwccn  Coleridge  (now  Sir  John) 
and  Horace  Mann  ;  it  had  lasted  an 
hour,  when  (Joodall  the  head-master 
came  down  and  stopped  it.  My  friend 
Hawnslcy  also  fought  a  capital  light 

with    one    W ,     a    big    bully,    and 

thrashed  him  off  in  twenty  minutes,  the 
Duke  of  Leinster  giving  him  a  knee.  .  .  . 
"  I  think  the  type  of  our  time  was  to 
be  read  in  the  excellence  of  our  games. 
The  Itoats  were  first  rate  ;  the  eleven  of 
football,  and  the  eleven  of  cricket,  un- 
rivalled. Then  there  were  games  illicit, 
but  winked  at;  the  amateur  theatricals; 
the  billiard-moms— Huddleston's  up  in 
Windsor,  and  (! ray's  at  the  foot  of  the 
bridge,  where  you  sometimes  made  way 
for  your  tutor  '  There  was  even  Ascot, 
at  rare  intervals.  There  was  the  dear 
old  Christopher  in  the  midst  of  us, 
where  many  a  bowl  of  bishop  was  dis- 
cussed, in  innocent  proportions,  pre- 
pared by  the  good  and  careful  (Jarraway. 
The  marvel  of  marvels  was,  that  amongst 
the  whole  (><M)  all  enjoyed  their  own 
jH-culiar  privileges,  according  to  age  and 
standing,  without  disorder  or  collision 
—  such  was  the  discipline  of  the  boys' 
own  creating  — from  the  lowest  boy  to 
him  who  held  the  enviable  position  of 
<  'aptain  of  the  school." 


This  next  refers  to  a  later  date  : — 

"  Any  record  of  Kton  seems  to  me 
incomplete  without  some  mention  of 
Henry  Knapp,  sometime  lower  master, 
and  my  excellent  friend  and  tutor.  He 
was  an  accurate  and  elegant  scholar, 


and  in  working  his  pupils  enforced  .as 
far  as  teaching  and  •  \ample  could  en- 
force it)  fluent  and  vigorous  const!  uing. 
He  had  a  woiidr«  us  fac  lity  for  little 
classical  ./'».'•  </"•  •  »/•/•/'/.  We  w.-n-  once 
lying  on  the  batik  at  Mcdcnham  Abln-y 
after  a  gipsy  dinner,  when  he  amused 
himself  by  turning  the  whole  of  'Billy 
Taylor'  into  hexameter*  and  |M-ntami- 
ters.  It  wa.s  nevt  r  committed  to  paper, 
and  I  only  n  number  fragments,  <  ;/. 

'  Her    lily-white    hand*    W.T.-    daubed   all 

over 

With  the  !:a-ty  pitch  and  tar.' 
'  .V,,.   pudint     I.     •   ',11 .</,(,-...•    Inttnain' 

tiff  train.' 

'  A  ;-nst  of  wind  hi i  w  her  jacket  open, 

And     nil     <!'     ....red     h-  r     lilv-whito 
bn-a-t  ' 

'   A  H I'll     tilnnn     I' ml  I'm.    It!  in  it    i,rii  mfil     /-.;/...- 

fit, 

Vii'ijiin  >'t  x  j  iii  •••' . ,  ,. . .   i.1 

'  Then  she  call,  d  lor  s\v..rd  ai.d  pi-!..]. 

Which  did  com,,  at  her  command.' 
.      .       .      '  fill,  „<  j,,,.<tiit,it  —  ,HM'.<  /(./,..(.' 

"  How  perfectly  Ovidian!  and  how 
far  superior  to  Prtiry's  version  of  the 
same  lines  in  'Arundines  ('ami '!  And 
this  reminds  me  that  Knapp's  sportive 
ve:n  was  a^  hapjiy  in  Knglish  as  in 
Latin.  A  letter  of  his  now  lies  before 
me,  in  which  he  --ays:  '  Have  you  seen 
the  'Arundines  ('ami'?  What  a  /''.,,/• 
'mi  jitiuriitii .'  a  prov.ist  of  Kton  translat- 
ing '  Humpty  iMimpty  ^at  on  a  wall!' 
I  can  fancy  old  Cam  thus  rcbukim.' 
him  : — 

•  No  wreatli  of  bays  will  1  accord 

To  deck  your  hoary  hair  ; 
A  pap  boat  be  \.  ur  l.c-t  reward, 
<  >r  perforated  chair. 

Shall  woods  which  drank  sue.  t  M;..-ci.'* 
lay 

Rejoice  in  '  Cat  and  Fiddle  '  ' 
Can  troves  that  luard  enraptured  ("I ray 

Ucsp..nd  to  •   Piddle -did-I.e-':' 

Sing  not    ]'>o-l'et]i  at   cveliil  L'  late 
In  search  of  -die.  p  that  wander  ; 

Trv  Shakespeare  ( if  yott  /,  .'.'Mia1  -slate', 
Not  '  (!..i  -ey,  i.-oosey,  gander.' 

Shame  on  tho  Hard,  who  native  force 

Of  talent  thus  misuses, 
Makes  1'c^asus  a  rocking-horse, 

And  nursemaids  of  the  Muses.' 

"  Knapp's  boys,  as  was  to  be  cxj>ccted, 
were  ringleaders  in  the  playhouse.  He 
had  a  pretty  little  theatre  of  his  own  at 
Ringstead  in  Northamptonshire,  with 
some  very  clever  actors  ;  and  a  favoured 
pupil  or  two  never  missed  joining  in 
the  ( 'hristmas  performances  there.  As- 
cot, likewise,  generally  brought  to  his 
table  Mathews,  Hook.  Terry,  Ynten, 
Jamie  Henderson,  and  other  celebrities 


438 


Etoniana,  Ancient  >ind  Modern. — Conclusion. 


[April, 


of  the  footlights, — not,  however,  includ- 
ing Edmund  Kean,  to  whom  (as  I  can 
assure  Captain  Gronow)  he  never  spoke 
a  word  iu  his  life.  Then  the  occasional 
rattle  up  to  London  with  him — -the 
Juliet— the  Sir  Giles— the  Bedford— the 
broiled  fowl  and  mushroom  saxice — the 
Hounslow  posters— and  the  return  in 
time  for  six  o'clock  lesson — 0  nodes 
ccenteque  Deiim  ! " 


"I  rejoice  that  you  do  justice  to 
'  Gerard  Montgomery.'  Graver  years, 
and,  alas  !  sadder  times,  have  since  then 
quenched  that  brilliant  humour  and 
that  trenchant  gibe ;  but  still  survives 
the  old  sweet  music,  '  possessing  the 
pathos  of  Wordsworth  without  his  pu- 
erility '  (non  meus  hie  scrmo,  aed  quce 
pnvcepit  Hawtrey).  His  correction  of 
a  translation  (in  '  Horse  Otiosce ')  of  Dr 
Johnson's  verses  to  Sylvanus  Urban — 
'  Urbane  nullis  fesse  laboribus ' — lies  be- 
fore me  : — 

'  Texente  nymphis  serta  Lycoridc 
Rosoe  ruborom  sic  viola  adjuvat 

Immista — sic  Iris  refulget 

yEtheriis  variata  fucis. ' 

'  Thus,   when   some  nyrnpli  a  garland 

twines, 
Brighter  the  rose  contrasted  shines 

With  violets'  purple  dye  ; 
The  crocv.s  and  the  Illy  there, 
A  nd  all  the  treasures  of  the  year 
In  gay  confusion  lie.' 

He  substitutes  for  these  last — 

'  Tis  thus,  in  heaven's  ethereal  bow. 
Each  colour  takes  a  livelier  glow 
Contrasted  with  the  sky.' 

"How  cleverly  he  lifts  his  tired 
horse,  and  lands  him  safe  on.  the  other 
side  ! " 


"Was  Balston  right  in  so  peremp- 
torily rejecting  the  modern  languages 
for  Eton,  when  under  examination 
by  the  Commissioners  ?  I  dare  not 
give  an  opinion  ;  we  know  full  well 
their  indispensable  necessity  to  every 
gentleman  moving  in  the  world ;  but 
the  serious  difficulty  arises,  '  Who  is  to 
teach  them  ? '  If  a  Frenchman,  he  must 
be  an  Anglicised  one  ;  if  an  Englishman, 
a  Frenchified  one ;  and  schoolboys  are 
sturdy  rebels  against  foreigners.  I  re- 
member my  poor  friend  Bullock  saying 
to  me,  '  Ah,  old  fellow !  what  capital 
Frenchmen  we  should  have  been, if  we  had 
spent  half  the  time  in  learning  French 
at  Eton  that  we  did  in  mimicking  Ber- 
thomier  ! '  The  idea  of  teaching  French 


(except    grammatically)    by    an    Eng- 
lishman, appears  to  me  simply  absurd. 
Then  the  jealousy  of  the  classical  mas- 
ters would  hardly  admit  of  extra  teachers 
being  placed  on  the  same  elevation  with 
themselves.     The  writing-master  in  my 
time  was  a  Mr  Hexter,  who  combined 
with  this  office   the   somewhat  incon- 
gruous honours  of  a  magistrate  for  the 
county,   a   '  major '    (in    the  Middlesex 
militia,   I   believe),   and   a    'Dominie' 
at  Eton.     This  gentleman  once  applied 
for  an  interview  with  Provost  Goodall, 
and,  after  stating  his  views  and  preten- 
sions, finished  by  requesting  permission 
to  wear  a  gown,  and  that  the  boys  should 
not   'shirk'    him.      With  his  blandest 
smile,    Giuseppe  II  Magnifico  replied, 
'  Well,  Major  Hexter,  as  to  wearing  a 
gown,  do  as  you  like  ;  as  to  the  boys 
shirking  you,  let  them  do  as  they  like. ' 
Tsor,  moreover,   is  it  at  all  clear  that 
that   criterion   of  foreign    accomplish- 
ment,   Prince    Albert's    prize,    always 
goes   in   the   intended    and    hoped-for 
direction.      It  was    never  meant  that 
the  sons  of  foreigners,  or  of  Englishmen 
constantly   resident    abroad — still   less 
the  sons  of  mothers  blest  in  the  posses- 
sion  of   French  ladies'-maids — should 
walk   off    with    the    Prince   Consort's 
prize.     No  doubt,  as  Byron  says — • 

'Tis  pleasing  to  be  schooled  in  a  strange 

tongue 
By  female  lips  and  eyes  ;' 

but  this  is  not  the  grammar  by  the 
study  of  which  the  Prince  intended  the 
honours  of  modern  languages  to  be  won. 
And  may  it  not  be  worth  while  to  in- 
quire whether,  for  a  little  history,  a 
little  French,  a  little  chemistry,  a  little 
geometry,  it  is  worth  while  to  jeopar- 
dise the  classical  fame  of  this  great 
school,  and  whether  additional  surface 
of  knowledge  may  not  be  too  dearly  pur- 
chased by  diminution  of  its  depth?" 


A  small  oppidan  (who,  to  judge 
from  his  handwriting,  must  have 
"shirked"  Major  Hexter's  succes- 
sors very  effectually)  informs  us, 
under  the  signature  of  "  Experto 
Crede"  that  the  collegers  still 
"  assist "  at  the  execution-block 
in  the  manner  which  has  been 
described  as  obsolete.  In  so  de- 
scribing it  we  feel  sure  that  we 
have  only  anticipated  the  good  feel- 
ing of  the  Eton  authorities. 


KSG5.1 


Piccadilly.— Part  II. 


ritVAWU.Y  :    AN    Kl'ISUDK   UK   CONTEMPORANEOUS    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 


As  the  event  which  I  am  about 
ti>  recount  forms  the  turning  point 
<»f  my  life — -unless,  indeed,  some- 
thing still  more  remarkable  hap- 
pens, which  1  do  not  at  present 
foresee,  to  turn  me  back  again — I  do 
not  feel  that  it  would  he  either  be- 
coming, or  indeed  possible,  for  me 
to  maintain  that  vein  of  easy  cheer- 
fulness which  lias  characterised  my 
composition  hitherto.  What  is  fun 
to  you,  <)  my  reader!  may  be 
death  to  me  :  and  nothing  ran  l>e 
farther  from  my  intention  than  to 
excite  the  smallest  tendency  to 
risibility  on  your  part  at  my  mis- 
fortunes or  trials.  You  will  already 
have  guessed  wh.it  these  are  :  but 
how  to  recur  to  those  agonising 
details,  how  to  present  to  you  the 
picture  of  my  misery  in  its  true 
colours. — nothing  but  the  stern  de- 
termination to  carry  out  my  original 
design,  and  the  conscientious  con- 
viction that  "the  story  of  my  life 
from  day  to  day  "  may  be  made  a 
profitable  study  to  my  fellow-men, 
could  induce  me  in  this  cold- 
blooded way  to  tear  open  the  still 
unhealed  wound. 

I  came  down  to  breakfast  rather 
late  on  the  morning  following  the 
events  narrated  in  the  last  chapter. 
Broadbrim  and  Grandon  had  al- 
ready vanished  from  the  scene  ;  so 
had  Mr  Wog,  who  went  up  to  town 
to  see  what  he  called  "  the  ele- 
phant,'1— an  American  expression, 
signifying  "  to  gain  experience  of 
the  world.''  The  phrase  originated 
in  an  occurrence  at  a  menagerie, 
and  as  upon  this  occasion  Mr  Wog 
applied  it  to  the  opening  of  1'arlia- 
ment,  it  was  not  altogether  inap- 
propriate. I  found  still  lingering 
over  the  <tt'l>ri*  of  breakfast  my 
host  and  hostess,  Lady  Broadbrim 
and  her  daughters,  the  Bishop  and 
Chundango.  The  latter  appeared 
to  be  having  all  the  talk  to  him- 


KUTYVII  i.i:,  Mard,. 

self,  and,  to  give  him  his  due,  hi.s 
conversation  was  generally  enter- 
taining. 

"  My  dear  mother,"  he  was  say- 
ing. "  still  unconverted,  has  buried 
all  my  jewellery  in  the  back  veran- 
dah. After  I  had  cleared  a  million 
sterling,  I  divided  it  into  two  parts  ; 
with  one  part  1  bought  jewels,  of 
which  my  mother  is  an  excellent 
judge,  and  the  other  I  put  out  at 
interest.  Not  forgetting."  with  an 
upward  glance,  "a  sum  the  interest 
of  which  1  do  not  look  for  here." 

"Then,  did  you  give  all  your 
jewels  to  your  mother!"  asked 
Lady  Broadbrim. 

"Oh.  no;  she  is  only  keeping 
them  till  I  can  bestow  them  upon 
the  woman  I  chouse  for  her  daugh- 
ter in-law." 

"Are  you  looking  out  for  her 
now  ?"  I  asked,  somewhat  abruptly. 

''  Yes,  my  dear  friend,"  said 
John  ;  "  I  hope  to  find  in  England 
some  Christian  young  person  as  a 
yoke-mate." 

There  was  a  self  satisfied  roll  of 
his  eye  as  he  said  this,  which  took 
away  from  me  all  further  desire  for 
the  bacon  and  eggs  I  had  just  put 
on  my  plate. 

"Dear  Mr  Chundango,"  said 
L  uly  I.roadbrhn,  "  tell  us  some  of 
your  adventures  as  a  catechist  in 
the  Bombay  Ghauts.  Did  you  give 
up  all  when  you  became  one  ?  Was 
your  family  noble  I  and  did  you 
undergo  much  persecution  from 
them  ?  " 

"  The  Kajah  of  Sattara  is  my 
first  cousin,"  said  Chundango.  un- 
blushingly  ;  "  but  they  repudiated 
me  when  I  became  a  Christian,  and 
deny  the  relationship." 

"  Are  you  goin<_'  up  to  convoca- 
tion I"  said  Dickiefield  to  the 
Bishop,  to  divert  attention  from 
Chundango'.s  last  barefaced  asser- 
tion. "  I  hear  they  are  going  to 


490 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[April, 


take  some  further  action  about  the 
judgment  on  the  '  Essays  and  Re- 
views.' " 

"  Yes,"  said  Joseph  ;  "  and  I  see 
there  is  a  chance  of  three  new  sees 
being  created.  I  should  like  to  talk 
over  the  matter  with  you.  Con- 
sidering how  seriously  my  health 
has  suffered  in  the  tropics,  and 
how  religiously  I  have  adhered  to 
my  liberal  opinions  in  politics,  even 
in  the  most  trying  climates,  it  might 
be  worth  while " 

"  Excuse  me  for  interrupting  you, 
my  dear  Lord,"  said  Dickiefield, 
"  but  the  present  Government  are 
not  so  particular  about  the  political 
as  the  theological  views  of  their 
Bishops.  Palmerston  especially  has 
very  decided  opinions  on  certain 
moot  points  of  theology,  and  is  fully 
impressed  with  the  tremendous 
spiritual  responsibility,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  which  his  po- 
sition imposes  upon  him.  When 
you  remember  that  the  Prime 
Minister  of  this  country  is  held 
morally  accountable  for  the  ortho- 
doxy of  its  religious  tenets,  you 
must  at  once  perceive  how  essential 
it  is,  not  only  that  he  should  be 
profoundly  versed  in  points  of 
scriptural  doctrine  himself,  but  that 
he  should  never  appoint  a  bishop 
of  whose  soundness  he  is  not  from 
personal  knowledge  thoroughly 
satisfied." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  talk  over 
the  more  dispxited  points  with 
him,"  said  the  Bishop  ;  "  when 
do  you  think  he  could  spare  a 
moment  1 " 

"  The  best  plan  would  be,"  re- 
plied Dickiefield,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "  to  catch  him  in  the  lobby 
of  the  House  some  evening  when 
there  is  nothing  particular  going 
on  :  what  books  of  reference  would 
you  require  ? " 

The  Bishop  named  one,  when  I 
interrupted  him,  for  I  felt  Dickie- 
field  had  not  put  the  case  fairly  as 
regarded  Palmerston. 

"  It  is  not  Palmerston's  fault  at 
all,"  said  I ;  "he  is  the  most 
liberal  theologian  possible,  but  he 
lias  nothing  to  do  with  doctrine ; 


that  lies  in  Bethel's  department. 
As  the  supreme  arbiter  in  points  of 
religious  belief,  and  as  the  largest 
dispenser  of  spiritual  patronage  in 
the  kingdom,  it  is  evident  that  the 
qualifications  for  a  Lord  Chancel- 
lor should  be  not  so  much  his 
knowledge  of  law,  as  his  unblem- 
ished moral  character  and  incapa- 
city for  perpetrating  jobs.  He  is, 
in  fact,  the  principal  veterinary  sur- 
geon of  the  ecclesiastical  stable,  and 
any  man  in  orders  that  he  '  war- 
rants sound,'  Palmerston  can't  ob- 
ject to  on  the  score  of  orthodoxy. 
The  Prime  Minister  is  just  in  the 
same  position  as  the  head  of  any 
other  department, — whoever  passes 
the  competitive  examination,  he 
is  bound  to  accept,  but  may  use 
his  own  discretion  as  to  promo- 
tion, and,  of  course,  sticks  to  the 
traditions  of  the  service.  The 
fact  is,  if  you  go  into  the  Colo- 
nial Episcopal  line  you  get  over 
the  heads  of  a  lot  of  men  who  are 
steadily  plodding  on  for  home  pro- 
motion, and,  of  course,  they  don't 
think  it  fair  for  an  outsider  to  come 
back  again,  and  cut  them  out  of  a 
palace  and  the  patronage  attached 
to  it  on  the  strength  of  having 
been  a  missionary  Bishop.  It  is 
just  the  same  in  the  Foreign  Office, 
— if  you  go  out  of  Europe  you  get 
out  of  the  regular  line.  However, 
we  shall  have  the  judgment  of  the 
Judicial  Committee  of  the  Privy 
Council  on  the  Colenso  case  before 
long,  and,  from  the  little  I  know  of 
the  question,  it  is  possible  you  may 
find  that  you  are  not  a  bishop  at 
all.  In  that  case  you  will  have 
what  is  far  better  than  any  interest 
— a  grievance.  You  can  say  that 
you  were  tempted  to  give  up  a  good 
living  to  go  to  the  heathen,  on  false 
pretences,  and  they'll  have  to  make 
it  up  to  you.  You  could  not  do 
better  than  apply  for  one  of  the  ap- 
pointments attached  to  some  cathe- 
drals, called  'Peculiars.'  I  believe 
that  they  are  very  comfortable  and 
independent.  If  you  will  allow  me 
I  will  write  to  my  solicitor  about 
one.  Lawyers  are  the  men  to  man- 
age these  matters,  as  they  are  all  in 


1SC5.1 


s  A  utobiorjraphy.  —  /'art  77. 


with  each  oilier,  and  every  liishop 
has  one  attached  to  him." 

"Thank  yon,  my  Lord — my  ob- 
servation was  addressed  to  Lord 
Diekielicld,"  said  the  Hishop,  very 
stiflly  ;  for  there  was  an  absence  of 
tliat  deference  in  my  tone  to  which 
those  who  love  the  uppermost  seats 
in  the  synagogues  are  accustomed, 
but  which  I  reserve  for  some  poor 
labourers  who  will  never  be  heard 
of  in  this  world. 

"Talking  of  committees,"  I  went 
on,  "how  confused  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor must  be  between  them  all. 
lie  must  be  very  apt  to  forget  when 
he  is  '.sitting'  and  when  he  is  being 
'sat  upon.'  If  he  had  not  the 
clearest  possible  head,  he  would  be 
proving  to  the  world  that  Mr  Ed- 
munds was  competent  to  teach  the 
Zulus  theology  in  spiteof  the  Hishop 
of  Tape  Town,  and  that  he  was  jus- 
tified in  giving  J)r  Colenso  a  large 
retiring  pension.  What  with  hav- 
ing totjuote  texts  in  one  committee- 
room,  and  arithmetic  in  another, 
and  having  to  explain  the  law  of 
(Jod,  the  law  of  the  land,  and  his 
own  conduct  alternately,  it  is  a 
miracle  that  he  does  not  get  a  soften- 
ing of  the  brain.  Depend  upon  it." 
said  I,  turning  to  the  Hishop,  who 
looked  flushed  and  angry,  "  that  a 
'  Peculiar'  is  a  much  snugger  place 
than  the  Woolsack." 

"  Lord  Frank,  permit  me  to  say," 
broke  in  Lady  Hroadbrim,  who  had 
several  times  vainly  endeavoured  to 
interrupt  me,  "  that  your  manner 
of  treating  sacred  subjects  is  most 
disrespectful  and  irreverent,  and 
that  your  allusions  to  an  ecclesias- 
tical stable,  'outsiders,'  and  other 
racing  slang,  is  in  the  worst  possible 
taste,  considering  the  presence  of 
the  Hishop." 

"Lady  Hroadbrim,"  said  I,  stern- 
ly, "when  the  money  changers  were 
scourged  out  of  the  Temple,  there 
was  no  want  of  reverence  displayed 
towards  the  service  to  which  it  was 
dedicated  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
to  sell  '  the  Temple  '  itself,  whether 
under  the  name  of  an  '  advowson,' 
a  '  living,'  or  a  '  cure  of  souls,'  is  the 
very  climax  of  irreverence,  not  to 


use  a  stronger  term  ;  and  when  the 
Lord  Chancellor  brings  in  an  Act 
for  the  purpose  of  facilitating  this 
traffic  in  '  souls,'  and  '  augmenting 
the  benefices '  derived  from  curing 
them,  I  think  it  is  high  time,  at  the 
risk  of  giving  offence  to  my  friend 
the  Hishop,  and  to  the  ecclesiasti- 
cal establishment  generally,  to  speak 
out.  1  forgot  at  the  moment  that 
you  possessed  a  'living'  in  the 
family." 

Lady  Hroadbrim  seemed  a  little 
cowed  by  my  vehemence,  which 
some  might  have  thought  amounted 
to  rudeness,  but  would  not  abandon 
the  field.  "The  result,"  she  said, 
"  of  impoverishing  the  Chun-h  will 
be,  that  you  will  only  get  literates 
to  go  into  it  ;  as  it  is,  compared 
with  other  professions,  it  holds 
out  no  inducement  for  young  men 
of  family.  Fortunately  our  own 
living,  being  worth  £1  :>(><»  a  year, 
always  secures  us  a  member  of  the 
family,  and  therefore  a  gentleman  ; 
but  if  you  diil  away  with  them 
you  would  not  have  holier  men, 
but  simply  worse  bred  ones.  1  am 
sure  we  should  not  gain  by  having 
the  Church  filled  with  clergy  of  the 
class  of  Dissent  ing  preachers." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would,  any 
more  than  the  Pharisees  would 
have  gained  by  being  reduced  to 
the  level  of  the  Sadducees  ;  not," 
said  I,  blandly  smiling  upon  the 
Hishop,  "that  I  would  wish  to  use 
either  term  offensively  towards  the 
conscientious  individuals  who  were, 
doubtless,  comprised  in  the  above 
sects  in  old  time,  still  less  as  a  re- 
proach to  the  excellent  men  who 
fill  the  churches  and  chapels  of  this 
country  now.  They  are  brought  up 
to  the  theology  they  inculcate;  and 
it  has  possibly  not  occurred  to  them 
that  it  bears  as  little  resemblance 
to  Christianity,  as  the  Jewish  theo- 
logy of  eighteen  hundred  years  ago 
did  to  the  religion  of  Moses  ;"  and 
I  felt  I  had  sown  seed  enough  in 
the  ecclesiastical  vineyard,  and 
would  leave  it  to  fructify.  "  CJood 
fellow,  Frank  !"  I  overheard  Dickie- 
field  say,  as  I  left  the  room  ;  "it  is 
a  pity  his  head  is  a  little  turned  '.'' 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[April, 


"Ah,"  I  thought,  "something  is  up- 
side down  ;  perhaps  it  is  my  head, 
but  I  rather  think  it  is  the  world 
generally,  including  always  the  re- 
ligious world.  It  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  start  in  the  right  direction 
nearly  two  thousand  years  ago,  and 
now  it  has  all  slipped  back  again 
worse  than  ever,  and  is  whirling 
the  wrong  way  with  a  rapidity  that 
makes  one  giddy.  I  feel  more  giddy 
than  usual  to-day,  somehow,"  I  so- 
liloquised ;  ''  and  every  time  I  look 
at  Lady  Ursula,  I  feel  exactly  as  if 
I  had  smoked  too  much.  It  can't 
be  really  that,  so  I'll  light  a  cigar 
and  steady  my  nerves  before  I  come 
to  the  tremendous  issue.  She  is  too 
sensible  to  mind  my  smelling  of 
tobacco."  These  were  the  thoughts 
that  passed  through  my  somewhat 
bewildered  brain,  as  I  stepped  out 
upon  the  terrace  and  lit  my  cigar. 
So  far  from  my  nerves  becoming 
steadier,  however,  under  the  usu- 
ally soothing  influence,  I  felt  my 
heart  beating  more  rapidly  each 
time  I  endeavoured  to  frame  the 
sentence  upon  which  was  to  depend 
the  happiness  of  my  life,  until  at 
last  my  resolution  gave  way  alto- 
gether, and  I  determined  to  put 
upon  paper,  in  the  form  of  an  in- 
terrogatory, the  momentous  ques- 
tion. A  glass  door  opened  from  a 
recess  in  the  drawing-room  upon 
the  terrace  on  which  I  was  walking, 
and  in  it  I  was  in  the  daily  habit 
of  writing  my  letters.  It  was  a 
snug  retreat,  with  a  fire  all  to  itself, 
a  charming  view,  and  a  portiere 
which  separated  it  or  riot  from  the 
drawing-room,  according  to  the  wish 
of  the  occupant.  The  first  question 
I  had  to  consider  when  I  put  the 
writing  materials  before  me  was, 
whether  I  ought  to  begin,  "  Dear 
Lady  Ursula,"  or,  "  My  dear  Lady 
Ursula."  I  should  not  have  enter- 
tained the  idea  of  beginning,  "  My 
dear,"  did  I  not  feel  that  having 
known  her  as  a  child  entitled  me 
to  assume  a  certain  intimacy.  How- 
ever, on  further  consideration,  I 
adopted  the  more  distant  form, 
and  then  my  real  difficulty  began. 
While  looking  for  an  inspiration  at 


the  further  end  of  the  avenue 
which  stretched  from  the  lawn,  I 
became  conscious  of  a  figure  moving 
slowly  towards  me,  which  I  finally 
perceived  to  be  that  of  Lady  Broad- 
brim herself.  In  my  then  frame  of 
mind,  any  escape  from  my  dilemma 
was  a  relief,  and  I  instinctively  left 
the  still  unwritten  note  and  joined 
her. 

"  This  is  a  courageous  proceed- 
ing, Lady  Broadbrim ;  the  weather 
is  scarcely  mild  enough  for  stroll- 
ing." 

"  I  determined  to  make  sure 
of  some  exercise,"  she  replied, — 
"the  clouds  look  threatening;  be- 
sides I  have  a  good  deal  on  my 
mind,  and  I  can  always  think  bet- 
ter when  I  am  walking  alone." 

She  put  a  marked  emphasis  on 
the  last  word,  I  can't  imagine  why, 
so  I  said  "  That  is  just  my  case.  If 
you  only  knew  the  torture  I  am  en- 
during, you  would  not  wonder  at 
my  wanting  to  be  alone.  As  for 
exercise,  it  would  not  be  of  the 
slightest  use." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Lady  Broad- 
brim, pulling  a  little  box  like  a 
card-case  out  of  her  pocket,  "  tell 
me  your  exact  symptoms,  and  I'll 
give  you  some  globules." 

"  It  is  not  altogether  beyond  the 
power  of  homoeopathy,"  I  said,  with 
a  sigh.  "  Hahnemann  was  quite 
right  when  he  adopted  as  the  motto 
for  his  system,  '  Like  cures  like.' 
It  applies  to  my  complaint  exactly. 
Love  will  cure  love,  but  not  in  ho- 
mceopathic  doses." 

"  How  very  odd !  I  was  think- 
ing the  very  same  thing  when 
you  joined  me.  My  dear  girls  are 
of  course  ever  uppermost  in  my 
mind,  and  I  really  am  troubled 
about  Ursula.  I  think,"  she  said, 
looking  with  a  sidelong  glance  into 
my  face,  "  I  know  who  is  on  the 
point  of  declaring  himself,  and  who 
only  wants  a  little  encouragement, 
which,  poor  girl,  she  is  too  shy  to 
give  him." 

I  don't  remember  having  blush- 
ed since  I  first  went  to  school,  but 
if  Lady  Broadbrim  could  have  seen 
the  colour  of  my  skin  under  my 


18G5.] 


Content  poraneout  Autobiography. — J\irt  //. 


•1'J.T 


thick  bc;inl,  she  would  have  per- 
ceived how  just  her  penetration 
had  been.  Still  I  wu.s  a  good  deal 
puz/lcd  at  the  quickness  with  which 
she  had  made  a  discovery  I  ima- 
gined unknown,  even  to  the  object 
of  my  affections.  What  had  I  said 
or  done  that  could  have  put  her  on 
the  scent  ?  I  pondered  in  vain  over 
the  mystery.  My  conduct  had  been 
most  circumspect  during  the  few 
hours  I  had  been  in  love  ;  nothing 
but  the  sagacity  with  which  the 
maternal  instinct  is  endowed  could 
account  for  it. 

"  l)o  you  think  Lady  Ursula  re- 
turns the  affection  I"  said  I,  timidly. 

44  Ursula  is  a  dear,  well-principled 
girl,  who  will  make  any  man  who 
is  fortunate  enough  to  win  her 
happy.  I  am  sure  .she  will  be 
guided  by  my  wishes  in  the  mat- 
ter. And  now,  Lord  Frank,  1  think 
we  have  discussed  this  subject  suffi- 
ciently. I  have  said  more,  perhaps, 
than  I  ought  ;  but  we  are  such  old 
friends  that,  although  I  entirely 
disagree  with  your  religious  opin- 
ions, it  has  been  a  relief  to  me  even 
to  say  thus  much.  I  trust  my  anxie- 
ties will  soon  be  at  an  end  ;"  with 
which  most  encouraging  speech 
Lady  Broadbrim  turned  towards 
the  house,  leaving  me  too  much 
overcome  with  rapture  and  astoni>h- 
ment  to  do  more  than  murmur  in- 
audibly,  that  if  it  depended  only 
on  me  we  should  all  be  out  of  our 
suspense  by  lunch-time. 

I  did  not  delay,  when  I  got  back 
to  my  recess  in  the  drawing  room, 
to  tear  up  with  a  triumphant  ges- 
ture my  note  beginning  4'  Dear," 
and  to  commence  another,  4l  My 
dear  Lady  Ursula." 

44  The  conversation  which  I  have 
just  had  with  Lady  Broadbrim," 
I  went  on,  4l  encourages  me  to  lose 
no  time  in  writing  to  you  to  explain 
the  nature  of  those  feelings  which 
she  seems  to  have  detected  almost 
as  soon  as  they  were  called  into  ex- 
istence, and  which  gather  strength 
with  such  rapidity  that  a  sentiment 
akin  to  self  preservation  urges  me 
not  to  lose  another  moment  in 
placing  myself  and  my  fortune  at 


your  disposal.  If  I  allude  to  the 
latter,  it  is  not  because  I  think 
such  a  consideration  would  influ- 
ence you  in  the  smallest  degree,  but 
because  you  may  not  suspect,  from 
my  economical  habits,  the  extent 
of  my  private  resources.  1  am  well 
aware  that  my  impulsive  nature  lion 
led  me  into  an  apparent  precipitancy 
in  writing  thus  ;  but  if  1  cannot 
flatter  myself  that  the  short  time 
I  have  pa.ssed  in  your  society  has 
.-ufliced  to  in-pire  you  with  a  recip- 
rocal sentiment.  Lady  Broadbrim's 
assurance  that  1  may  depend  upon 
your  acceding  to  her  wishes  in  this 
the  most  important  act  of  your  life, 
affords  me  the  strongest  encourage- 
ment.—  Believe  me,  yours  ino.-t 
faithfully,  FKANK  YANKCOYI:." 

I  have  already  observed  that, 
when  my  mind  is  very  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  composition,  I  become 
almost  insensible  to  external  influ- 
ences: thus  it  was  not  until  I  had 
finished  my  letter,  and  was  reading 
it  over,  that  I  became  conscious  of 
sounds  in  the  drawing  room.  I 
was  just  thinking  that  I  had  got 
the  word  '4  sentiment  "  twice,  and 
was  wondering  what  I  could  sub- 
stitute for  that  expressive  term, 
when  I  suppose  I  must  have  over- 
heard, for  1  insensibly  found  my- 
self writing  theword  '"jewel."  Yes, 
1  said,  she  is  a  jewel;  but  my  further 
musings  were  cut  short  by  the  un- 
mistakable sounds  of  Chundango's 
voice  mentioning  the  name  dearest 
to  me.  4>  Remember, Lady  Ursula." 
said  that  regenerate  pagan,  '4  there 
are  very  few  men  who  could  offer 
their  brides  such  a  collection  of 
jewels  as  I  can.  Think,  that  al- 
though of  a  different  complexion 
from  yourself,  I  am  of  royal  blood. 
You  are  surely  too  enlightened  and 
noble-minded  to  allow  the  trivial 
consideration  of  colour  to  influence 
you." 

44  Mr  Chnndango,"  said  Lady 
Ursula,  and  I  heard  the  rustle  of 
her  dress  as  she  rose  from  her  chair, 
44  you  really  must  excuse  me  from 
listening  to  you  any  more." 

"  Stop  one  moment,"  said  Chun- 


4.Q4 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[April, 


dan  go  ;  and  I  suspect  he  tried  to 
get  hold  of  her  hand,  for  I  heard 
a  short  quick  movement ;  "  I  have 
not  made  this  proposal  without  re- 
ceiving first  the  sanction  of  Lady 
Broadbrim."  Deceitful  old  hypo- 
crite, thought  I,  with  suppressed 
fury.  "  When  I  told  her  Ladyship 
that  I  would  settle  a  million's  worth 
of  pounds  upon  you  in  jewellery  and 
stock,  that  my  blood  was  royal, 
and  that  all  my  aspirations  were 
for  social  distinction,  she  said  she 
desired  no  higher  qualification. 
'  What,  dear  Mr  Chundango,'  she 
said,  '  matters  the  colour  of  your 
skin  if  your  blood  is  pure1?  If 
your  jewellery  and  your  conver- 
sion are  both  genuine,  what  more 
could  an  anxious  mother  desire  for 
her  beloved  daughter  ]'" 

"  Spare  me,  I  implore  you,"  said 
Ursula,  in  a  voice  betraying  great 
agitation.  "  You  don't  know  what 
pain  you  are  giving  me." 

Whether  Chundango  at  this  mo- 
ment fell  on  his  knees,  which  I 
don't  think  likely,  as  natives  never 
thus  far  humble  themselves  before 
the  sex,  or  whether  he  stumbled 
over  a  footstool  in  trying  to  pre- 
vent her  leaving  the  room — which 
is  more  probable — I  could  not  dis- 
cover. I  merely  heard  a  heavy 
sound  and  then  the  door  open.  I 
think  the  Indian  must  have  hurt 
himself,  as  the  next  time  I  heard 
his  voice  it  was  trembling  with 
passion. 

"  Lady  Broadbrim,"  he  said — for 
it  appears  she  it  was  who  had  en- 
tered the  room — "  I  do  not  under- 
stand Lady  Ursula's  conduct.  I 
thought  obedience  to  parents  was 
one  of  the  first  precepts  of  the 
Christian  religion ;  but  when  I  tell 
her  your  wishes  on  the  subject  of 
our  marriage,  she  forbids  me  to 
speak.  I  will  now  leave  her  in 
your  hands,  and  I  hope  I  shall  re- 
ceive her  from  them  in  the  evening 
in  another  and  a  better  frame  of 
mind;"  and  Chundango  marched 
solemnly  out  and  banged  the  door 
after  him. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Ursula1?" 
said  Lady  Broadbrim,  in  a  cold, 


hard  voice.  "  I  suppose  some  ab- 
surd prejudice  about  his  colour  has 
influenced  you  in  refusing  a  for- 
tune that  few  girls  have  placed  at 
their  feet.  He  is  a  man  of  remark- 
able ability ;  in  some  lights  there  is 
a  decided  richness  in  his  hue;  and 
Lord  Dickiefield  tells  me  he  fully 
expects  to  see  him  some  day  Under- 
secretary for  India,  and  ultimately 
perhaps  in  the  Cabinet.  Moreover, 
he  is  very  lavish,  and  would  take  a 
pride  in  giving  you  all  you  could 
possibly  want,  and  in  meeting  all 
our  wishes.  He  would  be  most 
useful  to  Broadbrim,  whose  pro- 
perty, you  know,  was  dreadfully  in- 
volved by  his  father  in  his  young 
days — in  fact,  he  promised  me  to 
pay  off  .£300,000  of  the  debt  upon 
his  personal  security,  and  not  ask 
for  any  interest  for  the  first  few 
years.  All  this  you  are  throwing 
away  for  some  girlish  fancy  for 
some  one  else." 

Here  my  heart  bounded.  "  Dear 
girl,"  thought  I,  "  she  loves  me, 
and  I'll  rush  in  and  tell  her  that  I 
return  her  passion.  Moreover,  I 
will  overwhelm  that  old  woman 
with  confusion  for  having  so  gross- 
ly deceived  me."  A  scarcely  audi- 
ble sob  from  Lady  Ursula  decided 
me,  and  to  the  astonishment  of 
mother  and  daughter  I  suddenly 
revealed  myself.  Lady  Ursula 
gave  a  start  and  a  little  exclama- 
tion, and  before  I  could  explain 
myself,  had  hurried  from  the  room. 
Lady  Broadbrim  confronted  me, 
stern,  defiant,  and  indignant. 

"  Is  it  righteous,  Lady  Broad- 
brim 1 "  I  began,  but  she  interrupted 
me. 

"  My  indignation  ?  Yes,  Lord 
Frank,  it  is." 

"  No,  Lady  Broadbrim ;  I  did  not 
allude  to  your  indignation,  which 
is  unjustifiable.  I  was  about  to 
express  my  feelings  in  language 
which  I  thought  might  influence 
you  with  reference  to  the  deception 
you  have  practised  upon  me.  You 
gave  me  to  understand  only  half- 
an-hour  ago  that  you  approved  of 
my  attachment  to  your  daughter; 
you  implied  that  that  attachment 


16G5.] 


AiilobiograpJii/. — /'art  II. 


was  returned — indeed,  I  have  just 
overheard  as  tnueh  from  her  own 
lips  ;  and  now  you  deliberately 
urge  her  to  ally  herself  with — the 
thought  is  too  horrilile!"  and  I 
lifted  my  handkerchief  to  my  eyes 
to  conceal  my  unaffected  emotion. 

44  Lord  Frank,"  said  Lady  Broad- 
brim, calmly,  "you  had  no  busi- 
ness to  overhear  anything;  how- 
ever, I  suppose  the  state  of  your 
feeling  must  l»e  your  excuse.  It 
seems  that  we  entirely  misunder- 
stood each  other  this  morning. 
The  attachment  1  then  alluded  to 
was  the  one  yon  have  ju>t  heard 
Mr  Chundango  declare.  I  was  ut- 
terly ignorant  of  your  having  en- 
tertained the  same  feelings  for 
Ursula.  What  settlements  are  you 
prepared  to  make  I" 

This  question  was  put  so  abrupt- 
ly that  a  mixed  feeling  of  indigna- 
tion and  contempt  completely  mas- 
tered me.  At  these  moments  I 
possess  the  faculty  of  .sublime  im- 
pertinence. 

4'  I  shall  make  Broadbrim  a  lib- 
eral allowance,  and  settle  an  an- 
nuity upon  yourself,  which  my 
solicitor  will  pay  you  quarterly.  I 
know  the  family  is  poor;  it  will 
give  me  great  pleasure  to  keep 
you  all." 

Lady  Broadbrim's  lips  quivered 
with  anger  ;  but  the  Duke  of  Dun- 
derhead's second  son,  who  had  in- 
herited all  the  Flityville  property 
through  his  mother,  was  a  fish 
worth  landing,  so  she  controlled 
her  feelings  with  an  effort  of  self- 
possession  which  commanded  my 
highest  admiration,  and  said  in  a 
gentle  tone  as  she  held  out  her 
hand  with  a  subdued  smile. 

44  Forgive  the  natural  anxiety  of 
a  mother,  Lord  Frank,  as  I  forgive 
you  for  that  last  speech."  Here  she 
lifted  her  eyes  and  remained  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  then  she  sighed 
deeply.  She  meant  me  to  under- 
stand by  this  that  she  had  been 
permitted  to  overcome  her  feelings 
of  resentment  towards  me.  and  was 
now  overflowing  with  Christian 
charity. 

44  Dear    Lady  Broadbrim/'   I    re- 


plied affectionately,  for  I  felt  pre- 
ternaturally  intelligent  and  ready 
for  the  most  elaborate  maternal 
strategy,  "how  thankful  we  ought 
to  be  that  on  an  occasion  of  this 
kind  we  can  both  so  thoroughly 
command  our  feelings.  Believe  me, 
your  anxiety  for  your  daughter's 
welfare  is  only  equalled  by  the  fer- 
vour of  my  affection  for  her.  Shall 
we  say  £|()ii,(ino  in  stock,  and  Flity- 
ville Park  as  a  dowi-r  hoii>c  I" 

"What  stock,  Lord  Frank  I"  said 
her  ladyship,  as  she  subsided  lan- 
guidly into  a  chair — "  not  Mexicans 
or  Spanish  passives,  I  do  most  fer- 
vently tni-t." 

44  Xo,"  said  I,  maliciously,  "  near- 
ly all  in  Confederate  and  CJreek 
loans." 

"Oh!"  she  ejaculated,  with  a 
little  scream,  as  if  something  had 
stung  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter.  Lady 
Broadbrim  I"  and  she  looked  so  un- 
happy and  disconcerted  that  I  had 
compassion  on  her.  "  I  was  only 
joking;  you  need  be  under  no  appre- 
hension as  to  the  securities — they 
are  a.s  sound  as  your  own  theology, 
and  would  satisfy  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor quite  as  well." 

"Oh,  it  was  not  that!  Perhaps 
some  day  when  you  and  dear  l"r- 
sula  are  married,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it  ;  for  you  have  my  full  con- 
sent ;  and  I  need  not  say  what  an 
escape  I  think  she  has  had  from 
that  black  man.  Kntre  /i»i/tt,  as 
it  is  most  important  you  should 
understand  exactly  the  situation,  I 
must  correct  one  error  into  which 
you  have  fallen  ;  she  is  not  in  love 
with  you.  Lord  Frank  ;  you  must 
expect  a  little  opposition  at  first  ; 
but  that  will  only  add  zest  to  the 
pursuit,  and  my  wishes  will  be 
paramount  in  the  end.  Tin'  fact  is, 
but  this  is  a  profound  secret,  your 
friend  Lord  Graiuloil  has  behaved 
most  improperly  in  the  matter. 
He  came  down  on  some  pretence 
of  instilling  his  ridiculous  notions 
into  Broadbrim,  who  took  a  fancy 
to  him  when  we  were  all  staying  at 
Lady  Mundane's,  and  I  strongly 
opposed  it,  as  I  fancied,  even  then, 


490 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[April, 


lie  was  paying  Ursula  too  much 
attention  ;  but  she  has  such  influ- 
ence with  Broadbrim  that  she  car- 
ried her  point,  because,  she  said, 
she  was  sure  her  brother  could  only 
get  good  from  him.  What  exactly 
passed  at  Broadbrim,  I  don't  know ; 
but  I  was  so  angry  at  the  idea  of  an 
almost  penniless  Irish  peer  taking 
advantage  of  his  opportunities  as  a 
visitor  to  entrap  my  girl's  affections, 
that  I  told  him  I  expected  some 
people,  and  should  want  his  bed- 
room. He  left  within  an  hour,  and 
Ursula  declares  he  never  uttered  a 
word  which  warranted  this  decisive 
measure  ;  but  people  can  do  a  good 
deal  without  '  uttering/  as  she  calls 
it ;  and  I  am  quite  determined  not 
to  let  them  see  anything  of  each 
other  during  the  season.  Fortun- 
ately Lord  Grandon  scarcely  ever 
goes  out,  and  Broadbrim,  whose 
eyes  are  opened  at  last,  has  pro- 
mised to  watch  him.  Whoever 
Ursula  marries  must  do  something 
for  Broadbrim." 

Although  I  am  able  to  record 
this  speech  word  for  word,  I  am 
quite  unable  to  account  for  the 
curious  psychological  fact,  that  it 
has  become  engraven  on  my  mem- 
ory, while,  at  the  time,  I  was  un- 
conscious of  listening  to  it.  The 
pattern  of  the  carpet,  a  particular 
curl  of  Lady  Broadbrim's  "  front," 
the  fact  that  the  clock  struck  one, 
are  all  stamped  upon  the  plate  of 
my  internal  perceptive  faculties 
with  the  vividness  of  a  photograph. 
The  vision  of  happiness  which  I 
had  conjured  up  was  changing 
into  a  hideous  contrast,  and  re- 
minded me  of  the  Diorama  at  the 
Colosseum  in  my  youth,  where  a 
fairy  landscape,  with  a  pastoral 
group  at  lunch  in  the  foreground, 
became  gradually  converted  into  a 
pandemonium  of  flames  and  devils. 
I  felt  borne  along  by  a  mighty 
torrent  which  was  sweeping  me 
from  Elysian  fields  into  some  fath- 
omless abyss.  Love  and  friendship 
both  coming  down  together  in  one 
mighty  crash,  and  the  only  thing 
left  standing — Lady  Broadbrim — 
right  in  front  of  me — a  very  stern 


reality  indeed.  I  don't  the  least 
know  the  length  of  time  which 
elapsed  between  the  end  of  her 
speech  and  when  I  returned  to 
consciousness — probably  not  many 
seconds,  though  it  seemed  an  age. 
I  gasped  for  breath,  so  she  kindly 
came  to  my  relief. 

"  My  dear  Lord  Frank,"  she  said, 
"  after  all,  it  might  have  been  worse. 
Supposing  that  Lord  Grandon  had 
not  been  your  friend,  or  had  not 
had  the  absurd  Quixotic  ideas  which 
I  understand  he  has  of  the  duties  of 
friendship,  he  might  have  given  you 
immense  trouble ;  as  it  is,  I  am 
sure  he  has  only  to  know  the  exact 
state  of  the  case  to  retire.  I  know 
him  quite  well  enough  for  that.  I 
look  upon  it  as  providential.  Had 
it  been  Mr  Chundango,  Grandon 
would  most  probably  have  perse- 
vered. Now  he  is  quite  capable 
of  doing  all  he  can  to  help  you 
with  Ursula." 

I  groaned  in  spirit.  How  well 
had  Lady  Broadbrim  judged  the 
character  of  the  man  to  whom  she 
would  not  give  her  daughter  ! 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  think,  Lady 
Broadbrim,"  said  I,  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  "  that  you  do  not  suspect  me 
of  such  a  ridiculous  exaggeration 
of  sentiment.  So  far  from  it,  it 
seems  to  impart  a  peculiar  piquancy 
to  the  pursuit  when  success  is  only 
possible  at  the  sacrifice  of  another's 
happiness  ;  and  when  that  other  is 
one's  oldest  friend,  there  is  a  refine- 
ment of  emotion,  a  sort  of  pleasur- 
able pain,  which  is  quite  irresistible. 
To  what  element  in  our  nature  do 
you  attribute  this  ?" 

"To  original  sin,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Lady  Broadbrim,  looking  down, 
for  my  manner  seemed  to  puzzle, 
and  make  her  nervous. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  at  all  '  original,' " 
said  I.  "  Whatever  other  merit  it 
possesses,  it  can't  claim  originality 
— it  is  the  commonest  thing  in  the 
world;  but  I  think  it  is  an  acquired 
taste  at  first — it  grows  upon  you 
like  caviar  or  olives.  I  remember 
some  years  ago,  in  Australia,  run- 
ning away  with  the  wife  of  a  charm- 
ing fellow " 


1SC5.1 


Contsmjtoraneout  Autobiography. — /'<tr(  //. 


•1117 


''Oli,  Lord  Frank,  Lord  Frank, 
please  .stop  !  Have  you  rcpentc-d  f 
and  where  is  she  /" 

"  No,"  1  said,  "  I  never  intend  to 
repent  ;  and  I'll  tell  you  where  she 
is  after  the  marriage." 

At  this  crisis  the  demon  of  reck- 
lessness which  had  sustained  me, 
and  prompted  the  above  atrocious 
falsehood,  deserted  me  suddenly,  so 
I  leant  against  the  mantelpiece  and 
sobbed  aloud.  I  remember  deriv- 
ing a  malicious  satisfaction  from 
the  idea  that  Lady  Broadbrim 
thought  I  was  weeping  for  my  ima- 
ginary Australian. 

"  How  very  dreadful  '."  said  she, 
when  I  became  somewhat  calmer. 
"  We  must  forget  the  past,  and  try 
and  reform  ourselves,  mustn't  we  < " 
she  went  on  caressingly  ;  "  but  I 
had  no  idea  that  you  had  passed 
through  a  jsiniesse  oraf/eiise.  Do 
yon  know,  1  think  men,  when  they 
do  steady,  are  always  the  better 
for  it." 

"  Well,  I  hope  Lady  Ursula  may 
keep  me  quiet ;  nothing  el>e  ever 
has  yet.  1  suppose  you  won't  ex- 
pect me  to  go  to  church  }" 

"  We'll  talk  about  that  after  the 
marriage,  to  use  your  own  expres- 
sion," replied  Lady  Broadbrim,  with 
a  smile. 

"Because,  you  know,  I  am  worse 
than  Grandon  ;is  regards  orthodoxy. 
Now,  Chundango  is  so  thoroughly 
sound,  don't  you  think,  after  all, 
that  that  is  the  first  considera- 
tion f" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth — but  of 
course  I  never  breathed  it  to  Ursula 
— I  attach  a  good  deal  of  import- 
ance to  colour." 

"  Ah,  I  see ;  you  classify  us  some- 
what in  this  way  : — first,  if  you  can 
get  it.  rich,  orthodox,  and  white; 
second,  rich,  heterodox,  and  white; 
third,  rich,  orthodox,  and  black 
Now,  supposing  that  out  of  friend- 
ship for  Grandon  I  should  do  the 
absurd  thing  of  withdrawing  my 
pretensions,  what  would  happen  ?" 

"  I  should  insist  upon  Ursula's 
marrying  Mr  Chundango.  I  tell 
you  in  confidence,  Lord  Frank, 
that  pecuniary  reasons,  which  I  will 


explain  more  fully  at  another  time, 
render  it  absolutely  necessary  that 
she  should  marry  as  wealthy  a  man 
as  you  are  within  the  next  six 
months.  The  credit  of  our  whole 
family  is  at  stake  ;  but  it  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  enter  into  de- 
tails now."  At  this  moment  the 
luncheon  was  announced.  I  fol- 
lowed La  ly  Broadbrim  mechani- 
cally towards  the  dining  room,  but 
instead  of  entering  it  went  up-stairs 
like  one  in  a  dream,  and  ordered  my 
servant  to  make  arrangements  for 
my  immediate  departure.  1  pulled 
an  arm-chair  near  my  bedroom  fire, 
and  gazed  hopelessly  into  it. 

J'eople  call  me  odd.  1  wonder 
really  whether  the  conflicts  of  which 
my  brain  is  the  occasional  arena 
are  fiercer  than  those  of  others. 
I  wonder  whether  other  people's 
thoughts  are  as  like  clouds  as  mine 
are — sometimes,  when  it  is  stormy, 
grouping  themselves  in  wild,  fan- 
tastic forms;  sometimes  chasing 
each  other  through  vacancy,  for  no 
apparent  purpose  ;  .sometimes  melt- 
ing away  in  "  intense  inane  ;''  and 
again  consolidating  themselves 
black  and  lowering,  till  they  burst 
in  a  passionate  explosion.  What 
are  they  doing  now  I  and  1  tried  in 
vain  to  stop  the  mental  kaleidoscope 
which  shifted  itself  so  rapidly  that 
I  could  not  catch  one  combination 
of  thought  before  it  was  .succeeded 
by  another;  but  always  the  same 
prominent  figures  dodging  madly 
about  the  chambers  of  my  brain — 
Chundango,  Ursula,  Lady  Broad- 
brim, and  Grandon  :  Lady  Broad- 
brim, Chundango,  Grandon,  and 
Ursula — backwards  and  forwards, 
forwards  and  backwards,  like  some 
horrid  word  that  1  had  to  spell  in 
a  game  of  letters,  and  could  never 
bring  right.  Love,  friendship,  hate, 
pity,  admiration,  treachery — more 
words  to  spell,  ever  combining 
wrongly,  and  never  letting  me 
rest,  till  1  thought  something  must 
crack  under  the  strain.  Then 
mockingly  came  a  voice  ringing  in 
my  ears — 1'eace,  peace,  peace  — 
and  I  fancied  myself  lulled  to  rest 
in  her  arms,  and  1  heard  the  cooing 


493 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[April, 


of  doves  mingle  with  the  soft  mur- 
mur of  her  voice  as  she  leant  wist- 
fully over  me,  and  I  revelled  in  that 
most  fatal  of  all  nightmares — the 
nightmare  of  those  who,  perishing 
of  hunger  and  thirst,  die  at  imagin- 
ary banquets.  "  Sweet  illusion,"  I 
said,  "  dear  to  me  as  reality,  brood 
over  my  troubled  spirit,  deaden  its 
pain,  heal  its  wounds,  and  weave 
round  my  being  this  delicious  spell 
for  ever."  Then  suddenly,  as 
though  my  brain  had  been  a  maga- 
zine into  which  a  spark  had  fallen, 
it  blazed  up  ;  my  hair  bristled,  and 
drops  stood  upon  my  forehead,  for 
a  great  fear  had  fallen  upon  me. 
It  had  invaded  me  with  the  force 
of  an  overwhelming  torrent,  carry- 
ing all  before  it.  It  said,  "  Whence 
is  the  calm  that  soothes  you  ]  In- 
fatuated dreamer,  think  you  it  is 
the  subsiding  of  the  storm,  and 
not  rather  the  lull  that  precedes 
it  1  Beware  of  the  sleep  of  the 
frozen,  from  which  there  is  no 
waking."  What  was  this  1  was  my 
mind  regaining  its  balance,  or  was 
it  going  to  lose  it  for  ever  1  Most 
horrid  doubt — the  very  thought  was 
so  much  in  the  scale  on  the  wrong 
side.  Oil  for  something  to  lean 
upon — some  strong  stay  of  com- 
mon sense  to  support  me !  I  yearn- 
ed for  the  practical — some  fact  on 
which  to  build.  "  I  have  got  it,"  1 
exclaimed,  suddenly.  "  There  must 
be  some  osseous  matter  behind  my 
dura  mater  !  "  I  shall  never  for- 
get the  consolation  which  this  no- 
tion gave  me  :  it  relieved  me  from 
any  further  psychological  responsi- 
bility, so  to  speak ;  I  gave  up  men- 
tal analysis.  I  attributed  the  keen 
susceptibility  of  my  jesthetic  na- 
ture to  this  cause,  and  accepted  it 
as  I  would  the  gout  without  a  mur- 
mur. Still  I  needed  repose  and 
solitude,  so  I  determined  to  go  to 
Flityville  and  arrange  my  ideas,  no 
longer  alarmed  at  the  confusion 
in  which  they  were,  but  with  the 
steadfast  purpose  of  disentangling 
them  quietly,  as  I  would  an  inter- 
esting knot.  Hitherto  I  had  been 
tearing  at  it  madly  and  making  it 
worse;  now  I  had  got  the  end  of 


the  skein — "osseous  matter" — and 
would  soon  unravel  it.  So  I  de- 
scended calmly  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

I  found  it  empty,  but  it  occurred 
to  me  I  had  left  my  letter  to  Lady 
Ursula  in  the  recess,  and  in  the 
agitation  attending  my  interview 
with  Lady  Broadbrim,  had  forgot- 
ten to  go  back  for  it.  I  pushed 
back  the  portiere,  and  saw  seated  at 
the  writing-table  Lady  Ursula  her- 
self. She  looked  pale  and  nervous, 
while  I  felt  overwhelmed  with  con- 
fusion and  embarrassment.  This 
was  the  more  trying,  as  many  years 
have  elapsed  since  I  have  expe- 
rienced any  such  sensations. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  happen  to  have 
seen  a  letter  lying  about  anywhere, 
do  you,  Lady  Ursula'?"  said  I. 
"  It  ought  to  be  under  your  hand, 
for  I  left  it  exactly  on  that  spot." 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  I  found  mam- 
ma writing  here  when  I  came,  and 
she  took  a  packet  of  letters  away 
with  her;  perhaps  she  put  yours 
among  them  by  mistake.  She  will 
be  back  from  her  drive  almost  im- 
mediately." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  I.  "  I  should 
be  sorry  to  leave  without  seeing 
her." 

"  To  leave,  Lord  Frank !  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  stay  till  Mon- 
day." She  looked  up  rather  ap- 
pealingly,  I  thought,  as  if  my  pre- 
sence would  have  been  a  satisfac- 
tion to  her  under  the  circum- 
stances ;  and  I  saw,  as  I  returned 
her  steady  earnest  gaze,  that  she 
little  guessed  the  purport  of  the 
missing  letter. 

At  that  moment  my  head  began 
to  swim,  and  the  figures  to  dance 
about  in  my  brain  again.  Chun- 
dango  and  Grandon  seemed  locked 
in  a  death-struggle,  and  Ursula, 
with  dishevelled  hair,  trying  to 
separate  them,  while  Lady  Broad- 
brim, in  the  background,  was  clap- 
ping her  hands  and  urging  them 
on.  I  seemed  spinning  round  the 
group  with  such  rapidity  that  I 
was  obliged  to  steady  myself  with 
one  hand  against  the  back  of  Lady 
Ursula's  chair. 


18G5.] 


Contemporaneous  Autobiography. — Part  II. 


"  What's  the  matter  I  What's 
the  matter,  Lord  Frank  / "  she 
exclaimed. 

"Osseous  matter,  osseous  mat- 
ter," 1  murmured  mechanically, 
and  it  sounded  so  like  an  echo  of 
her  words  that  I  am  sure  she 
thought  me  going  mad.  Should 
I  throw  myself  at  her  feet  and 
tell  her  all  I  If  she  would  only 
trample  upon  me  and  my  feelings 
together,  it  would  he  a  luxury 
compared  to  the  agony  of  self-con- 
trol 1  was  indicting  upon  myself. 
If  I  could  only  pour  myself  out  in 
a  torrent  of  passionate  expression, 
and  wind  up  with  a  paroxysm  of 
tears,  she  was  welcome  to  treat  me 
as  a  raving  lunatic,  but  I  should  be 
much  less  likely  to  become  one. 
But  how,  knowing  what  I  did, 
could  I  face  Grandon  afterwards} 
Before  that  fatal  conversation  with 
Lady  Broadbrim  1  should  have  had 
the  satisfaction  of  hearing  my  fate 
from  Lady  Ursula  herself,  and  I 
know  that  she  would  have  treated 
me  so  tenderly  that  rejection  would 
have  been  a  thousand  times  prefer- 
able to  this.  She  would  have 
known  then  the  intensity  of  my 
affection,  she  would  have  heard 
from  my  own  lips  the  burning 
words  with  which  I  would  have 
pleaded  my  cause,  and,  whatever 
might  have  been  the  result,  would 
have  pitied  and  felt  for  me.  Now 
if  I  say  nothing,  and  Lady  Broad- 
brim tells  her  when  I  am  gone  that 
she  considers  us  engaged,  what  will 
Ursula  think  of  me?  Again,  if  Lady 
Broadbrim  thinks  1  am  really  going 
to  do  what  my  conscience  urges, 
and  sacrifice  myself  for  Grandon, 
then,  poor  girl,  she  will  be  sacrificed 
to  Chundango.  Nothing  but  misery 
will  come  out  of  that  double 
event  :  if  I  do  what  is  right,  it 
will  bring  misery  ;  if  I  do  what 
is  wrong,  it  will  bring  misery  too, 
— that  is  one  consolation — it  makes 
the  straight  and  narrow  path  easier. 
The  only  difficulty  is,  I  can't  find  it 
— and  standing  here  with  my  hand 
on  her  chair,  my  head  swimming, 
and  Lady  Ursula  looking  anxiously 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXC1V. 


up  at  me,  I  am  not  likely  to  find 
it. 

"  Lord  Frank,  do  let  me  ring  the 
bell  and  send  for  a  glass  of  water," 
she  said  at  last. 

"Thanks,  no:  the  fact  is,  that 
letter  1  have  lost  causes  me  the 
greatest  anxiety,  and  when  I  thought 
what  the  consequences  might  be  of 
its  going  astray  1  felt  a  little  faint 
for  a  moment." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Lady  Ursula, 
kindly,  "  I  will  make  mamma  look 
for  it  at  once,  and  I  am  sure  if  it 
is  a  matter  in  which  my  sympathy 
could  be  of  any  use,  you  will  ap- 
preciate my  motive  in  otlVring  it  ; 
but  1  do  think  in  this  world  people 
might  be  of  so  much  more  use  to 
each  other  than  they  are,  if  they 
would  only  trust  one  another,  and 
believe  in  the  sincerity  of  friend- 
ship. Although  youdidtryto  shock 
me  last  night,"  she  said  with  a  smile, 
''  1  have  heard  so  much  of  you 
from  Lord  Grandon,  and  know  how 
kind  and  good  you  are.  although  he 
says  you  are  too  enthusiastic  and 
too  fond  of  paradoxes,  but  1  assure 
you  1  consider  you  quite  an  old 
friend.  You  remember,  years  ago, 
when  I  was  a  little  girl,  how  you 
used  to  gallop  about  with  me  on 
my  pony  in  the  Park  at  Broadbrim  \ 
You  won't  think  me  inquisitive,  I 
am  sure,  in  saying  this,  but  there 
are  moments  sometimes  when  it  is 
a  relief  to  find  a  listener  to  the 
history  of  one's  troubles." 

"  But  when,  by  a  curious  fatality, 
that  listener  is  the  cause  of  them 
all.  these  moments  are  not  likely  to 
arrive,"  I  thought,  but  did  not  say. 
Is  it  not  enough  to  love  a  woman 
to  distraction,  and  be  obliged  by 
every  principle  of  honour  to  con- 
ceal it  from  her.  without  her  press- 
ing upon  you  her  sympathy,  and 
inviting  your  confidence/  and  the 
very  tenderness  which  had  prompt- 
ed her  speech  rose  up  against  her 
in  judgment  in  my  mind.  So  ready 
with  her  friendship,  too  !  Should 
I  tell  her  bitterly  that  she  was 
the  only  being  in  the  whole  world 
whose  friendship  could  aggravate 
2  i. 


500 


Piccadilly :  an  JSpisode  of 


[April, 


iny  misery1?  Should  I  congratu- 
late her  upon  the  ingenuity  she 
had  displayed  in  thus  torturing  me  ? 
or  should  I  revenge  myself  by  giv- 
ing her  the  confidence  she  asked, 
and  requesting  her  to  advise  me 
how  to  act  under  the  circumstances  1 
Then  I  looked  at  the  gentle  earnest 
face,  and  my  heart  melted.  My 
troubles  !  Do  I  not  know  too  well 
what  hers  are  1  Perhaps  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  her  to  hear,  that  if 
worse  comes  to  worst,  she  can  al- 
ways escape  Chundango  by  falling 
back  upon  me.  If  she  is  driven 
to  begging  me  to  offer  myself  up 
on  her  shrine,  what  a  very  willing 
sacrifice  she  would  find  me !  As 
she  knows  that  I  must  have  over- 
heard what  passed  between  her  and 
Chundango  this  morning,  shall  I 
make  a  counter-proposition  of  mu- 
tual confidence,  and  allude  delicate- 
ly to  that  most  painful  episode  ] 
If  she  is  generous  enough  to  forget 
her  own  troubles  and  think  of  me, 
why  should  not  I  forget  mine  and 
think  of  her  1  The  idea  of  this 
contradiction  in  terms  struck  me 
as  so  exquisitely  ludicrous,  that  I 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Lady  Ursula,  if 
you  only  knew  what  a  comic  aspect 
that  last  kind  speech  of  yours  has 
given  to  the  whole  affair.  Don't 
think  me  ungrateful  or  rude,  but 
— ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  Here  I  went  off 
again.  "When  once  my  sense  of 
humour  is  really  touched,  I  always 
seem  to  see  the  point  of  a  joke  to 
quite  a  painful  degree.  Upon  two 
occasions  I  have  suffered  from  fits 
after  punning,  and  riddles  always 
make  me  hysterical;  but  I  assure 
you,  you  unconsciously  made  a  joke 
just  now  when  you  asked  me  to 
tell  you  exactly  what  I  felt,  which 
I  shall  remember  as  long  as  I  live, 
for  it  will  certainly  be  the  death  of 
me  —  ha  !  ha  ha  !  "  But  Lady 
Ursula  had  risen  from  her  chair 
and  rung  the  bell  before  I  had  fin- 
ished my  speech,  and  I  was  still 
laughing  when  the  servant  came 
into  the  room,  followed  by  Lady 
Broadbrim  and  Lady  Bridget. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Lady  Broad- 


brim, with  her  most  winning  smile, 
"  how  very  merry  you  are — at  least 
Lord  Frank  is.  You  seem  a  little 
pale,  dear,"  turning  to  Ursula ; 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  mamma.  Lord 
Frank  has  been  looking  for  a  letter 
in  the  recess.  You  don't  happen 
to  have  put  it  up  with  yours,  do 
you  ] " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  think  not,"  said 
Lady  Broadbrim,  looking  through 
a  bundle.  "  Who  was  it  to,  Lord 
Frank,  if  you  will  pardon  my  curi- 
osity 1  I  shall  find  it  more  easily  if 
you  will  give  me  the  address." 

"  Nobody  in  particular,"  said  I. 
"  so  it  does  not  matter ;  you  can 
keep  it  and  read  it.  It  is  a  riddle; 
that  is  what  has  been  amusing  us 
so  much.  Lady  Ursula  has  been 
making  such  absurd  attempts  to 
guess  it.  Good-bye,  Lady  Broad- 
brim. Here  is  the  servant  come  to 
say  that  my  fly  is  at  the  door." 

"  Good  gracious  !  Why,  where 
are  you  going]"  said  she,  evidently 
imagining  that  her  daughter  and  I 
had  had  some  thrilling  episode,  and 
that  I  was  going  away  in  a  huff,  so 
I  determined  to  mystify  her  still 
more. 

"  Oh,  only  to  Flityville  to  get 
everything  ready ;  you  know  what 
a  state'the  place  is  in.  Now,"  and 
I  looked  tenderly  into  the  amazed 
face  of  Lady  Ursula,  "  I  shall  in- 
deed have  an  object  in  putting  it  in 
order,  and  I  shall  expect  you  and 
Lady  Ursula  to  come  some  day 
soon  and  suggest  the  improvements. 
I  have  only  one  request  to  make 
before  leaving,  and  I  do  so,  Lady 
Ursula,  in  the  presence  of  your 
mother  and  sister ;  and  that  is,  that 
until  I  see  you  again,  the  subject  of 
our  conversation  just  now  may  never 
be  alluded  to  between  yourselves. 
Trust  in  me,  Lady  Broadbrim,"  I 
said,  taking  her  hand  affectionately, 
"  and  promise  me  you  will  not  ask 
Lady  Ursula  what  I  have  just  told 
her  ;  if  you  do,"  I  whispered,  "you 
will  spoil  all,"  and  I  looked  happy 
and  mysterious.  "  Do  you  pro- 
mise 1  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Lady  Broadbrim. 


1865.1 


Contemporaneous  Autobiography. — 1'art  II. 


501 


"  And  now,  L:uly  Ursula."  I  said, 
crossing  over  to  her  and  taking  her 
liaiul,  "  once  more  good-bye,  and  " 
—  I  wont  on  in  so  low  a  tone  that  it 
was  impossible  for  Lady  1'roadbrim 
to  overhear  it,  but  it  made  her 
feel  sure  that  all  was  arranged  be- 
tween us — "you  have  pot  the  most 
terrible  secret  of  my  life.  I  know 
1  can  trust  you.  You  have  seen 
me" — and  I  formed  the  word  with 
my  lips  rather  than  uttered  it  with 
my  breath— "MAD:  Hush!"  for 
Lady  Ursula  gave  a  quick  exclama- 
tion, and  almost  fainted  with  alarm. 
"  I  am  myself  again  now.  Remem- 
ber my  happiness  is  in  your  keep- 
ing"— this  out  loud  for  Lady  IJroad- 
brim's  benefit.  "  1  am  going  to  say 
good-bye  to  Lady  Dickiefield,  and 
you  shall  hear  from  me  when  I  can 
receive  you  at  Flityville." 

I  am  endowed  with  a  somewhat 
remarkable  faculty,  which  I  have 
not  been  in  the  habit  of  alluding 
to,  partly  because  my  friends  think 
me  ridiculous  if  I  do,  and  partly 
because  I  never  could  see  any  use 
in  it,  but  I  do  nevertheless  possess 
the  power  of  seeing  in  the  dark. 
Not  after  the  manner  of  cats — 
the  objects  which  actually  exist 
— but  images  which  sometimes  ap- 
pear a.s  the  condensations  of  a  white 
misty-looking  substance,  and  some- 
times take  a  distinctly  bright  lu- 
minous appearance.  As  I  ga/e  into 
absolute  darkness,  I  first  see  a  cloud, 
which  gradually  seems  to  solidify 
into  a  shape,  either  of  an  animal  or 
some  definite  object.  In  the  case 
of  the  more  brilliant  image,  the 
appearance  is  immediate  and  evan- 
escent. It  comes  and  goes  like 
a  flash,  and  the  subject  is  gene- 
rally significant  and  beautiful. 
Perhaps  some  of  my  readers  may 
be  familiar  with  this  phenomenon, 
and  may  account  for  it  as  being  the 
result  of  what  they  call  imagina- 
tion, which  is  only  putting  the 
difficulty  one  step  back  ;  or  may 
adopt  the  wiser  course  which  I 
have  followed,  and  not  endeavour 
to  account  for  it  at  all.  Whatever 
be  its  origin,  the  fact  remains,  and 
I  only  advert  to  it  now,  as  it  is  the 


best  illustration  I  can  think  of  to 
describe  the  mental  process  through 
which  I  passed  in  the  train  on  my 
way  to  Flityville.  My  mind  seemed 
at  first  a  white  mist— a  blank  sheet 
of  paper.  My  interview  with  Lady 
Ursula  had  produced  this  effect 
upon  it.  Gradually,  and  quite  un- 
consciously to  myself,  so  far  as  any 
mental  effort  was  concerned,  my 
thoughts  seemed  to  condense  into 
a  definite  plan  of  action  ;  now  and 
then  a  brilliant  idea  would  appear 
like  a  flash,  and  vanish  sometimes 
before  1  could  catch  it  ;  but  in  so  far 
as  the  complication  in  which  (iran- 
don,  Ursula,  the  Uroadbrim  family, 
and  myself  were  concerned,  I  seem- 
ed to  see  my  way,  or  at  all  events 
to  feel  sure  that  my  way  would 
be  shown  to  me,  if  I  let  my 
inspirations  guide  me.  When  once 
one  achieves  this  thorough  confi- 
dence in  one's  inspirations,  the  jour- 
ney of  life  becomes  simplified.  You 
never  wonder  what  is  round  the 
next  corner,  and  begin  to  prepare 
for  unknown  contingencies  ;  but 
you  wait  till  the  corner  is  turned, 
and  the  contingency  arrives,  and 
passively  allow  your  mind  to  crys- 
tallise itself  into  a  plan  of  action. 
At  this  moment,  of  course,  I  have 
no  more  notion  what  is  going  to 
happen  to  me  than  you  have.  Di- 
vest your  mind,  my  friend,  that  I 
know  anything  more  of  the  plot  of 
this  story  of  my  life  which  you  are 
reading  than  you  do.  I  positively 
have  not  the  slightest  idea  what 
either  I  or  any  of  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  whom  I  have  intro- 
duced you  are  likely  to  do,  or  how 
it  is  all  going  to  end.  1  have  told 
you  the  mental  process  under  which 
I  act ;  and,  of  course,  this  is  the 
mere  record  of  those  inspirations. 
Very  often  the  most  unlikely  things 
occur  to  me  all  of  a  sudden  :  thus, 
while  my  mind  was.  as  it  were,  trifling 
with  the  events  which  I  have  recount- 
ed, and  throwing  them  into  a  variety 
of  combinations,  it  flashed  upon  me 
in  the  most  irrelevant  manner  that 
I  would  send  .£'4000  anonymously 
to  the  Hishop  of  London's  Fund. 
In  another  second  the  unconscious 


502 


Piccadilly  :  an  Upisode  of 


[April, 


train  of  thought  which  led  me  to 
this  determination  revealed  itself. 
"Here,"  said  I,  "have  I  been  at- 
tacking this  poor  Colonial  Bishop 
and  the  Establishment  to  which  he 
belongs,   and  what   have   I   given 
him  in  return  1    I  expose  the  abuses 
of  his  theological  and  ecclesiastical 
system,  but  I  provide  him  with  no 
remedy.     I  fling  one  big  stone  at 
the  crystal  palace   in  which   Pro- 
testantism is  shrivelling  away,  and 
another   big   stone   at  the   crystal 
palace  in  which  Catholicism  is  rot- 
ting, and  I  offer  them  in  exchange 
the  cucumber-frame  under  which  I 
am  myself  squatting  uncomfortably. 
I  owe  them  an  apology.     Unfor- 
tunately, I  have  not  yet  found  either 
the  man  or  the  body  of  men  who 
do  not  prefer  hard  cash  to  an  apo- 
logy— provided,  of  course,  it  be  pro- 
perly proportioned  to  the  suscepti- 
bility of  their  feelings  or  the  delicacy 
of  their  sense  of  honour.      Fairly, 
now,"  I  asked  myself,  "  if  it  was 
put  to  the  Bench  of  Bishops,  would 
they  consider  £5000  sufficient  to 
compensate  the  Church  for  the  ex- 
pressions I  made  use  of  to  one  of 
their  order?"     "More   than  suffi- 
cient/' myself  replied.     "  Then  we 
will  make  it  four  thousand."     But 
the  whole  merit  of  the  action  lies 
in  the  anonymous,  and  so  nobody 
knows  till  they  read  this  who  it 
was   made    that   munificent  dona- 
tion.    That   I   should   have   after- 
wards changed  my  mind,  and  an- 
swered  the   advertisement   of   the 
committee,  which  appeared  in  the 
"  agony  "  column  of   the  '  Times,' 
who  wanted  to  know  how  I  wished 
the   money  applied,  by  a   request 
that  it  should  be  paid  back  to  my 
account  at  the  Bank,  does  not  affect 
the  question  ;   I  merely  wished  to 
show  the  nature  of  my  impulses, 
and  the  readiness  with  which  I  act 
upon  them. 

Some  days  elapsed  after  my  ar- 
rival at  Flityville  before  I  felt 
moved  to  write  to  Gran  don.  The 
fact  is,  I  was  writing  this  record  of 
my  trials  for  the  world  in  general, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
him  in  particular.  I  don't  think 


that  I  should  have  written  then 
had  I  not  felt  an  irresistible  desire 
to  let  the  public  know  my  views 
upon  the  present  state  of  the  Ameri- 
can question  :  and  as  I  could  not 
muster  up  courage  to  go  up  to  take 
my  seat  in  the  House,  I  determined 
to  write  to  the  '  Times.'  Whether 
they  thought  my  letter  unanswer- 
able, or  whether  they  Avere  afraid  I 
should  damage  myself  by  attacking 
the  Government,  I  do  not  know  ; 
but  though  I  signed  my  name  in 
full,  it  was  not  inserted.  I  have 
the  less  hesitation,  therefore,  in 
putting  it  in  here  : — 

"  The  Editor  of  the  'Times.' 

"  SIE, — The  national  conscience 
of  England  has  of  late  years  become 
so  deadened  by  prosperity,  that  the 
most  vital  questions  affecting  the 
internal  economy  of  the  country 
fail  to  do  more  than  excite  the 
most  languid  interest,  while  we 
refuse  altogether  to  admit  that  we 
have  any  duties  or  obligations 
whatever  in  matters  of  foreign 
policy,  beyond  taking  advantage  of 
the  misfortunes  of  others  to  enrich 
ourselves.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  the  Divine  rule,  as  touching 
love  to  our  neighbours,  applies  to 
nations  no  less  than  to  individuals, 
and  that  the  popular  policy  of  self- 
ish isolation  and  pecuniary  greed 
will  incur  a  more  disastrous  result 
than  the  one  it  has  already  achieved, 
which  consists  only  in  our  being 
very  generally  disliked  and  despised. 
As  a  nation  we  have  been  as  much 
bound  to  interfere  with  the  view  of 
putting  a  stop  to  the  conflict  in 
America  as  an  in  dividual  bystander 
would  be  bound  to  thrust  him- 
self between  two  men  locked  in  a 
death-struggle  at  the  peril  of  his 
own  life. 

"  We  have  incurred  a  fearful  re- 
sponsibility in  remaining  so  long 
looking  on,  deliberately  calculating 
the  profits  we  were  deriving  from 
this  protracted  manslaughter,  while 
France  has  repeatedly  urged  up- 
on us  a  nobler  occupation.  Not 
only  do  the  lives  of  hundreds  of 


16G5.] 


Contemporaneous  A  utobiography. — Part  II. 


thousands  of  whites  lie  nt  our  door, 
but  we  hold  in  our  hands  the  des- 
tiny of  the  blacks.  If,  as  we  pro- 
fess, we  are  anxious  to  see  this 
struggle  end  and  the  negro  liber- 
ated, we  have  only,  in  conjunction 
with  France  (and  Europe  generally 
would  join  us),  to  assure  the  South- 
ern States  of  the  immediate  recog- 
nition of  their  independence  on  a 
measure  for  the  emancipation  of 
the  slaves  being  passed  through 
the  Confederate  Congress,  and  we 
should  insure  alike  the  freedom  of 
the  negro  and  the  end  of  the  war. 
—  1  remain,  Sir,  yours  obediently, 
"  FKANK 


The  idea  of  the  possibility  of  the 
North  going  to  war  with  all  Europe, 
which  is  the  only  objection  to  this 
plan,  is  simply  ridiculous.  Its 
grandeur  lies  in  its  simplicity,  and 
the  most  fatal  of  all  objections  to 
it  is,  that  it  is  so  obviously  what 
ought  to  be  done.  I  wrote  to  this 
effect  to  (irandon,  .suggesting  that 
he  should  make  a  motion  in  the 
House  embodying  it.  And  1  went 
on,  "  You  are  doubtless  surprised, 
my  dear  fellow,  at  my  suddenly 
making  a  hermit  of  myself  at  this 
most  inopportune  sea-son.  You 
will  know  the  reason  soon  enough, 
and  I  will  not  trouble  you  with 
it  now.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I 
parted  with  the  Broadbrims  most 
satisfactorily,  and  am  glad  I  did 
not  take  your  advice  and  make  the 
postponement  you  suggested  ;  the 
only  thing  that  puzzles  me  is,  that 
J  should  ever  have  merited  such 
friendship  as  yours.  What  have  I 
done  to  deserve  it  1  —  a  friendship 
that  I  can  depend  upon,  that  will 
defend  me  through  good  report 
and  through  ill  report,  that  can 
understand  motives,  and  judge 
'  appearances  '  accurately."  1  only 
alluded  to  the  subject  most  in- 
teresting to  us  both  in  this  vague 
way  on  purpose.  It  is  a  much  more 
diHicult  question  than  the  other 
about  America,  and  requires  real 
diplomacy.  Just  imagine  if  I  in- 
trusted this  most  delicate  and  in- 
tricate complication  —  which,  hi  fact, 


bears  some  analogy  to  the  Schles- 
wig  -  Holstein  question  —  to  the 
Foreign  (JHice,  what  a  mess  we 
should  all  get  into  !  It  would  end 
by  I'rsula  marrying  Chundango; 
the  Head  of  the  department  would 
give  her  away,  and  the  tinder-Secre- 
tary act  a-s  best- man.  J>y  the  way, 
1  also  told  (irandon  about  the 
.£'41100  to  the  liishop  of  London's 
Fund.  1  had  not  then  written  my 
la>t  instructions  as  to  what  should 
be  done  with  it.  A  few  days  later 
I  received  the  following  letter  from 
( irandon  : — 

'•  I'livuni.i.Y,  Mih  March. 

"MY  DKAK  FKANK, — Your  letter 
did  not  give  me  altogether  unal- 
loyed pleasure.  For  the  first  time 
in  your  life  you  allude  to  our  friend- 
ship as  if  it  wa.s  in  peril ;  for  the 
first  time  in  your  life  you  deal  in 
enigma,  and  do  not  frankly  give 
me  your  confidence.  I  cannot  sup- 
pose that  this  reserve  arises  from 
any  feeling  of  distrust  of  me,  but  I 
shall  refrain  from  attempting  to 
penetrate  it,  and  wait  till  we  meet 
for  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  I 
do  not  wonder  at  the  editor  not 
putting  your  letter  into  the  '  Times.' 
Jt  was  too  arrogant  in  its  tone,  and 
he  probably  thought  it  would  only 
do  you  harm. 

u  Nevertheless  it  seems  to  me  no 
longer  doubtful  that  the  neutral 
attitude,  which  we  might  have 
been  warranted  in  maintaining  dur- 
ing the  earlier  stages  of  the  war, 
should  now  be  finally  abandoned. 
If  the  only  ground  upon  which  the 
North  and  South  can  unite  is  to  be 
found  in  a  war  with  England,  it  is 
clear  that  we  had  better  prevent 
them  from  combining  against  us  by 
deciding  definitely  in  favour  of  one 
or  other.  It  is  becoming  a  fixed 
impression  in  men's  minds  that  a 
war  with  America  is  inevitable,  un- 
less immediate  and  decisive  action 
is  taken  ;  and  a  Government  that 
shrinks  from  adopting  the  meas- 
ures best  calculated  to  avert  so 
great  a  disaster,  will  certainly  be 
held  responsible  by  the  nation  for 
its  moral  cowardice,  whenever  it 


504 


Piccadilly, — Part  II. 


[April, 


overtakes  us.  If  the  only  alterna- 
tives we  have  to  consider  be  either 
the  possibility  of  an  immediate  war 
in  alliance  with  the  Southern  States 
and  France  against  the  North,  or 
the  almost  certainty  of  a  later  war 
with  both  Northern  and  Southern 
States  allied  against  us,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  which  we  ought  to 
choose.  As  it  is,  our  diplomacy, 
always  feeble,  seems  now  utterly 
paralysed  by  the  very  magnitude  of 
the  danger  it  is  called  upon  to 
grapple  with.  The  whole  country, 
with  the  Cabinet  at  its  head,  is 
spell-bound,  like  a  bird  fascinated 
by  the  gaze  of  a  snake. 

"  We  present  to  the  world  the 
lamentable  spectacle  of  a  nation  of 
usurers  trembling  over  our  money- 
bags. We  ignore  the  existence  of 
questions  abroad  because  we  are 
afraid  to  face  them,  and  cherish  the 
fatal  delusion  that  our  security  lies 
in  our  insular  position.  It  would 
be  an  interesting  subject  of  inves- 
tigation to  inquire  into  the  origin 
and  progress  of  the  national  torpor. 
Has  the  Cabinet  drugged  the  coun- 
try, or  has  the  country  drugged 
the  Cabinet  ?  Did  the  brilliant 
idea  that  we  have  no  national 
honour  to  signify,  which  has 
been  so  eloquently  dwelt  upon 
in  Parliament,  originate  with  the 
creme  de  la  creme,  or  the  scum  1 
Do  the  daily  papers,  which  are  an 
echo  of  each  other  in  almost  all 
foreign  questions,  take  their  inspi- 
rations from  the  Ministers  or  the 
mob,  or  each  other  ?  Have  we  at 
last  got  to  the  ultimate  develop- 
ment of  our  much-vaunted  institu- 
tions, and  does  it  consist  in  our  all 
following  each  other  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  ;  and,  if  so,  why  on  earth 
should  we  persist  in  choosing  dirt 
to  wade  through,  when  it  would  be 
quite  as  easy  to  keep  clean  ]  It 
will  be  too  late  when  the  first  indi- 
cations of  that  flood  are  upon  us  to 
jump  up  and  rub  our  eyes  as  '  in 
the  days  of  Noah.'  Because  the 
policy  of  the  Government  has  been 
that  so  unsuccessfully  pursued  by 
the  ostrich,  which  puts  its  head 
in  the  sand  and  imagines  itself 


invisible  to  its  pursuers,  is  the 
country  to  indulge  in  the  same 
delusion  ? 

The  only  excuse  which  the  Gov- 
ernment has  to  offer  for  its  "  ma- 
tronly inactivity"  in  foreign  affairs 
is,  that  it  has  muddled  every  ques- 
tion with  which  it  has  meddled, 
which  fact  becoming  patent  to  the 
world,  the  nation  determines  not 
to  meddle  again  ;  but  there  is  an- 
other alternative  which  does  not 
seem  to  have  occurred  to  it,  and 
that  is,  to  find  men  who  can  meddle 
to  some  purpose.  It  is  true  that 
we  are  driven  to  the  unhappy  con- 
clusion that  the  Opposition  is  more 
effete  than  the  Government,  or  they 
would  ere  this  have  turned  them 
out ;  but  the  public  has  not  done 
its  work.  It  has  been  hoodwinked 
by  the  press,  and  fascinated  by  the 
prestige  which  attaches  to  veteran 
statesmen.  The  time  has  come 
when  the  country  must  arouse 
itself  and  accept  its  duties  and 
obligations  as  regards  other  na- 
tions, or  it  will  find  that  by  ignor- 
ing those  obligations  it  cannot 
avoid  incurring  the  penalties  at- 
taching to  their  neglect. 

"  Apropos  of  your  donation  to  the 
Bishop  of  London's  Fund,  I  have 
made  the  acquaintance  of  an  apos- 
tle of  a  new  Church,  to  whom  I 
must  introduce  you  when  you  come 
back.  Though  last  from  America, 
he  is  not  of  transatlantic  birth  ;  and 
as  he  was  '  presented '  to  me  by  Mr 
Wog  as  'one  of  the  most  remark- 
able sky-pilots  in  our  country,'  you 
may  imagine  that  he  resembles  that 
gentleman  in  nothing.  You  com- 
plain that  while  ready  to  pull  down 
you  have  nothing  to  suggest,  and 
justify  your  donation  to  the  'Fund' 
on  this  ground.  Mr  Theodore  Hart- 
mann  is  full  of  suggestions  ;  and 
before  deciding  that  the  whole 
thing  is  a  mess  from  which  there 
is  no  escape,  and  that  it  does  not 
therefore  matter  what  you  do  with 
your  money,  wait  until  you  have 
heard  views  which  I  confess  were 
quite  original  to  me. — Yours  affec- 
tionately, 

"  GRANDON." 


L86S  : 


Earl  RutsfU. 


Notwithstanding  the  temptation 
which  Urandon  ln-M  out  to  me  in 
the  person  of  Mr  Hartniiuin,  my  re- 
luctance togo  up  to  London  and  face 
the  complication  which  was  await- 
ing us  all  there  was  so  great,  my 
occasional  fits  of  depression  .so  pro- 
found, and  my  moods  altogether  so 
uncertain,  and  indeed  sometimes 
so  alarming  to  myself,  that  !  don't 
know  when  I  should  have  sum- 
moned up  courage  to  return  to 
town,  had  I  not  this  morning  re- 


ceived the  following  telegram  from 
Lady  Broadbrim  : — 

"  Your  immediate  presence  is 
absolutely  necessary  here.  Delay 
will  be  fatal. 

"  MAKY  BUOAPJIKIM. 

'•  CUnsVKXdK  S^CAKE,  'JU'/i  J/.j/v/i." 

1  am  off,  therefore,  in  an  hour. 
Fortunately  1  have  just  had  time 
to  finish  and  post  this  before  leav- 
ing. 


HAUL    u rs. SET. I.. 


WE  must  begin  our  present  paper 
with  a  frank  avowal  that  it  is  not 
our  intention  to  say  many  words 
about  the  book  of  which  we  have 
transcribed  the  title.  For  his  own 
sake  we  wish  that  Farl  Russell  had 
allowed  it  to  sleep  in  its  primitive 
obscurity.  It  was  a  crude  perfor- 
mance forty  years  ago,  when  the 
author  was  comparatively  a  young 
man,  and  less  was  known  about 
the  English  Constitution  and  Go- 
vernment than  recent  inquirers 
have  brought  to  light.  Only  the 
clique  of  which  he  was  a  member 
pretended  to  treat  it  with  respect 
even  then,  and  they  not  unfre- 
quently  put  their  tongues  in  their 
cheeks  after  professing  to  find 
something  in  it  to  admire.  But 
reproduced  now,  it  is  a  sorry  spec- 
tacle. Now  we  honestly  lament 
this.  Karl  Russell,  in  private  life, 
is  an  amiable  and  estimable  noble- 
man. He  may  have  failed  as  First 
Minister  of  the  Crown,  and  h;is 
certainly  not  managed  the  foreign 
affairs  of  the  country  as  we  could 
wish  them  to  be  managed.  But  as 
a  statesman  he  has  this  merit — a 
rare  one,  we  regret  to  say,  in  these 
days — of  being  found  always  con- 
sistent with  himself.  What  he 
affirmed  one  day,  that  he  repeated 
the  next.  There  has  been  with 


him  no  trimming  of  sails  in  catch 
the  breezes  from  various  quarters. 
A  stanch  Whig,  he  has  done  a 
Whig's  work  like  a  man.  And  we 
can  fully  sympathise  with  the  tone 
in  which  lie  refers  to  old  predic- 
tions, now,  as  lie  believes,  fulfilled, 
and  the  triumph  of  principles  of 
which  he  has  been  through  life 
the  steady  advocate,  lint  this  only 
makes  us  the  more  regret  that  mis- 
taken fondness  for  a  bantling  born 
when  he  was  himself  in  a  state  of 
pupilage,  or  it  may  be  the  persua- 
siveness of  injudicious  friends, 
should  have  induced  him  to  make 
the  vain  effort  to  resuscitate  a  bag 
of  bones.  Why  should  he  have 
done  so  ?  Were  not  the  pages  of 
the  'Edinburgh  Review'  open  to 
him,  or  the  '  North  British,'  or  the 
'  Westminster  T  And  would  it  not 
have  gone  farther  to  secure  for  him 
a  hearing,  if  he  had  first  thrown  his 
Introduction  into  the  shape  of  an 
article,  and  then  launched  it,  a  full- 
blown pamphlet,  upon  the  tide  of 
time  ?  For,  after  all,  it  appears  to  us 
that  in  the  present  instance  the 
volume  has  been  printed  for  the 
sake  of  the  Introduction,  not  the 
Introduction  for  the  sake  of  the 
volume.  In  the  former  his  Lord- 
ship had  really  nothing  new  to 
say  ;  in  the  latter  he  could  only 


1  An  Kxsay  on  the-  History  of  the  Kngliuh  Government  and  Constitution.'     By 
John  Earl  Ku.-»t  11.     Longman,  (.Srecn,  and  Co.,  London. 


506 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


repeat  what  he  said  long  long  ago, 
in  terms  which  later  writers,  even 
of  his  own  school,  have  over  and 
over  again  thrown  into  the  shade. 
Why  was  this  done  1 

We  cannot  pretend  to  answer  the 
question.  Neither  shall  we  do  Earl 
Russell  the  injustice  of  criticising 
a  performance  so  obsolete  both  in 
its  views  and  in  the  manner  in 
which  they  are  expressed.  But 
assuming  that  we  have  divined  his 
true  purpose,  and  considering  it  to 
be  both  natural  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  praiseworthy,  we  shall  con- 
fine ourselves  entirely  to  an  ex- 
amination of  the  argument  which 
he  has  embodied  in  his  Intro- 
duction. 

And  here,  at  the  outset,  we  are 
forced  to  express  our  astonishment 
at  the  extraordinary  confusion  of 
ideas  (for  of  anything  less  credit- 
able than  confusion  of  thought  we 
at  once  acquit  the  noble  author) 
which  manifests  itself  in  every 
page  of  that  document.  After  a 
sentence  or  two  devoted  to  the 
expression  of  excusable  self -con- 
gratulation, Earl  Russell  proceeds 
to  say,  "  So  long  as  the  alarm 
created  by  the  French  Revolution 
lasted,  the  party  which  had  sus- 
tained Lord  North  in  the  Ame- 
rican war  and  Mr  Pitt  in  the 
French  war  remained  iinbroken. 
During  nearly  sixty  years  of  power 
that  party  had  devoted  all  its  ener- 
gies to  the  suppression  of  colonial 
or  domestic  revolt  and  the  prosecu- 
tion of  war  against  a  foreign  ene- 
my." If  these  words  have  any 
signification  at  all,  they  mean  this, 
that  Lord  North  and  Mr  Pitt  were 
sworn  brothers  in  politics,  that  the 
party  which  sustained  the  one  in 
the  American  war  supported  the 
other  in  the  war  with  France,  and 
that  both  the  leaders  of  that  party 
and  the  unbroken  party  itself  were 
for  sixty  years  so  engrossed  with 
suppressing  revolts  at  home  and 
carrying  on  hostilities  abroad  that 
they  could  find  neither  leisure  nor 
inclination  to  give  a  passing  thought 
to  questions  of  domestic  policy. 


And  in  order  that  his  readers  may 
run  no  risk  of  mistaking  the  pur- 
pose of  this  declaration,  Earl  Rus- 
sell, with  more  regard  to  consis- 
tency than  grammar,  continues, 
"  The  few  measures  of  a  liberal 
character,  Mr  Burke's  bill  of  econ- 
omical reform  and  the  abolition  of 
the  slave-trade,  were  the  fruit  of 
the  short  intervals  when  office  was 
held  by  the  Whig  party  in  1782 
and  1806." 

It  would  savourof  hypercriticism 
were  we  to  stop  for  the  purpose  of 
remarking  upon  the  curious  con- 
struction of  this  latter  sentence. 
Neither  very  elegant  nor  very  ac- 
curately put,  its  sense  is,  however, 
obvious  enough.  Lord  Russell 
means  to  tell  us,  that  for  the  few 
measures  of  a  liberal  character 
which  were  adopted  in  that  dreary 
interval  of  sixty  years,  the  country 
was  indebted  to  interpolatory  Whig 
Cabinets — that  they  were  the  fruits 
of  the  short  intervals  when  office 
was  held  by  the  Whig  party  in 
1782  and  1806.  Now,  in  point  of 
fact,  it  happens  that,  except  so  far 
as  regards  the  accidental  coinci- 
dence of  events  not  in  themselves 
very  important,  there  is  no  truth 
whatever  in  any  of  these  assertions. 
Mr  Pitt  never  was  a  member  of 
the  same  political  party  with  Lord 
North.  He  derived  from  his  father 
a  hereditary  antipathy  to  that 
statesman.  Two  of  the  earliest 
speeches  which  he  delivered  in 
Parliament  were  against  the  mea- 
sures of  the  Government  of  which 
Lord  North  was  at  the  head ;  first, 
on  the  31st  May  1781,  when  he  re- 
sisted the  appointment  of  Commis- 
sioners of  Public  Accounts;  and 
next,  on  the  12th  June,  when  he 
denounced  that  very  American  war 
of  which,  by  implication,  Lord  Rus- 
sell charges  him  with  having  been 
the  abettor.  And  more  than  this. 
Without  desiring  in  any  measure  to 
detract  from  the  credit  due  to  Mr 
Burke  for  bringing  forward  and 
urging  on  his  bills  of  economical 
reform,  we  must  claim  for  Mr  Pitt 
the  honour  which  Lord  Russell  for- 


1865.] 


Earl 


&I.7 


gets  to  assign  to  him,  of  strenuously 
and  consistently  supporting  these 
bills  ut  every  stage.  Mr  Burke's 
success,  therefore,  though  achieved 
under  a  Whig  Administration,  was 
at  least  as  much  owing  to  the  ex- 
ertions of  Mr  1'itt  a.s  to  his  own. 
So  likewise  in  reference  to  the  abo- 
lition of  the  slave  trade.  The  act 
of  the  legislature  which  settled  that 
controversy  was  indeed  passed  in 
IMKJ,  but  the  controversy  itself  had 
been  carried  on  through  many  pre- 
vious years,  Mr  Wilberforce,  the 
btanchest  of  Pitt's  supporters,  ad- 
vocating the  arrangement,  and  Pitt 
himself,  when  the  occasion  offered, 
speaking  with  him.  The  real  truth 
is,  that  in  both  the  cases  alluded  to 
by  Lord  Russell  a  long  course  of 
preliminary  discipline  was  required 
to  bring  public  opinion  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point ;  and  that  the  abolition 
of  the  slave-trade  took  place  in  IMI(», 
and  the  measure  of  economical  re- 
form was  passed  in  17Mi,  not  be- 
cause the  Whigs  were  in  olliee,  but 
because  public  men  on  both  sides 
of  the  I  louse  had  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  it  would  be  wise 
and  just  to  adopt  both  measures. 

Again,  it  is  not  the  fact  that  the 
party  which  looks  back  to  William 
Pitt  as  its  great  founder,  either 
wielded  power  uninterruptedly  for 
sixty  years,  or  spent  these  years  in 
putting  down  colonial  and  domestic 
revolts,  and  in  waging  war  with 
foreign  enemies.  Before  Pitt's  time 
the  statesmen  whom  Lord  Russell 
desires  to  represent  as  Tories,  were 
Tories  only  so  far  as  they  helped 
the  King  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of 
Whig  domination,  which  had  be- 
come intolerable.  They  entertained 
few  opinions  in  common  with  Mr 
Pitt  himself,  and  were  for  the  most 
part  in  violent  opposition  to  the 
policy  of  his  father.  Whatever 
might  have  been  their  errors  of 
judgment,  therefore,  it  is  neither 
candid  nor  correct  to  say  that  for 
their  misdeeds  Pitt  and  his  party 
were  responsible.  But  this  is  not 
nil.  If  Lord  North  began  life  as  a 
Tory,  he  ended  it  a  supporter  of 


the  Whigs.  His  coalition  with  Mr 
fox  in  order  to  break  down  Lord 
Shelburnc's  Administration,  and  his 
subsequent  acceptance  of  office  as 
Joint  Secretary  of  State  in  the  1  hike 
of  Portland's  (iovernnient,  removed 
him  for  ever  from  the  category  of 
Toryism,  and  compel  us  to  assign 
him  a  place  in  that  band  of  ambiti- 
ous men  who  aimed  ;it  nothing  less 
than  a  monopoly  of  pn\\er  in  this 
country.  Indeed  we  mu-t  go  far- 
ther. Parliamentary  reform,  which 
became  in  alter  years  the  war-cry 
of  the  Whigs,  was  advocated,  long 
before  they  took  up  the  notion,  by 
Pitt  and  his  personal  friends.  So 
early  as  May  17^5,  Mr  Pitt  u.-ked 
leave  to  bring  in  a  reform  bill,  safe 
and  constitutional  in  its  nature  ; 
but  not  one  representative  of  the 
"great  Revolution  houses  "gave  him 
the  smallest  support.  Charles  Fox 
alone,  among  the  members  of  the 
coalition  tlovernment.  .-.poke  in  fa- 
vour of  the  measure,  which  was 
rejected  by  a  majority  of  not  less 
than  ^!»:?  to  1-li)  votes.  Now  we 
are  not  hi. lining  the  Whig  party  for 
this.  Parliaments,  as  then  returned, 
were  generally  favourable  to  them. 
They  had  learned  in  the  long  inter- 
val between  the  death  of  l^ueen 
Anne  and  the  acce.-sion  of  (leorge 
ill.,  how  to  manage  both  the  con- 
stituencies and  their  representa- 
tives, and  they  could  have  no  de- 
sire to  innovate  upon  an  order  of 
things  which  so  well  served  their 
purpose.  But  surely  Lord  Russell 
ought  to  have  remembered  all  this 
before  committing  himself  to  a 
statement  so  little  generous  as  that 
to  which  we  have  just  referred. 
The  Whigs  were  in  otlice  in  17SJ. 
An  opportunity  was  then  afforded 
them  of  putting  a  stop  to  bribery, 
and  of  diminishing  the  expense  of 
elections.  They  had  it  in  their 
power  likewise  to  disfranchise  from 
time  to  time  boroughs  convicted  of 
corruption,  and  the  proposal  was 
made  to  add  not  fewer  than  loo 
to  the  county  members.  It  did  not 
suit  the  purposes  of  the  party  to 
accede  to  these  proposals,  and  Pitt's 


508 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


bill  of  Parliamentary  Reform  came 
to  nothing. 

Again,  Lord  Russell  forgets  that 
within  a  month  after  the  defeat 
of  this  measure,  Mr  Pitt,  being  still 
a  private  member  of  Parliament, 
brought  in  a  bill  for  the  reform  of 
abuses  in  the  public  offices,  which 
were  then  most  flagrant.  That  bill 
too  was  thrown  oiit,  and  thrown 
out  by  a  House  of  Commons  over 
which  a  Whig  Minister  exercised 
absolute  control.  But  in  truth  the 
coalition  Government  was  through- 
out the  whole  of  that  session  too 
much  occupied  with  its  India  Bill 
to  pay  attention  to  anything  else. 
Let  them  only  succeed  in  carrying 
that,  and  an  instrument  would  be 
placed  in  their  hands  the  judicious 
application  of  which  would  secure 
to  them  an  unlimited  lease  of  power: 
and  till  it  should  be  carried  they 
were  averse  to  any  course  of  legisla- 
tion which,  be  it  ever  so  theoreti- 
cally sound,  would  involve  as  its 
consequences  the  loss  of  a  little 
convenient  patronage,  and  the  im- 
mediate dissolution  of  Parliament. 

This  is  not  the  occasion  on  which 
to  speak  either  of  the  progress  of 
the  famous  India  Bill  or  of  the 
manner  of  its  rejection.  If  George 
III.  somewhat  overpassed  the  line 
of  strict  constitutional  law  in  ap- 
pealing against  it,  as  he  did,  to  the 
personal  loyalty  of  his  peers,  no 
one  capable  of  taking  an  unbiassed 
review  of  all  the  circumstances  of 
the  case  will  seriously  blame  him 
for  so  doing.  He  was  in  the  hands 
of  men  who  had  already  shown  how 
little  feelings  of  delicacy  would  oper- 
ate to  restrain  them  from  exercis- 
ing the  authority  which  they  already 
possessed.  Let  them  once  get  pos- 
session of  the  vast  patronage  which 
India  then  offered,  and  the  Crown 
would  become,  even  more  than  it 
had  been  under  the  first  Georges, 
the  mere  tool  of  a  few  great  houses. 
Now  the  King  could  not  submit  to 
this,  and  the  conduct  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  after  the  Lords  had 
thrown  out  the  bill,  sufficiently 
proves  that  the  King  was  right  in 


all  his  calculations.  His  trivial  out- 
rage on  the  constitution — if  an  out- 
rage it  deserves  to  be  called — saved 
the  constitution  itself,  and  averted 
from  the  country  unspeakable  evils. 
We  state  all  this  merely  to  show 
that  the  Whigs  were  not  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  eighteenth  century  the 
disinterested  statesmen  whom  Lord 
Russell  represents  them  to  have 
been;  and  that  if  in  sixty  years 
only  two  Liberal  measures  were  ac- 
cepted and  passed  by  such  Parlia- 
ments as  then  existed,  no  small 
portion  of  the  blame  must  rest  with 
the  party  of  which  his  Lordship  is 
at  the  present  moment  the  repre- 
sentative and  the  ornament. 

We  proceed  now  to  show  very 
shortly  what  was  done,  and  what 
was  proposed  to  be  done,  by  the 
Tory  Administration,  of  which,  late 
in  the  autumn  of  1783,  Mr  Pitt  as- 
sumed the  leadership.  In  the  face 
of  such  an  opposition  as  had  never 
till  then  confronted  a  Minister,  Pitt 
held  his  ground,  till  the  violence  of 
his  enemies  in  the  House  won  for 
him  the  favour  of  the  public  out  of 
doors.  He  then  dissolved ;  and  in 
the  first  session  of  the  new  Parlia- 
ment he  put  an  end  to  smuggling 
by  reducing  the  duties  on  tea,  and 
placing  in  this  respect  home  and 
foreign  spirits  on  an  equitable 
footing.  By  funding  the  enormous 
floating  debt  which  his  predecessors 
had  contracted,  he  got  rid  of  one 
half  of  it.  He  put  an  end  to  job- 
bing in  the  arrangement  of  public 
loans,  and  took  away  from  the 
members  of  both  Houses  the  un- 
limited right  of  franking  which 
they  had  heretofore  enjoyed.  He 
restored  to  the  heirs  of  the  unfor- 
tunate gentlemen  who  had  gone 
out  with  Charles  Edward  in  1745, 
their  forfeited  estates ;  and  he 
passed  that  India  Bill  under  which, 
up  to  a  very  recent  period,  the  af- 
fairs of  our  great  Eastern  Empire 
were  successfully  conducted.  These, 
though  not  showy,  were  important 
measures,  affecting  the  social  condi- 
tion of  the  people  of  England  very 
considerably,  and  they  were  fol- 


I  365.] 


K<irl  liuitsell. 


lowed  next  session  by  others  ut 
least  as  wise,  and  far  more  compre- 
hensive. The  scheme  of  Parlia- 
mentary reform  which  he  had  moot- 
ed us  a  j)rivatc  member,  lie  again 
brought  forward  as  a  Minister  of 
the  Crown,  rendering  it.  however, 
more  effective,  inasmuch  as  he  pro- 
posed the  immediate  disfranehise- 
ment  of  :J(!  small  boroughs,  and  the 
transfer  of  the  seats  thus  rendered 
disposable  to  populous  places.  Nor 
did  his  plan  stop  there,  P.y  a  clause 
in  his  bill,  provision  was  made  for 
extending,  from  time  to  time,  to 
other  boroughs  as  they  fell  into  de- 
cay, a  process  of  voluntary  extinc- 
tion, in  order  that  their  electoral 
privileges  might  be  made  over  to 
thriving  towns,  and  the  basis  of 
representation  keep  pace  with  tin- 
growth  of  population  and  the 
spread  of  industry  in  the  country. 
How  came  he  to  fail  in  this  wise 
endeavour?  Because  the  bulk  of 
the  Whigs  joined  a  section  of  his 
own  supporters  in  opposing  the 
bill,  which,  much  to  his  chagrin, 
was  thrown  out  by  a  majority  of 
24Kto  174. 

Look  now  to  the  relations  in 
which  Kngland  and  Ireland  then 
stood  towards  each  other,  and  bear 
in  mind  that,  whether  for  good  or 
evil,  they  had  been  established  and 
were  consistently  maintained  by 
the  Whig  Ministers  of  William  and 
Anne  and  the  first  sovereigns  of 
the  House  of  Hanover.  Pressed 
with  'a  genial  climate,  a  fruitful 
soil,  and  mineral  wealth  in  abund- 
ance, Ireland  lay  steeped  in  the 
depths  of  poverty.  Though  she 
possessed  a  Parliament  of  her  own, 
she  was  at  once  the  creature  and 
the  victim  of  Kngland.  No  meas- 
ure, whether  great  or  small,  could 
be  introduced  into  her  legislature 
except  on  the  recommendation  of 
the  English  Viceroy,  who  always 
took  care  so  to  manage  the  masters 
of  the  constituencies,  that  the  Irish 
House  of  Commons  voted  what- 
ever the  Irish  Secretary  proposed, 
and  rejected  every  measure  which 
was  disagreeable  to  the  mock 


court  in  the  Castle.  ( 'ommerce 
was  discountenanced,  and  manu- 
factures put  down,  in  order  that 
Knglish  merchants  and  Knglish 
weavers  might  flourish.  iVnal 
laws  put  in  force  occasionally 
against  the  Roman  Catholics  kept 
them  quiet.  This  went  on  till 
the  exigencies  of  the  war  of  Ame- 
rican Independence  drained  the 
country  of  troops,  and  then  the 
Irish  were  permitted,  on  the  pre- 
tence of  guarding  against  French 
invasion,  to  enrol  that  army  of 
volunteers  which  gave  a  new  aspect 
to  the  whole  state  of  atl'airs.  When 
Pitt  took  ollice,  Ireland  was  com- 
pletely in  the  hands  of  those  volun- 
teers. They  overawed  the  magis- 
tracy, paralysed  the  legislature, 
and  dictated  to  the  executive  what 
terms  they  chose.  Indeed,  matters 
had  come  to  such  a  pass  that  theonly 
alternative  submitted  to  the  ( !»v- 
ernment  was  whether  order  should 
be  restored  by  the  process  <if  civil 
war,  or  the  grievances  of  which 
the  volunteers  and  their  leaders 
complained  should  be  taken  away. 
Pitt  wisely  adopted  the  latter 
course.  The  absurd  laws  which 
had  heretofore  hampered  the  trade 
of  both  countries,  were,  as  far  as 
public  opinion  at  that  time  would 
allow,  modified  or  repealed.  Ire- 
land was  not  indeed  allowed  to 
trade  with  foreign  countries,  ex- 
cept under  Knglish  colours  ;  and 
her  staple  manufactures,  which  had 
heretofore  been  prohibited  alto- 
gether, were  rendered  admissible 
into  Knglish  ports  on  the  payment 
of  a  fixed  but  not  extravagant  duty. 
On  the  other  hand,  Knglish  manu- 
factured goods,  which  used  to  bo 
thrown  duty-free  into  Irish  markets, 
were  made  subject  to  duties  before 
passing  through  the  Irish  custom- 
houses ;  while  the  duties  hereto- 
fore levied  on  goods  imported  from 
abroad,  and  subsequently  passed 
from  Kngland  to  Ireland,  and  from 
Ireland  to  Kngland,  were  entirely 
abolished.  We  who  live  under  >\ 
better  condition  of  affairs  may  be 
provoked  to  smile  when  told  that 


510 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


these  were  considered  at  the  mo- 
ment great  concessions  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  free  trade ;  yet  great  con- 
cessions they  unquestionably  were, 
— so  great  indeed,  that  Fox,  with  all 
the  interest  of  Lancashire  at  his 
back,  resisted  them.  Nor  were  they 
carried  till  so  much  had  been  done 
to  impair  their  usefulness  in  the 
British  House  of  Commons,  that 
when  offered  to  the  Irish  legisla- 
ture the  Irish  House  of  Commons 
rejected  them. 

We  owe  some  apology  to  our 
readers  for  having  detained  them 
so  long  at  the  very  threshold  of 
the  subject  which  in  strict  pro- 
priety we  had  set  ourselves  to  dis- 
cuss ;  but  the  delay  was  unavoidable. 
No  man  can  pretend  to  arrive  at  a 
fair  judgment  upon  the  value  of 
conclusions  to  which  public  writers 
and  speakers  desire  to  lead  him, 
unless  he  understand  the  nature 
of  the  premises  from  which  his 
instructors  set  out.  And  if,  as  in 
the  present  instance,  these  can  be 
shown  to  be  at  once  based  on 
misapprehension  and  inaccurate  in 
all  their  details,  the  temptation  is 
small  to  receive  as  trustworthy  what- 
ever assertions  or  even  insinuations 
depend  upon  them. 

The  one  great  mistake  which  per- 
vades Lord  Russell's  argument,  is 
the  manifest  determination  to  attri- 
bute to  party  that  change  in  the 
policy  of  this  country,  and  in  some 
degree  in  the  constitution  itself, 
which  time  and  circumstances,  the 
greatest  of  all  innovators,  have  in 
point  of  fact  brought  about.  If 
the  Whigs  could  have  retained  that 
command  over  the  constituencies 
which  they  exercised  between  1688 
and  1766,  we  should  have  heard 
nothing  whatever  from  them  about 
the  necessity  of  a  reform  in  Parlia- 
ment. If  they  had  been  able  to 
retain  the  power  of  muzzling 
Romanists  and  keeping  up  mono- 
polies, religious  liberty  and  free 
trade  never  would  have  become 
watchwords  in  their  camp.  But 
when  rich  planters  from  the  West 
and  nabobs  from  the  East  began  to 


cross  their  path,  canvassing  the 
larger  boroughs  which  they  had 
heretofore  considered  as  their  own; 
when  they  went  into  the  market 
and  bought  up  smaller  boroughs, 
and  had  the  audacity  to  invade  the 
counties  where  Whigs  used  to  reign 
supreme, — their  natural  instincts 
told  this  party  that  their  position 
was  no  longer  safe.  They  tried  at 
first  to  maintain  their  ground  by 
fighting  the  enemy  with  his  own 
weapons,  and  close  boroughs  be- 
came multiplied  in  their  hands.  It 
was  a  fatal  example  which  rich  and 
unscrupulous  men  were  not  slow  to 
follow.  What  money  had  done, 
money  could  do  again,  till  in  the 
end  the  proprietors  of  boroughs  on 
both  sides  became  too  strong  in 
the  House  of  Commons  for  their 
nominal  leaders.  It  happened  that 
in  this  race  the  Whigs  found  them- 
selves defeated;  and  then,  and  not 
till  then,  the  light  broke  in  upon 
them,  and  they  pronounced  a  mea- 
sure of  sweeping  Parliamentary  Re- 
form to  be  necessary. 

Passing  on  from  the  delinquencies 
of  the  Tories  during  the  progress 
of  the  great  French  war,  Lord 
Russell  proceeds  to  set  before  us 
his  own  view  of  the  policy  which 
prevailed  throughout  the  ten  first 
years  consequent  upon  the  cessa- 
tion of  that  war.  "  The  state  of 
England  in  1823  was  not  auspicious. 
In  1817  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act 
was  suspended,  and  spies  were  sent 
from  the  Home  Office  into  the 
manufacturing  counties,  who,  acting 
according  to  their  nature,  and  not 
according  to  their  instructions, 
stimulated  the  crimes  which  were 
afterwards  punished  on  the  scaffold. 
In  1819,  bills  were  introduced  by 
Lord  Castlereagh,  described  by  him 
as  measures  of  severe  coercion."  It 
is  very  easy  to  say  all  this,  and  by 
implication,  at  least,  to  throw  the 
blame  of  the  consequences  arising 
out  of  it  upon  the  Government  ; 
but  whosoever  will  take  the  trouble 
to  look  back  into  what  must  now, 
we  presume,  be  called  history,  will 
find  that  the  policy  of  the  Govern- 


1865.] 


Earl  Unwell. 


511 


iiient  was  not  so  blameworthy  as 
this  description  represents.  It  was 
no  easy  matter  in  those  days  to 
maintain  public  order.  The  meas- 
ures actually  adopted  to  secure  that 
end  were  undoubtedly  harsh,  and 
the  employment  of  spies  who 
abused  the  trust  reposed  in  them 
is  much  to  be  regretted  ;  but  with 
this  exception,  we  cannot  allow 
that  anything  was  done  of  which 
the  Ministers  had  cause  to  be 
ashamed.  Let  us  never  forget, 
when  reverting  to  those  times,  that 
the  English  people  were  in  point 
of  intelligence  and  general  educa- 
tion very  different  from  what  they 
are  now.  The  working  classes  had 
not  yet  learned  the  value  of  peace- 
ful agitation  ;  the  employers  of 
labour  never  entertained  the  idea 
of  negotiating  with  their  men. 
AVhen  pressure  came,  and  wages 
fell,  and  multitudes  found  them- 
selves thrown  out  of  employment, 
there  wa.s  nowhere  wit  enough  to 
discern  that  such  were  but  the  ne- 
cessary results  of  a  sudden  return 
from  a  state  of  war  to  a  state  of 
peace.  War  had  given  to  Kngland 
a  monopoly  of  the  world's  com 
inerce  —  peace  brought  into  the 
market  against  her  as  many  rivals 
as  there  were  manufacturing  and 
trading  nations  in  the  world.  No- 
body explained  this  to  the  people, 
who,  indeed,  were  scarcely  capable 
of  understanding  it  ;  but  dema- 
gogues everywhere  appeared, who — 
not,  we  regret  to  say,  without  en- 
cour.igement  in  quarters  which 
ought  to  have  known  better — accus- 
ed the  Legislature  and  the  Govern- 
ment of  combining  with  the  em- 
ployers of  labour  to  oppress  the 
people  and  force  them  into  rebel- 
lion. How  can  you  reason  with 
persons  who,  like  the  Cato  .Street 
gang,  plotted  to  kill  the  King  and 
his  Ministers,  and  to  seize  the  Hank 
and  the  Tower  ?  and  what  measures 
except  those  of  repression  can  you 
apply  to  multitudes  who  meet 
night  after  night  in  out-of-the-way 
places  to  drill  and  raise  contribu- 
tions wherewith  to  supply  them- 


selves with  arms  and  ammunition  ? 
No  set  of  rulers,  call  them  by  what 
party-names  you  will,  can  tike  any 
pleasure,  in  this  country  at  least, 
in  suspending  the  Habeas  Corpus 
Act,  and  parsing  harsh  restrictive 
laws  through  Parliament.  lint 
surely  it  is  better  to  do  this  than 
to  wait  till  an  insurrection  breaks 
out,  which  can  never  be  put  down 
except  at  the  eo>t  of  enormous  suf- 
fering to  the  innocent  as  well  as  to 
the  guilty.  Locking  at  them  in 
the  abstract,  and  forgetting  the 
causes  which  led  to  them,  no  man 
in  his  senses  would  think  of  de- 
fending either  the  six  Acts  of  IM'.i, 
or  their  consequences,  Imt  he  mu-t 
be  very  much  prejudiced  indeed 
who  is  unwilling  to  allow  that  des- 
perate diseases  call  for  desperate 
remedies,  and  that  the  stern  meas- 
ures adopted  by  the  Government 
of  that  day  were  essentially  wise 
measures,  l.ecause  they  saved  both 
Kngland  and  Scotland  from  the 
horrors  of  a  civil  war. 

It'  the  manner  of  Lord  Russell's 
allusions  to  the  troubled  times  of 
1817-1!)  be  nncandid,  his  references 
to  the  general  policy  of  the  Govern- 
ment between  \*\\)  and  I^L".»  are 
more  than  uncandid.  Nobody  pre- 
tends to  say  that  in  the  early  years 
of  that  decade  the  criminal  law  of 
Kngland  did  not  retain  ton  much 
of  its  ancient  ferocity.  Neither  can 
the  facts  be  disputed  that  Dissent- 
ers got  into  Parliament  and  into 
office  only  indirectly,  and  Roman 
Catholics  not  at  all.  Newspapers,  at 
the  same  time,  carried  a  foiirpenny 
stamp  (has  Lord  Ru>sell  forgotten 
that  he  and  his  friends  voted,  in 
1>^S,  for  its  continuance  <),  and  the 
Holy  Alliance  kept  down  or  put 
down  revolutions  on  the  Continent. 
Nay  more,  every  industry  in  Kng- 
land flourished  under  the  protection 
which  the  Legislature  afforded  to  it 
—  and  the  shipping  interest  throve, 
the  Navigation  Laws  being  still  in 
force.  I'.ut  what  then  I  Of  tin- 
Holy  Alliance  Kngland  never  was 
a  member,  and  in  regard  to  the 
other  points  we  shall  be  glad  to 


512 


Earl  Russell. 


[April* 


Lave  two  questions  answered.  First, 
Has  England  gained  by  the  sweep- 
ing changes  for  which  the  Whigs 
claim  credit  1  And  next,  Is  it  quite 
certain  that  changes  such  as  might 
have  satisfied  all  reasonable  people, 
would  not  have  taken  place  had  Tory 
influence  suffered  no  interruption? 
For,  after  all,  what  did  the  Tories  do? 
Between  1818  and  1828  they  modi- 
fied the  severity  of  the  criminal 
law — gradually,  to  be  sure,  as  judges 
and  juries  and  thoughtful  men  of 
all  conditions  were  prepared  to  ac- 
cept each  modification,  but  steadily. 
They  relaxed  the  commercial  code 
to  an  extent  which  far  outran  the 
wishes  of  the  manufacturing  popu- 
lations ;  they  opened  the  trade  to 
China;  they  placed  the  currency 
on  a  sound  footing  ;  they  permitted 
the  export  of  machinery  ;  they  re- 
pealed the  laws  against  combina- 
tions among  workmen  ;  they  sub- 
stituted for  Oliver  Cromwell's  un- 
bending Navigation  Laws  a  system 
of  wise  reciprocity  ;  they  raised,  in 
short,  the  sluices,  and  set  that 
stream  of  improvement  agoing, 
which,  with  or  without  the  Whig 
Reform  Act  of  1832,  would  have 
probably  landed  us  at  a  point  not 
very  different  from  that  at  which 
we  are  now  arrived.  No  doubt, 
the  process  of  change  would  have 
been  different.  The  Tories,  for  ex- 
ample, would  have  scarcely  been  un- 
wise enough  to  adopt  ostentatious- 
ly a  system  from  which  the  force 
of  after  circumstances  might  compel 
them  to  withdraw.  Commercial 
treaties,  to  which  the  Whigs  of  1863 
and  1865  are  resorting,  were  always 
in  favour  with  their  predecessors. 
Keeping  in  their  own  hands  as 
much  as  they  conceived  to  be  ne- 
cessary of  the  old  (protective  sys- 
tem which  had  raised  the  country 
to  power  and  prosperity,  they  would 
have  been  ready  to  enter  upon  ar- 
rangements of  give  and  take  with 
all  the  world,  instead  of  throwing 
away  in  the  first  instance  the  trump 
cards  from  their  own  hands,  and 
then  trying  to  persuade  other  people 
to  do  the  same.  Take  for  example 


the  two  great  pulls  which  England 
had  both  upon  Europe  and  America. 
The  Corn-laws  in  the  hands  of  an 
English  Government  would  have 
been  a  powerful  lever  wherewith 
to  raise  the  dead  weight  of  Russian 
and  Austrian  restrictiveness.  Both 
Empires  would  have  been  too  glad 
to  exchange  for  our  muslins  and 
hardwares  the  wheat  which  was 
rotting  upon  their  fields ;  and  even 
with  France  and  America  our  re- 
lations would  have  been  more  satis- 
factory, had  we  been  in  a  condition 
to  treat  with  them  about  the  carry- 
ing trade  of  the  world.  Our  pre- 
sent rulers  have  adopted  a  differ- 
ent course  of  proceeding,  and  the 
consequence  is,  that  having  nothing 
to  offer  except  raw  material,  such 
as  coals,  they  sacrifice  one  industry 
in  the  hope  of  extending  another, 
and  so  negotiate  a  treaty  of  which 
all  the  benefits  are  secured  to  the 
foreigner.  So  much  for  free  trade 
and  its  consequences.  And  in  re- 
gard to  the  repeal  of  the  Test  and 
Corporation  Acts,  and  the  opening 
of  political  power  and  place  to 
Roman  Catholics,  as  both  events 
came  to  pass  during  the  reign  of  a 
Tory  Government,  it  is  rather  too 
much  in  a  Whig  to  claim  them  as 
the  exclusive  work  of  his  own  party. 
At  the  same  time  let  us  honestly 
confess  that  we  should  be  glad  if 
we  could  make  a  present  of  these 
great  measures  to  our  rivals.  They 
have  restored  the  Romanists  to  that 
position  in  the  country  from  which 
the  Whigs  in  1688  removed  them 
—  and  given  to  Protestant  Dis- 
senters a  political  weight  which 
they  are  prone,  we  suspect,  to  over- 
estimate. Whether  the  monarchy 
and  the  constitution  in  Church  and 
State  have  been  strengthened  by 
them  is  quite  a  different  question. 

It  is  not  very  generous  to  charge 
with  bigotry  to  old  usages  Minis- 
ters who  accomplished  this  and  a 
good  deal  more.  It  is  still  less  so 
to  assume  that  the  spirit  of  Tory- 
ism was  embodied  in  that  section 
of  Lord  Liverpool's  Cabinet  which 
resisted  all  chanb3.  Mr  Canning, 


18G5.] 


Htisstll. 


Sir  Robert  Peel,  Mr  Huskisson, 
aiul  Mr  Robinson,  could  have  clone 
nothing  without  the  concurrence  of 
Lord  Khlon,  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton, and  Lord  Castlereagh.  This  is 
especially  true  in  reference  to  the 
dealings  of  Kngland  with  Austria, 
Russia,  and  Frani-e,  in  1^-21  and 
18:23.  A  united  Tory  ('al)inet  de- 
precated the  Austrian  invasion  of 
Italy  at  the  former  of  these  periods 
as  much  as  it  deplored  the  causes 
winch  led  to  it.  Hut  a  united  Tory 
Cabinet  was  not  so  Quixotic  a.s  to 
involve  the  country  in  war  with 
powers  which  it  would  have  been 
very  dillicult  to  reach,  let  the  cause 
of  quarrel  be  what  it  might.  And 
at  the  latter  period,  all  that  could 
be  done,  short  of  an  appeal  to  anus, 
was  done  to  keep  the  French  I  nun 
invading  Spain.  Is  Lord  Russell. 
after  his  experience  of  the  Crimean 
war,  seriously  of  opinion  that  Kng- 
land  ought  to  have  drawn  the  sword 
either  in  IvJl  or  1^23  ]  ()r  revert- 
ing to  the  issues  of  his  own  remon- 
strances against  the  dismemberment 
of  Denmark,  does  he  conceive  that 
forty  years  ago  the  national  honour 
would  have  been  advanced  by  idle 
threats  on  which  there  was  no  seri- 
ous intention  of  acting  I 

It  is  thus  that,  in  a  strain  which 
we  must  be  permitted  to  describe 
as  disingenuous  in  the  extreme, 
Lord  Russell  endeavours  to  repre- 
sent England  as  misgoverned  and 
abused  by  a  succession  of  Tory 
Ministers  for  wellnigh  sixty  years. 
Individual  apostates  from  the  prin- 
ciples of  their  party  he  takes  in- 
deed under  his  protection  ;  but 
even  their  acts — the  relaxation  of 
the  Cromwellian  code,  for  example, 
and  the  repeal  of  the  laws  impos- 
ing disabilities  on  Roman  Catholics 
— he  attributes  to  no  motive  more 
elevated  than  fear,  and  the  effect 
of  pressure  from  without.  I'eel's 
foolish  words  on  the  second  read- 
ing of  the  Catholic  Relief  Hill  he 
quotes  with  approval  ;  but  even 
Peel  himself  he  cannot  dismiss 
except  in  terms  which  are  any- 
thing but  complimentary.  "  The 


political  party  which  for  sixty  years 
had  swayed  with  very  brief  intervals 
the  destinies  of  the  State;  which 
had  led  the  nation  to  the  Ameri- 
can and  the  French  wars;  which 
had  resisted  all  reform  and  protected 
all  abuses  ;  which  had  maintained 
all  that  was  bigoted,  and  persecuted 
all  that  was  liberal, — broke  down 
under  this  great  failure.  The  light 
now  bur>t  in.  Alter  the  general 
election  the  Ministry  was  defeated, 
and  Lord  (!rey,  the  new  I'rime- 
Minister,  proclaimed  the  advent  of 
peace,  retrenchment,  and  reform." 

To  be  sure  he  did;  and  there 
followed  in  due  cour.x-  the  block- 
ade of  the  coasts  of  Holland  and 
the  mouth  of  the  Scheldt  by  a  lirit- 
ish  fleet;  the  despatch  of  a  Rriti>h 
legion  to  light  the  battles  of  a  re 
volutionary  government  in  Spain  ; 
war  with  China — war  in  India — war 
to  put  down  a  rebellion  in  Canada, 
and  war  with  Russia.  Retrench- 
ment was  in  like  manner  effected 
by  the  gradual  enlargement  of  all 
our  establishments,  and  the  increase 
of  our  public  expenditure  from 
.£';}o,ooii.<KH>,  the  point  which  it  had 
reached  in  I1-:!!),  to  i'UT.i'ii.p.nnn,  its 
pre>ent  moderate  figure.  And  as 
to  reform — of  that  more  anon.  For 
it  must  be  obvious  to  the  reader 
of  this  dissertation,  that  thus  far 
he  has  been  dealing  with  prelimi- 
nary matter  only — the  preface,  so 
to  speak,  to  Karl  Ru»cH's  elabo- 
rate account  of  the  part  which  he 
himself  played  in  concocting  the 
Reform  Rill,  and  of  the  enormous 
benefits  which  the  country  has  de- 
rived from  the  success  of  his  great 
measure. 

KarKlrey,  it  appears, had  scarcely 
formed  his  Administration,  when 
the  author  of  the  work  now  upon 
our  table,  then  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell, and  Paymaster-General  of  the 
Forces,  received  a  friendly  visit 
from  Lord  Durham.  The  object  of 
that  visit  was  to  inform  Lord  John 
that  Karl  (trey  had  determined  to 
attempt  reform  in  Parliament,  and 
was  desirous  of  consulting  the 
author  of  '  Don  Carlos,  a  Tragedy,' 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


in  regard  to  the  plan  on  which  it 
should  be  arranged.  This  was  a 
very  natural  course  of  proceeding 
on  the  part  of  Earl  Grey.  Lord 
John  represented  in  the  House  of 
Commons  not  the  least  influential 
of  the  Revolution  houses.  He  was 
believed  to  inherit  both  the  princi- 
ples and  the  talents  of  his  fore- 
fathers. He  had  written  the  book, 
now  reproduced,  about  the  English 
Constitution  and  Government,  and 
over  and  over  again,  in  Parliament 
and  out  of  it,  had  spoken  upon  the 
subject  which  then  occupied  Earl 
Grey's  attention.  To  be  sure,  Lord 
Durham  himself,  while  yet  Mr 
Lambton,  and  member  for  the 
county  of  Durham,  had  done  the 
same  thing.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as 
if  he  were  anxious  to  take  the  wind 
out  of  Lord  John's  sails ;  and  as 
his  speech  of  1821  embodied  pretty 
nearly  all  that  Mr  Grey  had  pro- 
posed in  1797,  it  might  have  been 
expected,  looking  to  the  family  con- 
nection between  the  two  peers,  that 
the  father-in-law  and  son-in-law 
would  have  been  content  to  take 
sweet  counsel  together.  But  Earl 
Grey  knew  better  than  either  to 
trust  exclusively  to  his  son-in-law, 
or  to  wound  the  self-love  of  one  of 
the  natural  leaders  of  the  Whig 
party.  Lord  Durham  was  there- 
fore employed  to  communicate  with 
Lord  John,  and  Lord  John  accepted 
the  invitation  conveyed  to  him. 
There  seems  to  have  been  no  hesi- 
tation on  his  part,  no  distrust  of 
his  own  powers,  no  apprehension  of 
possible  failure  in  an  attempt  the 
boldest  to  which,  within  historical 
memory,  the  citizen  of  a  free  state 
ever  set  himself.  He  asked  for 
time,  indeed,  "  to  reconsider  the 
general  principles  upon  which  a 
sound  measure  of  reform  should 
rest/'  for  the  subject  was  "  great, 
important,  and  difficult."  But 
Lord  John's  ideas  were  by  no 
means,  it  appears,  in  confusion  ; 
he  had  often  in  former  days  "  re- 
curred" on  this  head  to  the  reflec- 
tions of  Mr  Burke  ;  and  that  elo- 
quent passage  wherein  the  great 


British  orator  denounces  the  ar- 
bitrary proceedings  of  the  French 
Assembly,  now  came  back  to  his 
recollection.  He  determined  to 
make  it  his  pole-star  on  the  voyage 
on  which  he  was  about  to  enter, 
and  we  have  too  much  respect  for 
Lord  John's  conscientiousness  to 
doubt  that  he  is  honestly  persuaded 
that  the  spirit  of  Burke  rested  upon 
him  from  that  hour. 

Lord  John  received  his  commis- 
sion somewhere  about  the  end  of 
November,  and  in  December — the 
exact  date  is  not  given — he  was 
ready  with  his  plan.  It  was  com- 
prised in  ten  articles,  trenchant, 
but  so  short  that  a  single  sheet  of 
writing-paper  sufficed  to  contain 
them  all.  Had  it  been  adopted  in 
its  simplicity,  there  would  have 
been  an  addition  of  seven  seats  to 
the  representation  of  England,  with 
a  franchise,  in  large  towns  newly 
erected  into  boroughs,  dependent 
on  the  possession  of  a  £  15  qualifi- 
cation. Other  points  likewise  are 
noticeable,  as  evincing  on  Lord 
John's  part  some  slight  leaning  to- 
wards fancy  franchises — clause  6, 
for  example,  which  stood  thus  : — 
"  The  right  of  voting  in  the  new 
towns  to  be  in  householders  rated 

at  <£10j  or  in  persons  qualified  to 
serve  on  juries."  But  his  col- 
leagues in  committee — for  a  com- 
mittee was  named  to  work  with 
him,  consisting  of  Lord  Durham, 
Lord  Duncannon,  and  Sir  James 
Graham — drew  their  pens  through 
the  latter  of  these  suggestions ;  and 
it  was  finally  settled  that  one  uni- 
form franchise  should  prevail  in 
boroughs,  whether  great  or  small, 
and  that  the  occupation  of  a  house 
rated  at  £10  a-year  should  consti- 
tute such  franchise.  The  plan  so 
amended  was  laid  before  Earl  Grey, 
Earl  Grey  submitted  it  to  the  Cab- 
inet, the  Cabinet  approved,  the 
King's  sanction  was  obtained,  and 
the  re-assembling  of  Parliament 
was  alone  waited  for  in  order  to 
submit  the  scheme  to  the  consid- 
eration of  the  Legislature  and  the 
country. 


1805. 


Kurl 


51 5 


All  this  is  toKl  with  perfect  sim- 
plicity anil  candour.  It  is  Lord 
John  who  concoct*  the  scheme,  who 
expunges  vote  l»y  ballot,  which  the 
other  members  of  the  committee 
li  ul  surreptitiously  introduced  into 
it  ;  who  advises  Lord  Grey  upon 
it  ut  every  stige  :  and,  above  all, 
who  counsels  that  judicious  se- 
crecy without  which,  as  he  himself 
naively  remarks,  "an  adverse  vote 
might  have  stilled  the  infant  in  its 
cradle."  If  Lord  Russell  had  been 
equally  frank  in  describing  the  pro- 
cess by  which  the  opportunity  of 
concocting  a  Reform  Bill  came  into 
his  hands  at  all,  and  in  following 
its  fortunes  till  it  finally  became 
law.  his  narrative  would  have  been 
more  interesting,  and  at  least  as 
instructive  as  it  now  is.  What  lie 
has  omitted  we  shall  endeavour  to 
supply. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  for  a  fact 
it  is,  that  for  some  time  previously 
to  the  death  of  Lord  Liverpool  both 
the  country  and  the  House  of  Com- 
mons had  become  indifferent  to  the 
question  of  Parliamentary  Reform. 
The  minority  which  voted  with 
Lord  John  Russell  fell  off  from 
year  to  year,  and  out  of  doors  the 
people  appeared  to  have  dismissed 
the  subject  from  their  minds  alto- 
gether. Thoughtful  men  still  in- 
deed kept  it  before  them,  and  in 
the  Tory  ranks  there  were  some 
who,  looking  back  upon  what  Mr 
Pitt  had  proposed  in  17M,  would 
have  been  well  pleased  if  his  views 
had  been  taken  up  and  acted  upon 
by  their  nominal  leaders.  Nothing, 
however,  was  done,  nor  was  any 
measure  seriously  considered  till 
Lord  Liverpool's  health  gave  way, 
and  with  it  broke  asunder  the  fee- 
ble band  which  had  thus  far  kept 
together  spirits  in  many  points  so 
essentially  different  as  Lord  Kldon 
and  Mr  Canning,  Lord  Westmore- 
land and  Mr  Huskisson,  Lord 
P.athurst  and  Mr  Robinson,  Lord 
Melville  and  Mr  Charles  Grant. 

In  the  Cabinet,  as  it  existed  be- 
fore this  event,  Mr  Canning  had 
for  some  time  been  the  head  of  a 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  DXCIV. 


party.  It  was  made  up  of  himself, 
Mr  Huskisson,  Mr  Robinson,  Lord 
Dudley,  and  Mr  Grant.  Its  f..l 
lowing  among  the  Ministers  not  in 
the  ( 'abinet  w;is  likewise  consider- 
able, Lord  Palmerston,  then  Secre- 
tary at  War,  being  one  of  the  num- 
ber. These  all  professed  to  be  fav- 
ourable to  the  removal  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  disabilities,  to  law 
reform  in  all  its  branches,  and  to 
an  expansion  of  the  commercial 
system  of  the  country.  But  every 
measure  of  Parliamentary  Reform 
heretofore  proposed  they  had  re- 
sisted. Indeed,  their  brilliant  chief 
went  out  of  his  way,  in  language 
unnecessarily  >tn>ng.  to  declare  that 
no  reform  in  Parliament  could  be 
sanctioned  without  danger  to  the 
constitution. 

Another  party  there  was  in  the 
Liverpool  Administration,  consist- 
ing of  Lord  Kldon,  Lord  Uathurst, 
Lord  Westmoreland,  and  Lord 
Melville,  with  whom  on  important 
points — such  as  Catholic  emancipa- 
tion a*id  Parliamentary  Reform — 
Mr  Peel  and  the  Duke  of  Welling 
ton  usually  voted.  It  had  no  head, 
in  the  proper  sense  of  that  term, 
and  was  certainly  iu»t  at  perfect 
unity  within  itself.  Peel's  measures 
of  law  reform,  for  example,  were 
never  cordially  approved  by  the 
( 'hancellor,  and  his  return  to  cash 
payments  more  than  the  Chan- 
cellor would  have  resisted  if  they 
had  been  able.  Still  the  machine, 
though  composed  of  discordant 
materials,  worked  on,  and  the  coun- 
try throve  under  it.  Manufactures 
increased,  trade  extended  itself, 
agriculture  prospered,  the  colonies 
Hourished.  and  there  was  peace  with 
foreign  nations.  In  Ireland  alone 
disaffection,  the  natural  offspring  of 
poverty  and  ignorance,  prevailed,  of 
which  Mr  O'Connell  took  advan- 
tage to  make  himself  what  he  after- 
wards became,  and  to  deal  with 
which,  by  removing  the  causes  of 
it,  no  statesman  in  or  out  of  office 
seemed  to  be  prepared. 

Ireland,  in  fact,  constituted  then 
as  it  constitutes  still  the  great  dilfi- 
2  M 


if! 


Karl  Russell. 


[April, 


culty  of  the  King's  Government. 
Men  could  not  get  out  of  their 
heads  the  idea  that  the  ills  which 
afflicted  that  part  of  the  empire 
were  all  attributable  to  one  cause. 
It  was  the  pressure  of  the  law  upon 
the  religion  of  the  majority  which 
made  the  Irish  people  dissatisfied  ; 
and  whether,  looking  at  the  condi- 
tion and  temper  of  the  times,  it 
would  be  better  to  repeal  these  laws 
or  to  keep  them  as  they  were,  that 
was  the  question.  For  years  back 
it  had  been  an  open  question  in  the 
Cabinet  itself — a  miserable  arrange- 
ment, which  could  have  no  other 
tendency  than  to  keep  the  several 
sections  of  the  Administration  from 
cordially  agreeing  on  any  other 
point.  At  last  came  Lord  Liver- 
pool's death,  and  with  it — chaos. 
Who  was  to  succeed  him  ?  Who 
had  tact  and  influence  enough  even 
to  keep  things  as  they  were  1  Who 
was  rash  enough  to  hazard  all, 
rather  than  yield  his  own  preten- 
sions to  the  judgment  of  the  major- 
ity 1  It  is  grievous  to  reflect  that 
Mr  Canning  was  that  man, — Mr 
Canning,  the  favourite  friend  and 
pupil  of  Pitt,  the  most  brilliant  of 
orators,  the  most  charming  of  com- 
panions, on  many  subjects  a  poli- 
tician far-sighted  and  wise, — it  is 
grievous  to  reflect  that  over  that 
man,  we  will  not  say  the  vulgar 
lust  of  power,  but  the  impatience 
of  submitting  his  own  lofty  genius 
to  the  control  of  some  miserable 
mediocrity,  should  have  so  far  pre- 
vailed, that  rather  than  stoop  to 
conquer  he  condescended  to  in- 
trigue, and  sacrificed  in  so  doing 
the  policy  of  a  lifetime  to  mere 
personal  ambition.  Canning's  ac- 
cession to  the  place  which  Lord 
Liverpool  had  vacated  broke  up  the 
Tory  party,  and  all  that  followed 
was  but  the  inevitable  consequence, 
not  of  signs  and  tokens  in  other 
quarters  only,  but  of  the  positive 
breach  of  his  own  assurance  to  his 
colleagues,  that  no  step  of  the  kind 
was  so  much  as  meditated. 

Mr  Canning's  administration  was 
short,  but  it  lasted  long  enough  to 
originate  a  state  of  things  which 


could  result  in  only  one  issue.  The 
Minister  entered  reluctantly  into 
alliance  with  the  Whigs,  and  the 
Whigs  took  the  first  convenient  op- 
portunity to  betray  him.  It  was, 
we  believe,  while  this  unnatural 
alliance  lasted,  that  to  the  principle 
of  Parliamentary  Eeform  so  much 
was  conceded  that  the  Government 
agreed,  as  often  as  small  boroughs 
were  convicted  of  corruption,  to  de- 
prive them  of  their  electoral  privi- 
leges, and  to  transfer  these  privi- 
leges alternately  to  the  surrounding 
hundreds,  and  to  populous  towns 
not  as  yet  represented  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  most  rabid  of 
Tories  could  hardly  complain  of 
this.  It  was  an  arrangement  so 
wise  in  principle,  so  much  more 
moderate  than  even  Pitt's  original 
scheme,  that  the  only  wonder  is  why 
it  had  not  been  adopted  long  be- 
fore. Yet  it  proved  in  the  execu- 
tion fatal  to  the  Tory  party  which 
first  found  an  opportunity  of  acting 
upon  it. 

Mr  Canning  died,  and  Mr  Rob- 
inson, removed  as  Lord  Goderich 
to  the  House  of  Lords,  found  him- 
self unable  to  carry  on  the  Govern- 
ment. The  Duke  of  Wellington 
was  then  called  upon  to  form  an 
Administration,  which  he  did  with 
reluctance,  but  in  a  most  concilia- 
tory spirit.  His  sagacious  mind 
was  not  slow  to  perceive  that  the 
tide  of  public  opinion  had  been 
turned  into  a  new  channel,  and, 
understanding  how  impossible  it 
would  be  to  force  it  back  again 
into  the  old,  he  so  constructed  his 
Government  as  to  encourage  him  in 
the  expectation  that  he  would  be 
able  to  guide  and  moderate  the 
current  as  it  flowed.  Seats  in  the 
Cabinet  were  given  to  Lord  Gode- 
rich, Mr  Huskisson,  the  best  of  Can- 
ning's followers,  with  whom  were 
united  Peel,  and  others  of  the 
Duke's  personal  friends.  The  Whigs 
were  carefully  eliminated.  Was 
this  arrangement  safe  1  Not  en- 
tirely so.  In  the  first  place,  the 
Canningites  appear  never  from  the 
outset  to  have  given  to  the  chief 
under  whom  they  agreed  to  serve 


1S85.1 


Karl 


M7 


their  absolute  confidence.  They 
either  distrusted  or  affected  to  dis- 
trust the  Duke's  willingness  to  go 
forward  in  the  direction  of  free- 
trade,  and  unfortunately  they  said 
as  much — one  of  them  at  the  hust- 
ings. In  the  next  place,  the  Duke 
had  a  Sovereign  to  deal  with  who 
could  not  always  be  relied  upon. 
George  IV.  had  a  party  of  his 
own,  which  comprehended  among 
others  some  of  the  ex-Tory  Minis- 
ters ;  and  these  ex-Ministers  never 
forgave  the  Duke  for  omitting  to 
replace  them  in  the  oHices  which 
they  hail  held  under  Lord  Liver- 
pool. Here,  then,  were  two  rocks 
ahead,  both  very  threatening,  and 
hard  to  be  avoided.  The  Palace 
Camarilla  plotted  to  thwart  the 
King's  Minister,  or,  as  they  ex- 
pressed it,  to  keep  him  within 
bounds.  The  Canningites  ham- 
pered him — sometimes  by  pressing 
for  concessions  of  the  wisdom  of 
which  their  colleagues  were  as  yet 
unconvinced  ;  sometimes  by  stand- 
ing out  for  arrangements  which  had 
nothing  whatever  to  recommend 
them,  except  that  they  had  been 
entered  into  by  Mr  C 'aiming.  <  >f 
this  nature  were  their  proceedings 
in  the  memorable  cases  of  Penrhyn 
and  East  Retford.  Penrhyn  had 
been  proved  guilty  of  corruption 
during  Mr  Canning's  administra- 
tion. Mr  Canning  brought  in  a 
bill  to  extend  the  right  of  elec- 
tion from  the  borough  to  the 
neighbouring  hundred.  He  was 
defeated  by  Mr  P>rougham,  who 
carried  an  amendment  transferring 
the  franchise  to  Manchester.  Mr 
Brougham's  Rill  had  reached  the 
House  of  Lords  when  the  Duke  ac- 
ceded  to  office,  and  was  stopped 
there  by  petition  from  the  electors 
to  be  heard  by  counsel  in  their 
own  defence.  While  this  was  going 
on,  East  Retford  got  into  disgrace  ; 
and  in  the  Cabinet  the  question 
arose,  What  ought  to  be  done 
with  it  i  The  Duke  and  Mr  Peel 
proposed  that  it  should  be  dis- 
franchised, and  the  right  of  elect- 
ing members  conferred  by  Act  of 
Parliament  on  Birmingham.  Mr 


Hu.skis.son  and  his  friends  object- 
ed, on  the  ground  that  the  ea.ie  of 
Penrhyn  was  its  yet  undecided,  and 
that  Mr  Canning's  arrangement 
would  be  broken  through,  if,  after 
East  Retford  had  been  extinguish- 
ed, Penrhyn  should  be  condemned, 
and  two  manufacturing  towns 
simultaneously  endowed  with  the 
privileges  which  two  agricultural 
boroughs  had  forfeited. 

The  Duke  and  Peel  gave  way — 
the  latter  sorely  against  his  will  ; 
ami  a  proposition  was  made  in  the 
House,  which  Mr  Hu.->kis>on  .^up- 
ported,  for  extending  the  electoral 
rights  of  the  borough  of  Penrhyn  to 
the  hundred  of  Bassetlaw.  This 
was  at  the  first  reading  ;  but  at  the 
second,  without  any  warning  given. 
Mr  Huskisson  first  spoke  in  favour 
of  delay,  and  then,  on  a  division, 
went  out.  Lord  Pal  mere  ton  bearing 
him  company,  into  the  same  lobby 
with  the  Opposition.  It  would  be 
judging  Mr  Huskis.son  somewhat 
harshly,  perhaps,  if  we  were  to  say- 
that  by  that  act  he  consummated 
a  long-cherished  purpose  of  treason 
against  his  chief.  Be  this,  however, 
as  it  may,  the  whole  world  became 
forthwith  cognisant  of  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  longer  a  Tory  party  in 
existence — no  longer,  that  is  to  say, 
in  the  Cabinet  or  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  statesmen  worthy  to 
be  called  the  leaders  of  a  party 
which  exercised  then  and  still  ex- 
ercises more  influence  than  any 
other  in  giving  a  tone  to  public 
opinion  in  this  country. 

The  Duke's  difficulties,  grave  at 
the  outset,  became  greater  and 
greater  every  day,  in  consequence 
of  this  defection  of  the  Canningites. 
He  filled  up  the  places  rendered 
vacant  by  men  of  whom  all  that 
can  be  said  is  that  they  possessed 
fair  ability,  and  were,  in  point  of 
character,  most  respectable.  But 
he  could  do  nothing  with  them. 
Even  before  the  split,  he  had  been 
compelled  to  give  way  to  the  ()j>- 
position  on  the  subject  of  the  Test 
and  Corporation  Acts  ;  and  now 
that  Peel  stood  wellnigh  alone  as  a 
debater  in  the  House  of  Commons. 


518 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


lie  felt  his  own  weakness.  He  per- 
suaded himself,  likewise,  that  on 
him  the  necessity  was  thrown  of 
saving  Ireland,  at  all  hazards,  from 
civil  war  ;  and  that  the  only  way 
of  doing  so  was  to  repeal  the  laws 
which  closed  against  Roman  Catho- 
lics seats  in  Parliament,  and  a  share 
in  the  general  administration  of  the 
country. 

The  memory  of  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington is  to  us,  as  it  must  be  to  all 
who  put  a  right  value  on  the  great- 
ness of  their  country,  a  very  sacred 
thing  :  yet  we  cannot  look  back 
upon  this  stage  in  his  career  with- 
out astonishment  and  indignation. 
He  had  no  right  to  shatter  to  pieces 
the  party  which  trusted  him,  by 
forcing  upon  them,  in  the  character 
of  their  leader,  a  measure  which 
they  abhorred.  And  if  this  be  true 
in  his  case,  it  is  still  more  so  in  the 
case  of  Peel.  The  passing  of  a 
Catholic  Relief  Bill  might  or  might 
not  have  been  then  a  matter  of 
necessity  ;  but  there  was  no  neces- 
sity that  they,  who  had  resisted  it 
through  life,  should  have  been  the 
men  to  pass  it.  Neither  can  we 
admit  the  justice  of  the  Duke's 
reasoning  where  he  says,  writing  to 
Peel,  that  if  they  retired,  no  Gov- 
ernment could  be  formed  strong 
enough  to  carry  the  measure.  We 
doubted  the  fact  at  the  moment ; 
we  doubt  the  fact  still.  Over  and 
over  again  it  had  been  thrown  iip- 
on  the  Lords  to  reject  a  measure 
brought  in  by  the  Opposition, — . 
and  the  Lords,  we  venture  to  say, 
would  have  hardly  continued  their 
resistance  to  a  scheme,  in  order  to 
facilitate  the  adjustment  of  which 
the  Duke  and  Peel  had  resigned 
office.  But,  however  this  may  be, 
a  Catholic  Relief  Bill,  brought  in 
by  Peel  and  the  Duke,  amounted  to 
a  sentence  of  dispersion  passed  up- 
on the  Tories  as  a  party.  For  the 
world  is  not,  and  never  will  be,  gov- 
erned according  to  the  dictates  of 
pure  reason.  Legislators  and  con- 
stituencies are  just  as  much  under 
the  influence  of  passion  as  private 
persons  ;  and  rarely  forgive  those 
who  have  outraged  their  prejudices, 


however  extravagant.  The  knell 
of  the  old  constitxition  was  rung  on 
the  day  that  saw  Peel  get  up  in  his 
place  to  contradict  the  tenor  of  a 
whole  political  life.  Everything 
that  followed  that  unhappy  act  was 
but  the  inevitable  result  of  it. 

It  was  now — and  not  till  now — 
after  the  lapse  of  many  years,  that 
the  question  of  Parliamentary  Re- 
form recovered  its  vitality.  It 
came  to  life,  too,  with  a  vigour 
which  had  never  before  been  per- 
ceptible in  it ;  the  stanchest  Tories 
condemning  with  a  violence  far  ex- 
ceeding that  of  the  Whigs  a  sys- 
tem which  seemed  to  place  the  des- 
tinies of  the  empire  in  the  hands  of 
the  Minister  for  the  time  being. 
Lord  Russell  calls  this  the  steady 
advance  of  public  opinion.  It  was 
no  such  thing.  It  was  the  action 
of  sudden  anger — of  anger  not  mis- 
placed— upon  minds  which  had 
been  too  much  outraged  to  hear  the 
voice  of  reason  :  and  it  did  its 
work.  Besides,  no  time  was  afforded 
for  the  angry  feeling  to  cool  down. 
The  second  French  Revolution 
broke  out.  The  elder  branch  of 
the  Bourbons  were  driven  from  the 
throne  for  violating  the  constitu- 
tion :  and  everywhere  else,  in  Eng- 
land as  well  as  on  the  Continent, 
the  contagion  spread.  Finally, 
the  King's  death  occurring  while 
the  revolutionary  fever  was  at  its 
height,  a  dissolution  of  Parliament 
became  inevitable  :  and  the  angry 
Tories  joined  the  Whigs,  as  the 
horse  in  the  fable  put  the  rider 
upon  his  back,  for  the  simple  pur- 
pose of  taking  vengeance  on  the 
Government,  be  the  ultimate  con- 
sequences what  they  might. 

Such  is  a  true  statement  of  the 
causes  which  led  up  to  that  which 
Earl  Russell  justly  describes  as  "  a 
great  but  bloodless  revolution." 
And  a  revolution  the  passing  of 
the  Reform  Bill  doubtless  was  in 
the  strictest  sense  of  the  term,  for 
it  took  away  the  political  influences 
of  the  country  from  hands  long 
used  to  manage  them,  and  threw 
them  into  others  as  yet  absolutely 
untried.  But  bloodless  we  can 


Ib05.] 


Knrl  Knurl  I. 


:•  1 9 


scarcely  call  it,  remembering,  as 
we  do,  the  sack  of  Bristol,  the 
burning  of  Nottingham  Castle, 
and  the  outrages  in  various  parts 
of  Scotland.  At  all  events,  if 
there  was  little  bloodshed  in  bring- 
ing the  revolution  about,  the 
country  h;is  scarcely  to  thank  the 
authors  of  the  measure  for  its 
exemption  from  that  calamity. 
Earl  Russell  forgets  to  tell  how 
encouragement  was  given  to  the 
formation  of  political  unions  in 
Birmingham  and  elsewhere  ;  how 
William  IV.  was  first  cajoled 
and  then  coerced  into  doing  as 
his  Ministers  dictated  ;  how  these 
Ministers  corresponded  with  mob- 
leaders  in  all  the  great  towns,  and 
sought  and  obtained  support  in  and 
out  of  the  House  fromMrO'Connell 
and  his  followers.  On  one  point, 
however,  Lord  Russell  has  spoken 
truly  and  without  reserve.  He  has 
not  only  shown  that  Sir  Robert 
Peel  was  to  blame  for  the  success 
of  a  measure  which  he  himsclt  ab- 
horred, but  he  has  explained  the 
motives  by  which  that  shifty  states- 
man seems  to  have  been  actuated. 

"Sir  Robert  I'eel  hail  convened 
some  of  his  chief  supporters  a  few  days 
before  (the  announcement  of  the  minis- 
terial plan)  to  consider  the  course  to  be 
taken.  They  acquiesced  in  his  opinion, 
that  the  introduction  of  the  hill  should 
not  be  resisted.  Sir  Robert  Inglis  was 
the  only  person  present  who  gave  a 
contrary  opinion.  As  this  decision 
was  in  itself  a  great  mistake  in  |«>licy. 
and,  in  fact,  rendered  all  subsequent 
opposition  useless,  sueh  a  course  on 
the  part  of  so  eminent  a  party  leader 
may  excite  surprise.  But  it  may  IK- 
thus  accounted  for  :  two  years  l*-fore. 
Sir  Rol>crt  I'eel,  wishing  t<>  save  his 
country  from  the  risk  of  civil  war.  had 
sacrificed  all  his  prejudices,  all  his 
pride,  and  the  confidence  of  his  party, 
to  be  that  'daring  pilot  in  extremity,' 
who  should  place  his  country  in  har- 
bour at  any  loss  of  honour  and  fame 
for  himself.  But  the  immolation  had 
been  painful  in  the  extreme.  Some 
time  afterwards,  meeting  Sir  Thomas 
Franklin  Lewes  in  an  inn  in  Wales, 
Sir  Franklin  started  the  subject  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  and  said  that  he  wondered 
that  sueh  a  statesman  as  his  companion 
had  not  saved  the  country  from  the 


wild  revolutionary  measure  of  the 
Ministers,  and  introduced  a  safe  and 
moderate  Reform  Bill  of  his  own.  Sir 
llnlx-rt  answered,  in  substance.  th;it 
nothing  would  induce  him  to  do  again 
what  la-  had  dune  in  the  Catholic  ipu*- 
tiun." 

This  we  believe  to  be  fairly  put  ; 
but  what  are  we  to  think  of  the 
man  who,  after  making  this  utter- 
ance, iin  sooner  attained  to  power 
again  than  he  again  betrayed  his 
party  I  Besides,  we  deny  the  jus- 
tice of  the  assumption  on  which 
the  utterance  rests.  Tin  re  was  not 
a  Tory  member  of  either  House 
in  1MU  who  would  have  hesitated, 
at  a  critical  moment  like  that,  to 
put  himself  entirely  at  the  com- 
mand of  Feel,  had  Peel  been  brave 
enough  or  generous  enough  to  as- 
sume the  leadership  of  the  party, 
and  to  refuse  so  much  as  a  first 
reading  to  Lord  John's  bill.  It  was, 
perhaps,  too  late  when  the  Ihike 
threw  himself  into  the  breach  ;  for 
the  dissolution  had  by  that  time 
taken  place,  and  constituencies, 
excited  or  overawed,  had  recourse 
been  had  to  a  repetition  of  that 
act,  would  have  scarcely  been  in  a 
position  to  return  a  House  essen- 
tially more  reasonable  than  that 
which  shouted  for  the  bill.  But  a 
bold  stand  at  the  outset,  a  refusal 
to  accept  the  bill  when  first  of- 
fered, must  have  unseated  the 
Ministry  who  depended  on  it,  and 
given  to  Peel  the  opportunity  of 
reverting  to  Pitt's  proposals,  modi- 
fied so  as  to  suit  the  condition  of 
the  times.  Alas  !  there  was  no 
such  spirit  in  the  advocate  of  the 
Emancipation  Act  and  the  author 
of  the  repeal  of  the  corn-laws.  He 
could  nibble  at  Church  reform,  and 
correct  Whig  blunders  in  finance 
by  imposing  on  the  nation  an 
income  tax  which  may  cease  on 
the  Greek  calends,  certainly  not 
sooner  ;  but  he  had  neither  the 
manhood  nor  the  sagacity  to  seize 
the  helm  of  state  when  the  ship 
was  battling  with  a  storm  not  as 
yet  irresistible.  And  so,  thanks  to 
him  and  to  a  few  crotchety  indi- 
viduals who  could  not  see  that, 


520 


Earl  Russell. 


[April, 


where  only  a  choice  of  evils  is  pre- 
sented to  us,  we  do  well  to  choose 
the  least,  we  got  Earl  Grey's  Reform 
Bill  in  all  its  integrity,  and  have 
good  cause  to  thank  Providence 
that  it  has  not  as  yet  produced 
the  whole  of  its  legitimate  results. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  go  hand 
in  hand  with  Earl  Russell  in  notic- 
ing the  various  measures  of  policy 
which  lie  traces  back  to  his  own 
and  his  party's  triumph.  Unfor- 
tunately most  of  the  changes  which 
he  applauds  we  lament.  We  are  by 
no  means  satisfied  that  the  relation 
in  which  the  mother  country  and 
the  colonies  now  stand  towards  one 
another  is  any  improvement  on  the 
state  of  things  which  prevailed  un- 
der the  old  Tory  regime.  The  West 
India  Islands,  which  then  blossomed 
like  so  many  gardens,  have  become 
little  better  than  deserts.  The  land 
is  worthless,  its  white  proprietors 
are  ruined  ;  and  the  negroes  them- 
selves, freed  from  slavery,  are  idle, 
dissolute,  and  degraded.  Canada, 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  the 
great  islands  of  the  Pacific,  endowed 
with  the  privilege  of  self-govern- 
ment, have  become  little  else  than 
sources  of  continual  expenditure  to 
Great  Britain.  They  still  claim  our 
protection  against  enemies,  within 
or  without,  yet  they  refuse  to  let 
our  convicts  be  landed  on  any  por- 
tion of  their  territory,  and  impose 
heavy  duties  on  our  manufactures, 
in  order  to  encourage  the  growth 
of  manufactures  at  home.  In  like 
manner,  Ireland  can  scarcely  be  said 
to  have  become  either  more  pro- 
sperous or  more  peaceable  in  con- 
sequence of  all  that  has  been  done 
for  her.  We  have  still  agitation, 
less  noisy,  perhaps,  but  as  deter- 
mined as  ever,  against  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  against  the  rights 
of  landlords,  against  the  English 
connection.  Our  foreign  policy  has 
been  marked  by  such  an  absence 
of  dignity  and  firmness  as  to  make 
us  the  laughing-stock  of  other  Eu- 
ropean nations,  and  to  secure  for 
us  the  hatred  of  both  sections  of 
what  were  once,  and  may,  perhaps, 
become  again,  the  United  States  of 


America.  In  India  a  mutiny,  which, 
if  firmly  dealt  with  in  the  begin- 
ning, might  have  been  extinguished 
with  comparatively  little  bloodshed, 
was  allowed  to  make  head  till  it 
grew  into  a  formidable  rebellion  ; 
and  even  then  a  Whig  President  of 
the  Board  of  Control  assured  the 
House  of  Commons  that  it  was  no- 
thing ; — for  which  he  was  rewarded 
by  being  advanced  to  the  peerage. 
No  doubt  we  have  Jews  in  Parlia- 
ment, who  vote,  as  becomes  them, 
with  their  Liberal  benefactors ;  and 
by-and-by,  if  things  go  on  as  they 
are  now  doing,  we  may  find  all 
parliamentary  oaths,  including,  who 
knows,  the  oath  of  allegiance  itself, 
abolished.  But  holding  as  we  do 
the  opinion  in  regard  to  Church  and 
State  which  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  formerly  defended,  and 
has  now  renounced,  we  confess  that 
these  matters,  so  far  from  being 
sources  of  triumph  to  us,  force  upon 
us  the  question,  "  Where  will  it  all 
end?"  Even  the  abolition  of  ten 
Irish  bishoprics  hardly  excites  our 
gratitude,  and  Church  reform  in 
England,  due  entirely  to  Peel,  might 
have  been  more  discreetly  managed. 
Look  next  to  those  commercial 
changes  of  which  Lord  Russell  most 
unfairly  speaks,  as  if  they  were  all 
the  consequences  of  the  passing  of 
the  Reform  Bill ;  and  observe  to 
what  they  amount.  Bread  is  un- 
questionably cheaper  than  it  was 
forty  years  ago,  but  it  is  cheapened 
by  the  importation  of  foreign  corn  ; 
of  which  the  inevitable  consequence 
has  been  the  throwing  out  of  corn 
cultivation  of  a  large  and  constantly- 
increasing  breadth  of  soil  in  this 
country,  involving  insufficient  em- 
ployment and  low  wages  to  our 
agricultural  labourers.  As  to  meat, 
we  cannot  recollect  that  it  ever 
approached  the  figure  to  which  it  has 
now  attained,  except  during  the 
height  of  the  great  war  with  France. 
Silks  may  be  cheaper,  but  they  are 
not  home-made  silks.  The  French 
ribbon  -  makers  thrive  while  ours 
are  starving ;  Lancashire  has  for 
two  years  been  a  great  poor- 
house,  of  which  the  inhabitants 


18(55. 


K.irl  /!  ti  »«l  I. 


exist  u]u>n  charity  ;  and  Stafford  - 
shire  and  all  the  other  irun  dis- 
tricts in  the  kingdom  bid  fair  he- 
fore  long  to  he  brought  to  a  similar 
condition.  It  may  he  that  luxuries 
are  brought  more  than  they  once 
were  within  the  reach  of  the  com- 
paratively wealthy  class.  Even  that, 
however,  is  doubtful,  for  good  wines 
maintain  their  prices,  good  horses 
are  costly,  and  good  houses  enor- 
mously dear.  Hut  the  poor,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  are  growing  daily 
poorer,  and  people  of  moderate 
means  are  at  their  wits'  end  to  keep 
their  proper  place  in  society.  It 
is  very  easy  to  show  by  figures  that 
both  our  imports  and  exports  have 
enormously  increased.  It  is  not 
more  hard  to  explain  that  our  cus- 
toms duties  are  reduced  from  many 
hundred  to  twelve,  differential  duties 
abolished,  protection  duties  repeal- 
ed or  reduced,  corn  laws  repealed  ; 
taxes  on  glass,  soap,  coals,  candles, 
paper,  newspaper- stamps,  stamps, 
and  many  other  articles,  repealed. 
He  it  so  ;  but  who  gains  ?  Is  it  the 
West  India  planter,  or  the  owner, 
occupier,  and  labourer  on  the  land, 
or  the  paper-maker  or  the,  paper 
consumer,  or  anybody  except  the 
proprietor  of  a  daily  newspaper  ? 
For  our  own  part  we  declare  that 
we  should  infinitely  prefer  paying  a 
trifle  more  than  we  do  for  our  soap, 
our  candles,  our  sugar,  and  our 
paper,  if,  by  so  doing,  we  could 
insure  two  re-sults :  first,  the  resto- 
ration of  the  industries  concerned 
with  these  articles  to  the  state  of 
prosperity  from  which  they  have  all 
fallen  ;  and,  next,  exemption  from 
the  most  odious  and  iniquitous  of  all 
imposts,  the  income-tax. 

And  here  we  might,  with  perfect 
propriety,  take  our  leave  of  Earl 
Russell  and  his  literary  perform- 
ance, were  it  not  incumbent  upon 
us  to  notice  one  great  omission,  of 
which,  when  summing  up  the  signs 
and  prospects  by  which  we  are  sur- 
rounded, he  has  been,  by  some  un- 
accountable accident,  guilty.  Lord 
Hussell  seems  to  think  that  England 
was  never  so  great  or  so  flourishing 
as  she  is  now  ;  und  he  attributes 


her  growth  in  influence  abroad  and 
wealth  at  home  to  the  wisdom  of 
Whig  legislation.  Was  it  Whig  le- 
gislation which  gave  us  the  facility 
of  intercommunication  by  sea  and 
land  which  steam  has  created  < 
Were  railways  and  screw-steamers, 
the  electric  telegraph,  or  the  sub- 
marine wire,  brought  into  use  by 
Act  of  Parliament  I  Can  he  not  al- 
low something  to  these  incidents  i 
Does  he  put  entirely  out  of  account 
the  great  gold  discoveries  to  which, 
without  doubt,  more  than  to  any- 
thing else,  England  owes,  at  this 
moment,  the  position  which  she  oc- 
cupies, such  as  it  is  I  Why,  there  is 
not  a  clerk  in  the  Hank  of  England, 
nor  a  junior  member  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  nor  a  millowner  in  Lan- 
cashire, nor  an  ironmaster  in  Staf- 
fordshire, but  could  tell  him  that 
anything  so  providential  as  these 
discoveries  never  befell  England 
since  she  became  a  nation  ;  that  it 
was  the  intlux  of  gold  consequent 
upon  them,  which  alone  kept  her 
afloat  at  a  time  when  Whig  legisla- 
tion had  deprived  her  of  all  the 
advantages  incident  to  her  superior 
skill  as  a  commercial  country;  and 
that,  without  the  extraordinary 
means  thereby  afforded  of  cheap- 
ening such  articles  as  are  really 
cheaper,  and  giving  an  impulse  to 
trade,  she  must  long  ago  have  fallen 
into  a  state  of  universal  bankruptcy. 
Again,  is  he  wholly  forgetful  of 
the  enormous  growth  in  population 
of  these  Islands  within  the  lost 
forty  years  I  And  cannot  he  per- 
ceive that  such  increase  must  have 
prodigiously  enlarged  the  extent 
both  of  our  imports  and  exports, 
whatever  the  tendency  of  our  legis- 
lation had  been  I  Hut  this  is  not 
all.  The  real  value  of  imports  to 
a  country  depends,  not  upon  their 
estimated  worth  in  money,  but  ou 
the  way  in  which  they  conduce  to 
the  wellbeing  of  their  recipients. 
Of  .£171,000,000  worth  of  articles 
imported  in  Ih63  into  this  country, 
a  large  amount  contributed  to  in- 
crease the  luxuries  of  the  rich  ; 
no  inconsiderable  portion  to  bring 
greater  poverty  upon  the  poor,  by 


522 


Earl  Russell. 


[April,  1865. 


throwing  them  out  of  employment. 
So  far,  therefore,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether,  looking  to  the  difference 
in  population,  England  was  not  quite 
as  well  off  in  1842,  with  £65,000,000 
of  imports,  as  she  is  now,  or  was  two 
years  ago,  with  her  £171,000,000. 
And  as  to  exports,  Lord  liussell 
scarcely  needs  to  be  reminded  that 
these  offer  no  fair  criterion  by  which 
to  judge  of  the  prosperity  of  a  man- 
ufacturing country.  We  believe 
that  we  are  right  in  saying,  that  the 
cotton  famine,  fearful  as  its  results 
have  been,  did  not  come  out  of  time. 
So  enormous  had  been  our  exports 
of  cotton  goods  just  before  the  war 
in  America  broke  out,  that  every 
market  in  the  world  was  glutted 
with  them,  and  the  millowners 
must  have  closed  their  mills,  under 
any  circumstances,  till  a  portion  at 
least  of  the  unsaleable  stocks  on 
hand  had  been  got  rid  of. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this — in 
spite  of  our  conviction  that  Whig 
rule  has  done  unspeakable  harm — 
we  are  willing  to  believe  that  Old 
England  will  yet  right  herself, 
and  that  the  day  is  not  distant 
when  the  management  of  her  af- 
fairs will  fall  to  wiser  heads  and 
safer  hands  than  now  have  to 
deal  with  them.  Already  the 
party  in  place  hold  out  signals  of 
distress.  Lord  Kussell  is  obliged 
in  his  book  to  explain  away  his 
Blairgowrie  address,  and  to  assure 
the  world  that  he  by  no  means 
meant  what  has  been  attributed 
to  him.  He  rests  and  is  thank- 
ful, only  to  gather  breath,  after 
which  he  is  ready  to  go  as  far  in 
the  way  of  change  as  can  be  ex- 
pected of  him.  How  far  that  is 
we  do  not  indeed  pretend  to  con- 
jecture; for  if  Lord  Amberley  be 
his  father's  mouthpiece,  neither 
father  nor  son  has  as  yet  made 
up  his  mind  on  that  subject. 
But  that  is  a  circumstance  not 


much  to  be  regarded.  The  de- 
sire for  change,  in  the  democratic 
sense  of  the  expression,  has  pretty 
well  died  out,  except  at  Leeds. 
Even  Birmingham,  if  we  mistake 
not,  is  weary  of  Mr  Bright ;  and 
Manchester  will  probably  follow, 
in  part,  the  example  which  Pres- 
ton has  set  her.  Meanwhile,  it 
is  the  obvious  duty  of  the  great 
Conservative  party  to  prepare,  in 
all  directions,  for  the  impending 
struggle.  The  present  Parliament 
will  probably  be  dissolved  in  July 
or  August  at  the  latest ;  and  on 
the  issue  of  the  elections  which 
must  follow  results  depend  of 
which  it  is  impossible  to  over-es- 
timate the  importance.  We  are 
glad  to  find  that  in  Scotland  this 
great  fact  is  not  wholly  overlook- 
ed. At  the  tenth  hour,  in  Kincar- 
dineshire,  Sir  Thomas  Gladstone 
has  taken  his  proper  place,  with,  as 
we  trust  and  believe,  the  fairest 
prospects  of  success.  And  even  in 
"  our  own  romantic  town  "  there 
must,  we  suspect,  be  some  dissatis- 
faction with  the  results  of  Whig 
domination,  thoiigh  the  hour  and 
the  man  be  not  yet  come  for  giv- 
ing practical  utterance  to  the  feel- 
ing. For  what  with  the  jobbing 
of  the  Chancellor,  the  wasteful  ex- 
travagance of  the  War  Office  and 
Admiralty,  the  tendency  towards 
Kadicalism  of  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  and  the  wretched  figure 
which  has  been  cut  for  years  by 
the  Foreign  Office,  the  Palmerston 
Administration  has  lost  all  the  hold 
which  his  name,  and  that  alone,  had 
given  it,  upon  the  respect  and  fur- 
ther forbearance  of  the  country. 
Lord  Russell's  book  is  evidently 
put  forth  with  a  view  to  reawaken 
some  dormant  feeling  in  favour 
of  himself  and  of  his  party.  We 
shall  be  very  much  surprised,  in- 
deed, if  it  fail  to  produce  a  diamet- 
rically opposite  effect. 


Printed  ly  William  Ulackwood  <fr  Sons,  Kdiiiburyh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 

EDINBURGH     MAGAZINE. 


Xo.'DXCV. 


MAY 


i  i:    ur.ooK 


Vor.  XCYIL 


THK  mess  was  over,  and  the  offi- 
cers of  ll.M.'s  — tli  were  grouped 
in  little  knots  ;ind  parties,  sipping 
their  coffee,  and  discussing  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  evening.  Their 
quarter  was  that  pleasant  city  of 
DuMin,  which,  bating  certain  ex- 
orbitant demands  in  the  matter 
of  field -day  and  guard-mounting, 
stands  pre-eminently  first  in  mili- 
tary favour. 

"  Are  you  going  to  that  great  ball 
in  Merrion  Square  t  "  asked  one. 

''  Not  so  lucky  ;  not  invited." 

"  I  got  a  card,"  cried  a  third  : 
''  but  I've  just  heard  it's  not  to 
come  off.  It  seems  that  the  lady's 
husband  is  a  judge.  He's  Chief 
something  or  other  ;  and  he  has 
been  called  away." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Tomkins  ; 
unless  you  call  a  summons  to  the 
next  world  being  called  away.  The 
man  is  dangerously  ill.  Ho  was 
seized  with  paralysis  on  the  Bench 
yesterday,  and,  they  say,  can't  re- 
cover." 

There  now  ensued  an  animated 
conversation  as  to  whether,  on  death 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  DXCV. 


v  ic  inci.-s.  the  men  went  up  by  se 
niority  at  the  bar,  or  whether  a 
subaltern  could  at  once  spring  up 
to  the  to] i  of  the  regiment. 

"  Suppose."  >;iid  one.  "  we  were 
to  ask  the  Colonel's  gue-t  his  opin- 
ion. The  old  cove  has  talked  pretty 
nigh  of  everything  in  this  world 
during  dinner  ;  what  if  we  were  to 
ask  him  about  Barons  of  the  Ex- 
chequer? " 

"  Who    is    he  f     what    is    he  ? 
asked  another. 

"The  Colonel  called  him  Sir 
Brook  Fossbrookc  ;  that's  all  I 
know." 

"Colonel  Cave  told  me,"  whis- 
pered the  Major,  "  that  he  was  the 
fastest  man  on  town  some  forty 
years  ago." 

"  I  think  he  must  have  kept 
over  the  wardrobe  of  that  brilliant 
period,''  said  another.  "  I  never 
saw  a  really  swallow -tailed  coat 
before." 

"  His  ring  amused  m<\  It  is  a 
small  smoothing  iron,  with  u  coat 
of  amis  on  it.  Hush  !  here  lie 
comes." 

2  N 


524 


/Sir  Brook  Fosslrooke. — Part  I. 


[May, 


The  man  who  now  joined  the 
group  was  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  with 
a  high  narrow  head,  from  which 
the  hair  was  brushed  rigidly  back 
to  fall  behind  in  something  like  an 
old-fashioned  queue.  His  eyes  were 
black,  and  surmounted  with  mas- 
sive and  much-arched  eyebrows  ;  a 
strongly-marked  mouth,  stern,  de- 
termined, and,  except  in  speaking, 
almost  cruel  in  expression,  and  a 
thin-pointed  projecting  chin,  gave 
an  air  of  severity  and  strong  will  to 
features  which,  when  he  conversed, 
displayed  a  look  of  courteous  de- 
ference, and  that  peculiar  desire  to 
please  that  we  associate  with  a  by- 
gone school  of  breeding.  He  was 
one  of  those  men,  and  very  distinc- 
tive are  they,  with  whom  even  the 
least  cautious  take  no  liberties,  nor 
venture  upon  any  familiarity.  The 
eccentricities  of  determined  men 
are  very  often  indications  of  some 
deep  spirit  beneath,  and  not,  as  in 
weaker  natures,  mere  emanations 
of  vanity  or  offsprings  of  self-indul- 
gence. 

If  he  was,  beyond  question,  a 
gentleman,  there  were  also  signs 
about  him  of  narrow  fortune  :  his 
scrupulously  white  shirt  was  not 
fine,  and  the  seams  of  his  well- 
brushed  coat  showed  both  care  and 
wear. 

He  had  joined  the  group,  who 
were  talking  of  the  coming  Derby 
when  the  Colonel  came  up.  "  I 
have  sent  for  the  man  we  want, 
Fossbrooke.  I'm  not  a  fisherman 
myself ;  but  they  tell  me  he  knows 
every  lake,  river,  and  rivulet  in  the 
island.  He  has  sat  down  to  whist, 
but  we'll  have  him  here  presently." 

"  On  no  account  ;  don't  disturb 
his  game  for  me." 

"  Here  he  comes.  Trafford,  I 
want  to  present  you  to  a  very  old 
friend  of  mine,  Sir  Brook  Foss- 
brooke— as  enthusiastic  an  angler 
as  yourself.  He  has  the  ambition 
to  hook  an  Irish  salmon.  I  don't 
suppose  any  one  can  more  readily 
help  him  on  the  road  to  it." 

The  young  man  thus  addressed 
was  a  large,  strongly,  almost  heavily 


built  young  fellow,  but  with  that 
looseness  of  limb  and  freedom  that 
showed  activity  had  not  been  sacri- 
ficed to  mere  power.  He  had  a  fine 
frank  handsome  face,  blue-eyed,  and 
bold-looking  ;  and  as  he  stood  to 
receive  the  Colonel's  orders  there 
was  in  his  air  that  blending  of  de- 
ference and  good-humoured  care- 
lessness that  made  up  his  whole 
nature. 

It  was  plain  to  see  in  him  one 
easy  to  persuade  —  impossible  to 
coerce ;  a  fellow  with  whom  the 
man  he  liked  could  do  anything, 
but  one  perfectly  unmanageable  if 
thrown  into  the  wrong  hands.  He 
was  the  second  son  of  a  very  rich 
baronet,  but  made  the  mistake  of 
believing  he  had  as  much  right  to 
extravagance  as  his  elder  brother, 
and  having  persisted  in  this  error 
during  two  years  in  the  Life  Guards, 
had  been  sent  to  do  the  double  pen- 
ance of  an  infantry  regiment  and  an 
Irish  station ;  two  inflictions  which, 
it  was  believed,  would  have  sufficed 
to  calm  down  the  ardour  of  the  most 
impassioned  spendthrift.  He  look- 
ed at  Fossbrooke  from  head  to  foot. 
It  was  not  exactly  the  stamp  of  man 
he  would  have  selected  for  compan- 
ionship, but  he  saw  at  once  that  he 
was  distinctively  a  gentleman,  and 
then  the  prospect  of  a  few  days 
away  from  regimental  duty  was  not 
to  be  despised,  and  he  quickly  re- 
plied that  both  he  and  his  tackle 
were  at  Sir  Brook's  disposal.  "  If 
we  could  run  down  to  Killaloe,  sir," 
added  he,  turning  to  the  Colonel, 
"  we  might  be  almost  sure  of  some 
sport," 

"  Which  means  that  you  want 
two  days'  leave,  Trafford." 

"  JSTo,  sir ;  four.  It  will  take  a 
day  at  least  to  get  over  there  ;  an- 
other will  be  lost  in  exploring  ;  all 
these  late  rains  have  sent  such  a 
fresh  into  the  Shannon  there's  no 
knowing  where  to  try." 

"  You  sec,  Fossbrooke,  what  a 
casuistical  companion  I've  given 
you.  I'll  wager  you  a  five-pound 
note  that  if  you  come  back  without 
a  rise  he'll  have  an  explanation  that 


1SG5.] 


>'//•  lirouk 


t.  —  J'mt  1. 


f.25 


will  perfectly  explain  it  \va.s  the 
best  tiling  could  have  happened." 

"  I  am  charmed  to  travel  in  such 
company,"  said  Sir  Jirook.  bowing. 
"  The  gentleman  has  already  estab- 
lished a  claim  to  my  respect  for 
him. " 

Trafford  bowed  too,  and  looked 
not  at  all  displeased  at  the  compli- 
ment. "Are  you  an  early  riser, 
.sir  ?"  asked  he. 

"  1  am  anything,  sir.  the  occasion 
exacts  ;  but  when  1  have  an  early 
start  before  me,  1  usually  sit  up  all 
night." 

"  .My  own  plan,  too,"  cried  Traf- 
forct.  "  And  there's  Aubrey  quite 
ready  to  join  us.  Are  you  a  whis- 
ter,  Sir  IJrook  !  " 

"At  your  service.  I  play  all 
games." 

"  Is  he  a  whister  (  ''  repeated  the 
Colonel.  "Ask  Harry  (Jrevillc, 
ask  Tom  Newenham,  what  they 
say  of  him  at  Graham's  ?  Traf- 
ford, my  boy,  you  may  possibly 
give  him  a  hint  about  grey  hackles, 
but  I'll  be  shot  if  you  do  about  the 
odd  trick." 

"If  you'll  come  over  to  my  room, 
Sir  lirook,  we'll  have  a  rubber,  and 
I'll  give  orders  to  have  my  tax-cart 
ready  for  us  by  daybreak,  said 
Trafford;  and  Fossbrooke  promising 
to  be  with  him  so  soon  as  he  had 
given  his  servant  his  orders,  they 
parted. 

"And  are  you  as  equal  to  this 
sitting  up  all  night  as  you  used  to 
be,  Fossbrooke  /"  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  I  don't  smoke  as  many  cigars 
as  formerly,  and  1  am  a  little  more 
choice  about  my  tobacco.  I  avoid 
mulled  port,  and  take  weak  brandy- 
and-water  ;  and  1  believe  in  all 
other  respects  I'm  pretty  much 
where  1  was  when  we  met  last, — 1 
think  it  was  at  C'eylon  I" 

"  1  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for 
myself.  You  are  talking  of  thirty- 
four  years  ago." 

"  My  secret  against  growing  old 
is  to  do  a  little  of  everything.  It 
keeps  the  sympathies  wider,  makes 
a  man  more  accessible  to  other 
men,  and  keeps  him  from  dwelling 


too  much  on  himself.  Hut  tell  me 
about  my  young  companion  ;  is  he 
one  of  Sir  Hugh's  family  f  " 

"  His  second  son  ;  not  unlike  to 
lie  his  eldest,  for  George  has  gone 
to  Madeira  with  very  little  prospect 
of  recovery.  This  is  a  fine  lad  ;  a 
little  wild,  a  little  careless  of  money, 
but  the  very  soul  of  honour  and 
right  mindedness.  They  sent  him 
to  me  as  a  sort  of  incurable,  but 
1  have  nothing  but  good  to  say  of 
him." 

"  Theiv's  Lreat  promise  in  a  fel- 
low when  he  can  be  a  sc.nnp  and  a 
man  of  honour.  When  dissipations 
do  not  degrade  and  exccsse-  do  not 
corrupt  a  man,  there  is  a  grand 
nature  ever  beneath." 

"Don't  tell  him  that.  Foss- 
brooke," said  the  Colonel,  laughing. 

"  1  am  not  likely  to  do  so,"  said 
he,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  1  am 
glad,  too,  to  meet  his  father's  son  ; 
we  were  at  Christ  Church  together  ; 
and  now  I  see  he  ha.s  the  family 
good-looks.  '  ],o  beau  Tratl'urd.' 
was  a  proverb  in  Paris  once.'1 

"  Do  you  ever  forget  a  man  ?" 
asked  the  Colonel,  in  some  curio- 
sity. 

"  I  believe  not.  I  forget  books, 
places,  dates  occasionally,  but  never 
people.  I  met  an  old  schoolfellow 
t'other  day  at  Dover  whom  I  never 
saw  since  we  were  boys,  lie  had 
gone  down  in  the  world,  and  was 
acting  as  one  of  the  '  commission- 
aires '  they  call  them,  who  tiike 
your  keys  to  the  Custom-house  to 
have  your  luggage  examined  ;  and 
when  he  came  to  ask  me  to  employ 
him,  I  said,  'What!  an't  you 
Jemmy  Harper  ('  'And  who  the 
devil  are  you  ( '  said  he.  '  Foss- 
brooke,' said  I.  'Not  "Wart"?' 
said  he.  That  was  my  school 
nickname,  from  a  wart  I  once  had 
on  my  chin.  '  Ay,  to  be  sure,'  said 
I,  '  Wart.'  I  wish  you  saw  the  de- 
light of  the  old  dog.  1  made  him 
dine  with  us.  Lord  Brackington 
was  with  me,  and  enjoyed  it  all 
immensely." 

"And  what  had  brought  hiiu  so 
low  i '' 


526 


Sir  J3rook  Fossbrooke. — Part  I. 


[May, 


"  He  was  cursed,  lie  said,  with  a 
strong  constitution  ;  all  the  other 
fellows  of  his  set  had  so  timed  it, 
that  when  they  had  nothing  to  live 
on  they  ceased  to  live ;  but  Jemmy 
told  us  he  never  had  such  an  appe- 
tite as  now  ;  that  he  passed  from 
fourteen  to  sixteen  hours  a-day  on 
the  pier  in  all  weathers  ;  and  as  to 
gout,  he  firmly  believed  it  all  came 
of  the  adulterated  wines  of  the 
great  wine-merchants.  British  gin 
he  maintained  to  be  the  whole- 
sornest  liquor  in  existence." 

"  I  wonder  how  fellows  bear  up 
under  such  reverses  as  that,"  said 
the  Colonel. 

"  My  astonishment  is  rather/'' 
cried  Fossbrooke,  "  how  men  can 
live  on  in  a  monotony  of  well- 
being,  getting  fatter,  older,  and 
more  unwieldy,  and  with  only  such 
experiences  of  life  as  a  well-fed 
fowl  might  have  in  a  hen-coop." 

"  I  know  that's  your  theory," 
said  the  other,  laughing. 

"  Well,  no  man  can  say  that  I 
have  not  lived  up  to  my  convictions ; 
and  for  myself,  I  can  aver  I  have 
thoroughly  enjoyed  my  intercourse 
with  the  world,  and  like  it  as  well 
to-day  as  on  the  first  morning  I 
made  my  bow  to  it." 

"  Listen  to  this,  young  gentle- 
men," said  the  Colonel,  turning 
to  his  officers,  who  now  gathered 
around  them.  u  Now  and  then  I 
hear  some  of  you  complaining  of 
being  bored  or  wearied — sick  of 
this,  tired  of  that ;  here's  my  friend, 
who  knows  the  whole  thing  better 
than  any  of  us,  and  he  declares 
that  the  world  is  the  best  of  all 
possible  worlds,  and  that,  so  far 
from  familiarity  with  it  inspiring 
disgust  with  life,  his  enjoyment  of  it 
is  as  racy  as  when  first  he  knew  it." 

"  It  is  rather  hard  to  ask  these 
gentlemen  to  take  me  as  a  guide  on 
trust,"  said  Fossbrooke ;  "  but  I 
have  known  the  fathers  of  most  of 
those  I  see  around  me,  and  could 
call  many  of  them  as  witnesses  to 
character.  Major  Aylrner,  your 
father  and  I  went  up  the  Nile  to- 
gether, when  people  talked  of  it 


as  a  journey.  Captain  Harris,  I'm 
sure  I  am  not  wrong  in  saying  you 
are  the  son  of  Godfrey  Harris  of 
Harrisburg.  Your  father  was  my 
friend  on  the  day  I  wounded  Lord 
Ecclesmore.  I  see  four  or  five 
others  too — so  like  old  companions 
that  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  I  am 
not  back  again  in  the  old  days 
when  I  was  as  young  as  themselves; 
and  yet,  I'm  not  very  certain  if  I 
would  like  to  exchange  my  present 
quiet  enjoyment  as  a  looker-on  for 
all  that  active  share  I  once  took  in 
life  and  its  pleasures." 

Something  in  the  fact  that  their 
fathers  had  lived  in  his  intimacy, 
something  in  his  manner — a  very 
courteous  manner  it  was — and  some- 
thing in  the  bold,  almost  defiant 
bearing  of  the  old  man,  vouching 
for  great  energy  and  dignity  to- 
gether, won  greatly  upon  the  young 
men,  and  they  gathered  around  him. 
He  was,  however,  summoned  away 
by  a  message  from  Trafford  to  say 
that  the  whist-party  waited  for  him, 
and  he  took  his  leave  with  a  stately 
courtesy  and  withdrew. 

"  There  goes  one  of  the  strangest 
fellows  in  Christendom,"  said  the 
Colonel,  as  the  other  left  the  room. 
"  He  has  already  gone  through  three 
fortunes ;  he  dissipated  the  first — 
speculated  and  lost  the  second — 
and  the  third  he,  I  might  say,  gave 
away  in  acts  of  benevolence  and 
kindness — leaving  himself  so  ill-off, 
that  I  actually  heard  the  other  day 
that  some  friend  had  asked  for  the 
place  of  barrack-master  at  Athlone 
for  him  ;  but  on  coming  over  to  see 
the  place,  he  found  a  poor  fellow 
with  a  wife  and  five  children  a  can- 
didate for  it ;  so  he  retired  in  his 
favour,  and  is  content,  as  you  see, 
to  go  oiit  on  the  world,  and  take 
his  chance  with  it." 

Innumerable  questions  pressed 
on  the  Colonel  to  tell  more  of  his 
strange  friend;  he  had,  however, 
little  beyond  hearsay  to  give  them. 
Of  his  own  experiences,  he  could 
only  say  that  when  first  he  met  him 
it  was  at  Ceylon,  where  he  had 
come  in  a  yacht  like  a  sloop  of  war 


18C5.1 


Sir  II rook  Fn/t&brooke. — Part  I. 


to  hunt  elephants — the  splendour 
of  his  retinue  and  magnificence  nf 
his  suite  giving  him  the  air  of  a 
royal  personage — ami  indeed  the 
gorgeous  profusion  of  his  presents 
to  the  King  and  the  chief  person- 
ages of  the  court,  went  far  to  im- 
press this  notion.  "  I  never  met 
him  since,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  till 
this  morning,  when  he  walked  into 
my  room,  dusty  and  travel  stained, 
to  say,  '  I  just  heard  your  name, 
and  thought  I'd  ask  you  to  give  me 
my  dinner  to-day.'  1  owe  him  a 
great  many— not  to  say  innumer- 
able other  attentions  ;  and  his  last 
act  on  leaving  Trincomalee  was  to 
present  me  with  an  Arab  charger, 
the  most  perfect  animal  1  ever 
mounted.  it  is  therefore  a  real 
pleasure  to  me  to  receive  him. 
He  is  a  thoroughly  tine  hearted 
fellow,  and,  with  all  his  eccentrici- 
ties, one  of  the  noblest  natures  1 
ever  met.  The  only  Haw  in  his 
frankness  is  a.s  to  his  age  ;  nobody 
has  ever  been  able  to  get  it  from 
him.  You  heard  him  talk  of  your 
fathers  —  he  might  talk  of  your 


grandfathers  ;  and  he  would  too, 
if  we  had  only  the  opportunity  to 
lead  him  on  to  it.  1  know  of  my 
own  knowledge  that  he  lived  in  the 
( 'arlton  House  coterie,  not  a  man  of 
which  except  himself  survives  ;  and 
1  have  heard  him  give  imitations 
of  Jiiirke,  .Sheridan,  Uavin  Hamil- 
ton, and  Pitt,  that  none  but  one 
who  had  seen  them  could  have  ac- 
complished. And  now  that  1  have 
told  you  all  this,  will  one  of  you 
step  over  to  T ration!  s  rooms,  and 
whisper  him  a  hint  to  make  his 
whist-points  .is  low  as  he  can  ;  and, 
what  is  even  of  more  importance, 
to  take  care  lest  any  strange  story 
Sir  Hrook  may  tell — and  he  is  full 
of  them — meet  a  sign  of  incredulity 
— still  less  provoke  any  cjuix/ing; 
the  slightest  shade  of  such  a  pro- 
vocation would  render  him  like  a 
madman." 

The  Major  volunteered  to  go  on 
this  mission,  which  indeed  any  of 
the  others  would  as  willingly  have 
accepted,  for  the  old  man  had  in- 
terested them  deeply,  and  they 
longed  to  hear  more  about  him. 


n  \rn:K  ii.— Tin:  --WANS  NF>I. 


As  the  Shannon  draws  near  Kil- 
laloe,  the  wild  character  of  the 
mountain  scenery,  the  dreary  wastes 
and  desolate  islands  which  marked 
Lough  Derg,  disappear,  and  give 
way  to  gently-sloping  lawns,  dotted 
over  with  well-grown  timber,  well- 
kept  demesnes,  spacious  country- 
houses,  and  a  country  which,  in 
general,  almost  recalls  the  wealth 
and  comfort  of  Knglaml. 

About  a  mile  above  the  town,  in 
a  little  bend  of  the  river  forming  a 
small  bay,  stands  a  small  but  pretty 
house,  with  a  skirt  of  rich  wood 
protecting  it  at  the  back,  while  the 
lawn  in  front  descends  by  an  easy 
slope  to  the  river. 

Originally  a  mere  farmhouse,  the 
taste  of  an  ingenious  owner  had 
taken  every  advantage  of  its  irre- 
gular outline,  and  converted  it  into 
something  Elizabethan  in  charac- 


ter, a  style  admirably  adapted  to 
the  site,  where  all  the  features  of 
rich-coloured  landscape  abounded, 
and  where  varied  foliage,  heathy 
mountain,  and  eddying  river,  all 
lent  themselves  to  make  up  a  scene 
of  fresh  and  joyous  beauty. 

In  the  marvellous  fertility  of  the 
soil,  too,  was  found  an  ally  to  every 
prospect  of  embellishment.  Shel- 
tered from  north  and  east  winds, 
plants  grew  here  in  the  open  air, 
which  in  less  favoured  spots  needed 
the  protection  of  the  conservatory  ; 
and  thus  in  the  neatly  shaven  lawn 
were  .seen  groups  of  blossoming 
shrubs  or  flowers  of  rare  excellence, 
and  the  camellia  and  the  salvia  and 
the  oleander  blended  with  the  tulip, 
the  moss-rose,  and  the  carnation,  to 
stud  the  grass  with  their  gorgeous 
colours. 

Over  the  front  of  the  cottage,  fur 


52S 


8ir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  I. 


[May, 


cottage  it  really  was,  a  South  Amer- 
ican creeper,  a  sort  of  acanthus, 
grew,  its  crimson  flowers  hanging 
in  rich  profusion  over  cornice  and 
architrave  ;  while  a  passion-tree  of 
great  age  covered  the  entire  porch, 
relieving  with  its  softened  tints 
the  almost  over-brilliancy  of  the 
southern  plant. 

Seen  from  the  water — and  it  came 
suddenly  into  view  on  rounding  a 
little  headland — few  could  forbear 
from  an  exclamation  of  wonder 
and  admiration  at  this  lovely  spot ; 
nor  could  all  the  pretentious  gran- 
deur of  the  rich-wooded  parks,  nor 
all  the  more  imposing  architecture 
of  the  great  houses,  detract  from 
the  marvellous  charm  of  this  sim- 
ple home. 

A  tradition  of  a  swan  carried 
away  by  some  rising  of  the  river 
from  the  Castle  of  Portumna,  and 
swept  down  the  lake  till  it  found 
refuge  in  the  little  bay,  had  given 
the  name  to  the  place,  and  for  more 
than  a  hundred  years  was  it  known 
as  the  Swan's  Nest.  The  swan, 
however,  no  longer  existed,  though 
a  little  thatched  edifice  at  the 
water-side  marked  the  spot  it  had 
once  inhabited,  and  sustained  the 
truth  of  the  legend. 

The  owner  of  the  place  was  a 
Dr  Lendrick  :  he  had  come  to  it 
about  twenty  years  before  the  time 
at  which  our  story  opens  —  a 
Avidower  with  two  children,  a  son 
and  -a  daughter.  He  was  a  perfect 
stranger  to  all  the  neighbourhood, 
though  by  name  well  known  as  the 
son  of  a  distinguished  judge,  Baron 
Lendrick  of  the  Court  of  Ex- 
chequer. 

It  was  rumoured  about,  that, 
having  displeased  his  father,  first 
by  adopting  medicine  instead  of 
law  as  his  profession,  and  subse- 
quently by  marrying  a  portionless 
girl  of  humble  family,  the  Baron 
had  ceased  to  recognise  him  in  any 
way.  Making  a  settlement  of  a  few 
hundreds  a-year  on  him,  he  resolved 
to  leave  the  bulk  of  his  fortiine  to 
a  step-son,  the  child  of  his  second 
wife,  a  Colonel  Sewell,  then  in  India. 


It  was  with  no  thought  of  prac- 
tising his  profession  that  Dr  Lend- 
rick had  settled  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  but  as  he  was  always 
ready  to  assist  the  poor  by  his  ad- 
vice and  skill,  and  as  the  reputation 
of  his  great  ability  gradually  got 
currency,  he  found  himself  con- 
strained to  yield  to  the  insistance 
of  his  neighbours,  and  consent  to 
practise  generally.  There  were 
many  things  which  made  this  course 
unpalatable  to  him.  He  was  by 
nature  shy,  timid,  and  retiring;  he 
was  fastidiously  averse  to  a  new 
acquaintanceship  ;  he  had  desired, 
besides,  to  live  estranged  from  the 
world,  devoting  himself  entirely  to 
the  education  of  his  children  ;  and 
he  neither  liked  the  forced  publicity 
he  became  exposed  to,  nor  that  life 
of  servitude  which  leaves  the  doc- 
tor at  the  hourly  mercy  of  the 
world  around  him. 

If  he  yielded,  therefore,  to  the 
professional  calls  upon  him,  he  re- 
sisted totally  all  social  claims  :  he 
went  nowhere  but  as  the  doctor. 

No  persuasion,  no  inducement, 
could  prevail  on  him  to  dine  out  ; 
no  exigency  of  time  or  season  pre- 
vent him  returning  to  his  home  at 
night.  There  were  in  his  neigh- 
bourhood one  or  two  persons  whose 
rank  might  have,  it  was  supposed, 
influenced  him  in  some  degree  to 
comply  with  their  requests — and, 
certainly,  whose  desire  for  his  so- 
ciety would  have  left  nothing  un- 
done to  secure  it ;  but  he  was  as 
obdurate  to  them  as  to  others,  and 
the  Earl  of  Drumcarran  and  Sir 
Reginal  Lacy,  of  Lacy  Manor,  were 
not  a  whit  more  successful  in  their 
blandishments  than  the  Vicar  of 
Killaloe — Old  Bob  Mills,  as  he  was 
irreverently  called — or  Lendrick's 
own  colleague,  Dr  Tobin,  who, 
while  he  respected  his  superior 
ability  and  admitted  his  know- 
ledge, secretly  hated  him  as  only 
a  rival  doctor  knows  how  to  hate 
a  brother  practitioner. 

For  the  first  time  for  many  years 
had  Dr  Lendrick  gone  up  to  Dub- 
lin. A  few  lines  from  an  old  fami- 


18C5.] 


Fottbruoke, — Part  T. 


ly  physician,  I)r  Beattie,  had,  how- 
ever called  him  up  to  town.  The 
Chief  Baron  hud  been  taken  ill  in 
Court  and  was  conveyed  home  in 
a  .state  of  insensibility.  It  was 
declared  that  he  had  rallied  and 
passed  a  favourable  night  ;  but  as 
lie  was  a  man  of  very  advanced 
age,  at  no  time  .strong,  and  ever 
unsparing  of  himself  in  the  ardu- 
ous labours  of  his  otlice,  grave 
doubts  were  felt  that  he  would 
ever  again  resume  his  seat  on  the 
Bunch.  l)r  Beattie  well  knew  the 
long  estrangement  that  had  separ- 
ated the  father  from  the  son  ;  and 
although,  perhaps,  the  most  inti- 
mate friend  the  Judge  had  in  the 
world,  he  never  had  dared  to  in- 
terpose a  word  or  drop  a  hint  as 
to  the  advisability  of  reconcilia- 
tion. 

.Sir  William  Lendrick  w;us  indeed 
a  man  whom  no  amount  of  inti- 
macy could  render  his  friends  fa- 
miliar with.  He  was  positively 
charming  to  mere  acquaintanceship 
— his  manner  was  a  happy  blend- 
ing of  deference  with  a  most  po- 
lished wit.  i'ull  of  bygone  exper- 
iences and  reminiscences  of  inter- 
esting people  and  events,  he  never 
overlaid  conversation  by  their  men- 
tion, but  made  them  merely  serve 
to  illustrate  the  present,  either  by 
contrast  or  resemblance.  All  this 
to  the  world  and  society  was  lie  ; 
to  the  inmates  of  his  house  he  was 
a  perfect  terror  !  It  was  said  his 
first  wife  had  died  of  a  broken 
heart  ;  his  second,  with  a  spirit 
fierce  and  combative  as  his  own, 
had  quarrelled  with  him  so  often, 
so  seriously,  and  so  hopelessly,  that 
for  the  last  fifteen  years  of  life  they 
had  occupied  separate  houses,  and 
only  met  as  acquaintances,  accept- 
ing and  sending  invitations  to  each 
other,  and  outwardly  observing  all 
the  usages  of  a  refined  courtesy. 

This  was  the  man  of  whom  Dr 
Bcattio  wrote :  ''  I  cannot  presume 
to  say  that  he  is  more  favourably 
disposed  towards  you  than  he  has 
shown  himself  for  years,  but  I 
would  .strenuously  advise  your 


being  here,  and  Milliciently  near, 
so  that  if  a  happier  disposition 
should  occur,  or  an  opportunity 
arise  to  bring  you  once  more 
together,  the  fortunate  moment 
should  not  be  lost.  Come  up,  then, 
at  once — come  to  my  house,  where 
your  room  is  ready  for  you,  and 
where  you  will  neither  be  molest- 
ed by  visitors  nor  interfered  with. 
Manage  too,  if  you  can,  to  remain 
here  for  some  days." 

It  is  no  small  tribute  to  th«-  char- 
acter of  filial  atl'ection  when  one 
can  say,  and  say  truthfully,  that 
scarcely  any  severity  on  a  parent's 
part  effaces  the  love  that  was  im- 
bibed in  infancy,  and  that  struck 
root  in  the  heart  before  it  co-.ild 
know  what  unkindncss  was  !  Over 
and  over  again  in  life  have  1  wit- 
nessed this  deep  devotion.  Over 
and  over  again  have  1  seen  a 
clinging  atl'ection  to  a  memory 
which  nothing  short  of  a  hallowed 
tie  could  have  made  so  dear  —  a 
memory  that  retained  whatever 
could  comfort  and  sustain,  and 
held  nothing  that  recalled  shame 
or  sorrow. 

l)r  Lendrick  went  up  to  town 
full  of  such  emotions.  All  the 
wrong — it  was  heavy  wrong  too — 
he  had  suffered  was  forgotten  ;  all 
the  injustice  wiped  out.  He  only 
asked  to  be  permitted  to  see  his 
father  —  to  nurse  and  watch  by 
him.  There  was  no  thought  for 
himself.  By  reconciliation  he  never 
meant  restoration  to  his  place  as 
heir.  Forgiveness  and  love  he 
a.sked  for  —  to  be  taken  back  to 
the  heart  so  long  closed  against 
him,  to  hear  himself  called  Tom  by 
that  voice  he  knew  so  well,  and 
whose  accents  sounded  through  his 
dreams. 

That  he  was  not  without  a  hope 
of  such  happiness,  might  be  ga- 
thered from  one  circumstance.  He 
had  taken  up  with  him  two  minia- 
tures of  his  boy  and  girl  to  show 
"  (Jrandfather  "  if  good  fortune 
should  ever  otter  a  fitting  mo- 
ment. 

The    first  words   which   greeted 


530 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  I. 


[May, 


him  on  reaching  his  friend's  house 
were  :  "  Better.  A  tolerably  tran- 
quil night.  He  can  move  his 
hand.  The  attack  was  paralysis, 
and  his  speech  is  also  improved.'' 

"  And  his  mind  1  how  is  his 
mind?" 

"  Clear  as  ever  it  was — intensely 
eager  to  hear  what  is  said  about 
his  illness,  and  insatiable  as  to 
the  newspaper  versions  of  the  at- 
tack." 

"  Does  he  speak  1  Has  he  spoken 
of — his  family,  at  all  ? "  said  he, 
falteringly. 

"  Only  of  Lady  Lendrick.  He 
desired  to  see  her.  He  dictated  a 
note  to  me,  in  terms  of  very  finish- 
ed courtesy,  asking  her  if,  without 
incurring  inconvenience,  she  would 
favour  him  with  an  early  call.  The 
whole  thing  was  so  like  himself 
that  I  saw  at  once  he  was  getting 
better." 

"  And  so  you  think  him  better1?" 
asked  Lendrick,  eagerly. 

"Better!  Yes — but  not  out  of 
danger.  I  fear  as  much  from  his 
irritability  as  his  malady.  He  will 
insist  on  seeing  the  newspapers, 
and  occasionally  his  eye  falls  on 
some  paragraph  that  wounds  him. 
It  was  but  yesterday  that  he  read 
a  sort  of  querulous  regret  from 
some  writer  that  '  the  learned 
judge  had  not  retired  some  years 
ago,  and  before  that  failing  health, 
acting  on  a  very  irascible  temper- 
ament, had  rendered  him  a  terror 
alike  to  the  bar  and  the  suitors.' 
That  unfortunate  paragraph  cost 
twenty  leeches  and  ice  to  his  temples 
for  eight  hours  after." 

"  Cannot  these  things  be  kept 
from  him  ?  Surely  your  authority 
ought  to  be  equal  to  this  !  " 

"  Were  I  to  attempt  it  he  would 
refuse  to  see  me.  In  fact,  any  util- 
ity I  can  contribute  depends  on 
my  apparent  submission  to  him  in 
everything.  Almost  his  first  ques- 
tion to  me  every  morning  is, '  Well, 
sir,  who  is  to  be  my  successor1?' 
Of  course  I  say  that  we  all  look 
with  a  sanguine  hope  to  see  him 
soon  back  in  his  court  again.  When 


I  said  this  yesterday,  he  replied, 
'  I  will  sit  on  Wednesday,  sir,  to 
hear  appeals;  there  will  be  little 
occasion  for  me  to  speak,  and  I 
trust  another  day  or  two  will  see 
the  last  of  this  difficulty  of  utter- 
ance. Pemberton,  I  know,  is  look- 
ing to  the  Attorney -Generalship, 
and  George  Haire  thinks  he  may 
order  his  ermine.  Tell  them,  how- 
ever, from  me,  that  the  Chief 
Baron  intends  to  preside  in  his 
court  for  many  a  year  to  come  ; 
that  the  intellect,  such  as  it  is, 
with  which  Providence  endowed 
him,  is  still  unchanged  and  un- 
clouded.' This  is  his  language — 
this  his  tone ;  and  you  may  know 
how  such  a  spirit  jars  with  all  our 
endeavours  to  promote  rest  and 
tranquillity." 

Lendrick  walked  moodily  up 
and  down  the  room,  his  head  sunk, 
and  his  eyes  downcast.  "  Never 
to  speak  of  me — never  ask  to  see 
me,"  muttered  he,  in  a  voice  of  in- 
tense sadness. 

"  I  half  suspected  at  one  time 
he  was  about  to  do  so,  and  indeed 
he  said,  '  If  this  attack  should 
baffle  you,  Beattie,  you  must  not 
omit  to  give  timely  warning.  There 
are  two  or  three  things  to  be 
thought  of.'  When  I  came  away 
on  that  morning,  I  sat  down  and 
wrote  to  you  to  come  up  here." 

A  servant  entered  at  this  mo- 
ment and  presented  a  note  to  the 
Doctor,  who  read  it  hastily  and 
handed  it  to  Lendrick.  It  ran 
thus  : — 

"  DEAR  DR  BEATTIE,— The  Chief 
Baron  has  had  an  unfavourable 
turn,  partly  brought  on  by  excite- 
ment. Lose  no  time  in  coming 
here ;  and  believe  me,  yours  sincere- 
ly, CONSTANTIA  LENDRICK." 

"  They've  had  a  quarrel ;  I  knew 
they  would.  I  did  my  best  to  pre- 
vent their  meeting;  but  I  saw  he 
would  not  go  out  of  the  world 
without  a  scene.  As  he  said  last 
night,  '  I  mean  her  to  hear  my 
"  charge."  She  must  listen  to  my 
charge,  Beattie ; '  and  I'd  not  be 


1MJ5.] 


/>'»/•  1  trunk  Fotsbrooke. — I'ait  I. 


astonished  if  this    charge  were  to 
prove  liis  own  sentence." 

"(Jo  to  him  at  once,  Beattie;  Mini 
if  it  he  at  all  possible,  if  you  can 
compass  it  in  any  way,  let  me  see 


you  ;  who  knows  but  their  bright 
faces  may  plead  better  than  words 
for  us  !"  and  thus  saying  he  gave  him 
the  miniatures  ;  and  overcome  with 
emotion  he  could  not  control,  turn 


him  once  again.     Take  these  with      ed  away  and  left  the  room. 


CIIAITI:I:  in.— A   MKKK  n.r  I-ATIKM. 


As  Dr  Beattie  drove  oil'  with 
all  speed  to  the  Chief  Baron's  house, 
which  lay  about  three  miles  from 
the  city,  he  had  time  to  ponder  as 
he  went  over  his  late  interview. 
"  Tom  Lendrick,"  as  he  still  called 
him  to  himself,  he  had  known  as  a 
boy,  and  ever  liked  him.  He  had 
been  a  patient,  studious,  gentle-tem- 
pered lad,  desirous  to  acquire  know- 
ledge, without  any  oi  that  ambition 
that  wants  to  make  the  knowledge 
marketable.  To  have  gained  a  pro- 
fessorship would  have  appeared  to 
have  been  the  very  summit  of  his 
ambition,  and  this  rather  as  a  quiet 
retreat  to  pursue  his  studies  further 
than  as  a  sphere  wherein  to  display 
his  own  gifts.  Anything  more  un- 
like that  bustling,  energetic,  daring 
spirit,  his  father,  would  be  hard  to 
conceive.  Throughout  his  whole 
career  at  the  bar,  and  in  Parliament, 
men  were  never  quite  sure  what  that 
brilliant  speaker  and  most  indiscreet 
talker  would  do  next.  Men  secured 
his  advocacy  with  a  half  misgiving 
whether  they  were  doing  the  very 
best  or  the  very  worst  for  success. 
Give  him  difficulties  to  deal  with, 
and  he  was  a  giant  ;  let  all  go 
smoothly  and  well,  and  he  would 
hunt  up  some  crotchet — some  obso- 
lete usage — a  doubtful  point,  that 
in  its  discussion  very  frequently  led 
to  the  damage  of  his  client's  cause, 
and  the  defeat  of  his  suit. 

Display  was  ever  more  to  him 
than  victory.  Let  him  have  a  great 
arena  to  exhibit  in,  and  he  was 
proof  against  all  the  difficulties  and 
all  the  casualties  of  the  conflict. 
Never  had  such  a  father  a  son  less 
the  inheritor  of  his  temperament  and 
nature  ;  and  this  same  disappoint- 
ment rankling  on  through  life — a 


disappointment  that  embittered  all 
intercourse,  and  wuit  so  far  as  to 
make  him  disparage  the  high  abil- 
ities of  his  MOM —  created  a  gulf 
between  them  that  Ileattie  knew 
could  never  be  bridged  over.  He 
doubted,  too,  whether  as  a  doctor 
he  could  conscientiously  introduce  a 
theme  so  likely  to  irritate  and  excite. 
As  he  pondered  he  opened  the  two 
miniatures, and  looked  at  them.  The 
young  man  was  a  line  manly, daring- 
looking  fellow,  with  a  determined 
bro\v  and  a  resolute  mouth,  that  re- 
called his  grandfather's  face  :  he  was 
evidently  well  grown,  and  >trong, 
and  looked  one  that,  thrown  where 
he  might  be  in  life,  would  Vie  likely 
to  assert  his  own. 

The  girl,  wonderfully  like  him  in 
feature,  had  a  character  of  subdued 
humour  in  her  eye.  and  a  half-hid 
laughter  in  the  mouth,  which  the 
artist  had  caught  up  with  infinite 
skill,  that  took  away  all  the  severity 
of  the  face,  and  softened  its  traits  to 
a  most  attractive  beauty.  Through 
her  rich  brown  hair  there  was  a 
sort  of  golden  rrjlrt  that  imparted 
great  brilliancy  to  the  expression 
of  the  head,  and  her  large  eyes  of 
grey  blue  were  the  image  of  candour 
and  softness,  till  her  laugh  pave 
them  a  sparkle  of  drollery  whose 
sympathy  there  was  no  resisting. 
She,  too,  was  tall  and  beautifully 
formed,  with  that  slimness  of  early 
youth  that  only  escapes  being  angu- 
lar, but  has  in  it  the  charm  of  sup- 
pleness, that  lends  grace  to  every 
action  and  every  gesture. 

"  I  wish  he  could  see  the  ori- 
ginals," muttered  Beattie.  "  If  the 
old  man,  with  his  love  of  beauty, 
but  saw  that  girl,  it  would  be  worth 
all  the  arguments  in  Christendom. 


532 


Sir  Brook  Fossbroolce. — Part  T. 


[May, 


Is  it  too  late  for  this  ?  Have  we 
time  for  the  experiment  I" 

Thus  thinking  lie  drove  along  the 
well-wooded  approach,  and  gained 
the  large  ground-space  before  the 
door,  whence  a  carriage  was  about 
to  drive  away.  "  Oh,  Doctor/'  cried 
a  voice,  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  come; 
they  are  most  impatient  for  you."  It 
was  the  Solicitor-General,  Mr  Pem- 
berton,  who  now  came  up  to  the 
window  of  Beattie's  carriage. 

"  He  has  become  quite  unmanage- 
able, will  not  admit  a  word  of  coun- 
sel or  advice,  resists  all  interference, 
and  insists  on  going  out  for  a  drive." 

''I  see  him  at  the  window,"  said 
Beattie  ;  "he  is  beckoning  to  me; 
good-bye,"  and  he  passed  on  and 
entered  the  house. 

In  the  chief  drawing-room,  in  a 
deep  recess  of  a  window,  sat  the 
Chief  Baron,  dressed  as  if  to  go 
out,  with  an  overcoat  and  even  his 
gloves  on.  "  Come  and  drive  with 
me,  Beattie,"  cried  he,  in  a  feeble 
but  harsh  voice.  "  If  I  take  my  man 
Leonard  they'll  say  it  was  a  keeper. 
You  know  that  the  '  Post '  has  it  this 
morning  th  at  my  mind  it  is  which  has 
given  way.  They  say  they've  seen 
me  breaking  for  years  back.  Good 
heavens  !  can  it  be  possible,  think 
you,  that  the  mites  in  a  cheese  spe- 
culate over  the  nature  of  the  man 
that  eats  them  1  You  stopped  to 
talk  with  Pemberton,  I  saw ;  what 
did  he  say  to  you  '?  " 

"  Nothing  particular  —  a  mere 
greeting,  I  think." 

"  No,  sir,  it  was  not ;  he  was  ask- 
ing you  how  many  hours  there  lay 
between  him  and  the  Attorney- 
Generalship.  They've  divided  the 
carcass  already.  The  lion  has  to 
assist  at  his  autopsy — rather  hard, 
isn't  it  ?  How  it  embitters  death 
to  think  of  the  fellows  who  are  to 
replace  us  ! " 

"  Let  me  feel  your  pulse." 

"Don't  trust  it,  Beattie;  that 
little  dialogue  of  yours  on  the  grass 
plot  has  sent  it  up  thirty  beats ; 
how  many  is  it  1 " 

"  Rapid — very  rapid  ;  you  need 
rest — tran  quill  ity . ' ' 


•'  And  you  can't  give  me  either, 
sir  ;  neither  you  nor  your  craft  to- 
gether. You  are  the  Augurs  of 
modern  civilisation,  and  we  cling  to 
your  predictions  just  as  our  fore- 
fathers did,  though  we  never  believe 
you." 

"This  is  not  flattery,' '  said  Beattie, 
with  a  slight  smile. 

The  old  man  closed  his  eyes  and 
passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his 
forehead.  "  I  suppose  I  was  dream- 
ing, Beattie,  just  before  you  came 
up ;  but  I  thought  I  saw  them  all 
in  the  Hall,  talking  and  laughing 
over  my  death.  Burrowes  was  tell- 
ing how  old  I  must  be,  because  I 
moved  the  amendment  to  Flood  in 
the  Irish  Parliament  in  '97 ;  and 
Eames  mentioned  that  I  was  Cur- 
ran's  junior  in  the  great  Bagenal 
record ;  and  old  Tysdal  set  them 
all  in  a  roar  by  saying  lie  had  a 
vision  of  me  standing  at  the  gate 
of  heaven,  and  instead  of  going  in, 
as  St  Peter  invited  me,  stoutly  re- 
fusing, and  declaring  I  would  move 
for  a  new  trial  !  How  like  the 
rascals  !" 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  be  better 
in  your  own  room  ?  there's  too  much 
light  and  glare  here." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ]" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  You  need 
quiet,  and  the  absence  of  all  that 
stimulates  the  action  of  the  brain." 

"  And  what  do  you,  sir — what 
does  any  one,  know  about  the  brain's 
operations  1  You  doctors  have  in- 
vented a  sort  of  conventional  cere- 
bral organ  which,  like  lunar  caustic, 
is  decomposed  by  light ;  and  in  your 
vulgar  materialism  you  would  make 
out  that  what  affects  your  brain 
must  act  alike  upon  mine.  I  tell 
you,  sir,  it  is  darkness — obscurity, 
physical  or  moral,  it  matters  not 
which — that  irritates  me,  just  as  I 
feel  provoked  this  moment  by  this 
muddling  talk  of  yours  about  brain." 

"  And  yet  I'm  talking  about  what 
my  daily  life  and  habits  suggest 
some  knowledge  of,"  said  Beattie, 
mildly. 

"  So  you  are,  sir,  and  the  pre- 
sumption is  all  on  my  side.  If 


1865.] 


>'//•  /*/•••"/,  I-'ossljror>L>'. —  /'<tr(  I. 


you'll  kindly  It-nil  me  your  arm  I'll 
go  kick  to  my  room." 

Step  by  .stop,  slowly  and  pain- 
fully, he  returned  to  his  chamber, 
not  uttering  a  word  as  he  went. 

"Yes;  this  is  better,  Doctor; 
this  half  light  soothes  :  it  is  much 
pleasanter.  One  more  kindness.  I 
wrote  to  Lady  Lendrick  this  morn- 
ing to  come  up  here.  I  suppose 
my  combative  spirit  was  high  in 
me,  and  1  wanted  a  round  with 
the  gloves  —  or,  indeed,  without 
them  —  at  all  events,  1  sent  the 
challenge.  15ut  //«//•,  Doctor,  I 
have  to  own  myself  a  craven.  I 
dread  the  visit.  I  'oiild  you  manage 
to  interpose  (  could  you  suggest 
that  it  is  by  your  order  1  am  not 
permitted  to  receive  her  ?  could 
you  hint,"  here  he  smiled  half- 
maliciously,  "  that  you  do  not  think 
the  time  i.s  come  for  anodynes — eh, 
Doctor  /  ' 

"  Leave  it  to  me.  1  will  speak 
to  Lady  Lendrick.'' 

"  There's  another  thing ;  not  that 
it  much  matters  ;  but  it  might  per- 
haps be  as  well  to  send  a  few  lines 
to  the  morning  papers,  to  say  the 
accounts  of  the  Chief  Karon  are 
more  favourable  to-day  ;  lie  passed 
a  tranquil  night,  and  so  on.  Pem- 
berton  won't  like  it;  nor  Hayes; 
but  it  will  calm  the  fears  of  a  very 
attached  friend,  who  calls  here  twice 
daily.  You'd  never  guess  him. 
He  is  the  agent  of  the  (Jlobe  office, 
where  1  am  insured.  Ah,  Doctor, 
it  wa,s  a  bright  thought  of  Philan- 
thropy to  establish  an  industrial 
enterprise  that  is  bound,  under 
heavy  recognisances,  to  be  grieved 
at  our  death.'' 

"  1  must  not  make  you  talk,  Sir 
William.  1  must  not  encourage 
you  to  exert  yourself.  I'll  say 
good-bye,  and  look  in  upon  you 
this  afternoon.  ' 

"  Am  1  to  have  a  book  (  Well  : 
be  it  so.  I'll  sit  and  muse  over  the 
Attorney-General  and  his  hopes." 

"  1  have  got  two  very  interesting 
miniatures  here.  I'll  leave  them 
with  you  ;  you  might  like  to  look 
at  them." 


'•  Miniatures!  whose  portraits  are 
they}"  asked  the  other,  hastily,  as 
he  almost  snatched  them  from  his 
hand.  "  What  a  miserable  juggler ; 
what  a  stale  trick  this!''  .-aid  he. 
as  he  opened  the  case  which  con- 
tained the  young  man's  picture. 
"  So,  sir;  you  lend  yourself  to  .such 
attempts  as  these.'' 

'•  1  don't  understand  you,''  said 
15e,ittie,  indignantly. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  you  understand  me 
perfectly.  You  would  do,  by  a 
piece  of  legerdemain,  what  you 
have  not  the  courage  to  attempt 
openly.  These  are  Tom  Lendrick's 
children. 

"  They  are." 

"  And  this  simpering  young  lady 
is  her  mother's  image:  pretty, pretty, 
no  doubt  ;  and  a  little — a  shade, 
perhaps — of  r.<.y//V;/A-r<>  above  what 
her  mother  possessed.  She  was 
the  silliest  woman  that  ever  turned 
a  fool's  head.  She  had  the  in- 
eti'able  folly,  sir,  to  believe  she 
could  persuade  me  to  forgive  my 
son  for  having  married  her  :  and 
when  I  handed  her  to  a  seat — for 
.she  was  at  my  knees — she  fainted.'' 

"  Well.  It  is  time  to  forgive 
him  now.  As  for  her,  she  is  be- 
yond forgiveness,  or  favour  either." 
said  lieattie,  with  more  energy  than 
before. 

"  There  is  no  such  a  trial  to  a 
man  in  a  high  calling  as  the  temp- 
tation it  offers  him  to  step  beyond 
it.  Take  care,  sir,  that  with  all 
your  acknowledged  ability,  this 
temptation  be  not  too  much  for 
you."  The  tone  and  manner  in 
which  the  old  judge  delivered  these 
words  recalled  the  justice-seat.  "  It 
is  an  honour  to  me  to  have  you  as 
my  doctor,  sir.  It  would  be  to  dis- 
parage my  own  intelligence  to  ac- 
cept you  as  my  confessor." 

"  A  doctor  but  discharges  half 
his  trust  when  he  fails  to  warn  his 
patient  against  the  effects  of  irrita- 
bility." 

"  The  man  who  would  presume 
to  minister  to  my  temper  or  to  my 
nature  should  be  no  longer  medico 
of  mine.  With  what  intention. 


534 


Sir  Brook  Fossbroolce. — Part  I. 


[May, 


sir,  did  you  bring  me  these  minia- 
tures?" 

"  That  you  might  see  two  bright 
and  beautiful  faces,  whose  owners 
are  bound  to  you  by  the  strongest 
ties  of  blood." 

"  Do  you  know,  sir — have  you 
ever  heard — how  their  father,  by 
his  wilf ulness,  by  his  folly,  by  his 
heartless  denial  of  my  right  to  in- 
fluence him,  ruined  the  fortune 
that  cost  my  life  of  struggle  and 
labour  to  create?" 

The  Doctor  shook  his  head,  and 
the  other  continued.  "  Then  I 
will  tell  it  to  you,  sir.  It  is  more 
than  seventeen  years  to-day  when 
the  then  Viceroy  here  sent  for  me 
and  said,  'Baron  Lendrick,  there 
is  no  man,  after  Plunkett,  to  whom 
we  owe  more  than  to  yourself/  I 
bowed,  and  said,  '  I  do  not  accept 
the  qualification,  my  Lord,  even 
in  favour  of  the  distinguished 
Chancellor.  I  will  not  believe  my- 
self second  to  any.'  I  need  not 
relate  what  ensued;  the  discussion 
was  a  long  one ;  it  was  also  a  warm 
one;  but  he  came  back  at  last  to 
the  object  of  the  interview,  which 
was  to  say  that  the  Prime  Minister 
was  willing  to  recommend  my  name 
to  her  Majesty  for  the  Peerage — an 
honour,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  the 
public  would  see  conferred  upon 
me  with  approval ;  and  I  refused  ! 
Yes,  sir,  I  refused  what  for  thirty- 
odd  years  had  formed  the  pride  and 
the  prize  of  my  existence  !  I  re- 
fused it,  because  I  would  not  that 
her  Majesty's  favour  should  descend 


to  one  so  unworthy  of  it  as  this 
fellow,  or  that  his  low-born  children 
should  inherit  a  high  name  of  my 
procuring.  I  refused,  sir,  and  I 
told  the  noble  Marquess  my  reasons. 
He  tried — pretty  much  as  you  have 
tried — to  bring  me  to  a  more  for- 
giving spirit;  but  I  stopped  him 
by  saying,  '  When  I  hear  that  your 
Excellency  has  invited  to  your 
table  the  scurrilous  author  of  the 
lampoon  against  you  in  the  '  Satir- 
ist,' I  will  begin  to  listen  to  the 
claims  that  may  be  urged  on  the 
score  of  forgiveness,  not  till  then. '" 

"  I  am  wrong — very  wrong — to 
let  you  talk  on  themes  like  this; 
we  must  keep  them  for  calmer  mo- 
ments." Beattie  laid  his  finger  on 
the  pulse  as  he  spoke,  and  counted 
the  beats  by  his  watch. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  says  Death?  will 
he  consent  to  a  '  nolle  prosequi/  or 
must  the  cause  go  on  1 " 

"  You  are  not  worse ;  and  even 
that,  after  all  this  excitement,  is 
something.  Good-bye  now  till  even- 
ing. No  books — no  newspapers, 
remember.  Doze ;  dream ;  do  any- 
thing but  excite  yourself. 

"You  are  cruel,  sir;  you  cut  off 
all  my  enjoyments  together.  You 
deny  me  the  resources  of  reading, 
and  you  deny  me  the  solace  of  my 
wife's  society/'  The  cutting  sar- 
casm of  the  last  words  was  shown 
in  the  spiteful  sparkle  of  his  eye, 
and  the  insolent  curl  of  his  mouth ; 
and  as  the  Doctor  retired,  the  mem- 
ory of  that  wicked  look  haunted 
him  throughout  the  day. 


CHAPTER   IV.  —  HOME   DIPLOMACIES 


"  Well,  it's  done  now,  Lucy,  and 
it  can't  be  helped,"  said  young 
Lendrick  to  his  sister,  as,  with  an 
unlighted  cigar  between  his  lips, 
and  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
shooting -jacket,  he  walked  impa- 
tiently up  and  down  the  drawing- 
room.  "  I'm  sure  if  I  only  suspected 
you  were  so  strongly  against  it,  I'd 
not  have  done  it." 


"  My  dear  George,  I'm  only 
against  it  because  I  think  papa 
would  be  so.  You  know  we  never 
see  any  one  here  when  he  is  at 
home,  and  why  should  we  now,  be- 
cause he  is  absent?" 

"  Just  for  that  reason.  It's  our 
only  chance,  girl." 

"Oh,  George!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  that  exactly, 


•S'i 


l-  Fussl/rookf.  —  /'art  /. 


but  I  said  it  to  startle  yon.  \o, 
Lucy;  l>ut  you  sec  here's  how  the 
muttrr  staiuls.  I  have  lieen  three 
whole  days  in  their  company.  On 
Tuesday  the  young  fellow  gave  me 
that  hook  of  flies  and  the  top  joint 
of  my  rod.  On  yesterday  1  lunched 
with  them.  To-day  they  pressed 
me  so  hard  to  dine  with  them  that 
1  felt  almost  rude  in  persisting  to 
refuse  ;  and  it  was  as  much  to  avoid 
the  awkwardness  of  the  situation 
as  anything  else  that  1  asked  them 
up  to  tea  this  evening." 

"  I'm  sure,  (Jeorge,  if  it  would 
give  you  any  pleasure  — 

"  ( )f  course  it  gives  me  pleasure,''' 
broke  he  in  ;  "  1  don't  suspect  that 
fellows  of  my  age  like  to  live  like 
hermits.  And  whom  do  I  ever  see 
down  here?  Old  Mills  and  old 
Tobin,  and  Larry  Day,  the  dog- 
breaker.  I  ask  his  pardon  for  put- 
ting him  last,  for  he  is  the  best  of 
the  three.  Girls  can  stand  this  sort 
of  nun's  life,  but  I'll  be  hanged  if 
it  will  do  for  us." 

"And  then,  (Jeorge.'7  resumed 
she  in  the  same  tone  ;  "  remember 
they  are  both  perfect  strangers. 
I  doubt  if  you  even  know  their 
names.'' 

"  That  I  do — the  old  fellow  is  Sir 
P.rook  something  or  other.  It's  not 
Fogey,  but  it  begins  like  it  :  and 
the  other  is  called  Traft'ord — Lionel, 
1  think,  is  his  Christian  name.  A 
glorious  fellow  too  ;  was  in  the 
!)th  Lancers  and  in  the  Ulues. 
and  is  now  here  with  the  fifty — th 
because  he  went  it  too  hard  in  the 
cavalry.  He  had  a  horse  for  the 
Derby  two  years  ago."  The  tone  of 
proud  triumph  in  which  he  made 
this  announcement  seemed  to  say. 
Now,  all  discussion  about  him  may 
cease.  "  Not  but,"  added  he,  after  a 
pause,  "  you  might  like  the  old  fel- 
low best;  he  has  such  a  world  of 
stories,  and  he  draws  so  beautifully. 
The  whole  time  we  were  in  the  boat 
he  was  sketching  something;  and 
he  has  a  book  full  of  odds  and  ends; 
a  tea-party  in  China,  quail-shooting 
in  Java,  a  wedding  in  C'andia — 1 


••an  t  tell  what  more;  but  he's  to 
bring  them  up  here  with  him." 

"  1  was  thinking,  (}eorge,  th  it  it 
might  be  as  well  if  you'd  go  down 
and  ;tsk  Dr  Mills  to  come  to  tea. 
It  would  take  off  some  of  the 
awkwardness  of  our  receiving  two 
strangers." 

"  Mut  they're  not  strangers,  Lucy; 
not  a  bit  of  it.  I  call  him  T  ration!, 
and  he  calls  me  Lendrick  ;  and  the 
old  cove  is  tin:  most  familiar  old 
fellow  1  ever  met." 

"  Have  you  said  anything  to 
Nicholas  yet  .'  "  a.-ked  .-lie,  in  some 
eagerness. 

"  No.  and  that's  exactly  what  I 
want  you  to  do  for  me.  That  old 
bear  bullies  us  all  so,  that  I  can't 
trust  myself  to  speak  to  him." 

"Well,  don't  go  away,  and  I'll 
send  fur  him  now,"  and  she  rang 
the  bell  as  she  spoke.  A  smart- 
looking  lad  answered  the  summons, 
to  whom  she  said,  "  Tell  Nicholas 
I  want  him." 

"  Take  my  advice,  Lucy,  and 
m.Tely  say  there  are  two  gentlemen 
coming  to  tea  this  evening  ;  don't 
let  the  old  villain  think  you  are 
consulting  him  about  it,  or  asking 
his  advice." 

"  I  must  do  it  my  own  way," 
said  she;  "only  d»n't  interrupt. 
Don't  meddle,  mind  that,  CJeorge." 
The  door  opened,  and  a  very  short, 
thick  set  old  man,  dressed  in  a 
black  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  drab 
breeches  and  white  stockings,  with 
large  shoe  buckles  in  his  shoes,  en- 
tered. His  face  was  large  and  red. 
the  mouth  immensely  wide,  and  the 
ejes  far  set  from  each  other,  his 
low  forehead  being  shadowed  by  a 
wig  of  coarse  red  hair,  which  moved 
when  he  spoke,  and  seemed  almost 
to  possess  a  sort  of  independent 
vitality. 

He  had  been  reading  when  he 
was  summoned,  and  his  spectacles 
had  been  pushed  up  over  his  fore- 
head, while  he  still  held  the  county 
paper  in  his  hand — a  sort  of  proud 
protest  against  being  disturbed. 

"  You  heard  that  Miss  Lucy  sent 


536 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  /. 


[May,. 


for  you  ? "  said  George  Lendrick, 
haughtily,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
newspaper. 

"  1  did,"  was  the  curt  answer, 
as  the  old  fellow,  with  a  nervous 
shake  of  the  head,  seemed  to  an- 
nounce that  he  was  ready  for 
battle. 

"  What  I  wanted,  Nicholas,  was 
this,"  interposed  the  girl,  in  a  voice 
of  very  winning  sweetness  ;  "  Mr 
George  has  invited  two  gentlemen 
this  evening  to  tea." 

"  To  tay  !  "  cried  Nicholas,  as 
if  the  fact  staggered  all  credulity. 

"  Yes,  to  tea  ;  and  I  was  think- 
ing if  you  would  go  down  to  the 
town  and  get  some  biscuits,  or  a 
sponge-cake  perhaps — whatever,  in- 
deed, you  thought  best ;  and  also 
beg  Dr  Mills  to  step  in,  saying  that 
as  papa  was  away " 

"  That  you  was  going  to  give  a 
ball  ? " 

"  No.  Not  exactly  that,  Nicho- 
las," said  she,  smiling  ;  "  but  that 
two  friends  of  my  brother's " 

"  And  where  did  he  meet  his 
friends?"  cried  he,  with  a  marked 
emphasis  on  the  friends.  "  Two 
strangers.  God  knows  who  or  what! 
Poachers  as  like  as  anything  else. 
The  ould  one  might  be  worse." 

"  Enough  of  this,"  said  George, 
sternly.  "Are  you  the  master  here  1 
Go  off,  sir,  and  do  what  Miss  Lucy 
has  ordered  you." 

"  I  will  not — the  devil  a  step," 
said  the  old  man,  who  now  thrust 
the  paper  into  a  capacious  pocket, 
and  struck  each  hand  on  a  hip. 
"  Is  it  when  the  '  Jidge  '  is  dying, 
when  the  newspapers  has  a  column 
of  the  names  that's  calling  to  ask 
after  him,  you're  to  be  carousing 
and  feastin'  here1?" 

"  Dear  Nicholas,  there's  no  ques- 
tion of  feasting.  It  is  simply  a  cup 
of  tea  we  mean  to  give  ;  surely 
there's  no  carousing  in  that.  And 
as  to  grandpapa,  papa  says  that  he 
was  certainly  better  yesterday,  and 
Dr  Beattie  has  hopes  now." 

"  /  haven't  then,  and  I  know  him 
better  than  Dr  Beattie." 


"  What  a  pity  they  haven't  sent 
for  you  for  the  consultation,"  said 
George,  ironically. 

"  And  look  here,  Nicholas,"  said 
Lucy,  drawing  the  old  man  towards 
the  door  of  a  small  room  that  led 
off  the  drawing-room.  "  We  could 
have  tea  here  ;  it  will  look  less 
formal,  and  give  less  trouble  ;  and 
Meares  could  wait — he  does  it  very 
well  ;  and  you  needn't  be  put  out 
at  all."  These  last  words  fell  to  a 
whisper  ;  but  he  was  beyond  re- 
serve, beyond  flattery.  The  last 
speech  of  her  brother  still  rankled 
in  his  memory,  and  all  that  fell 
upon  his  ear  since  that  fell  un- 
heeded. 

"  I  was  with  your  grandfather, 
Master  George,"  said  the  old  man, 
slowly,  "twenty-one  years  before 
you  were  born  !  I  carried  his  bag 
down  to  Court  the  day  he  defended 
Neal  0' Gorman  for  high  treason, 
and  I  was  with  him  the  morning  he 
shot  Luke  Dillon  at  Castle  Knock  ; 
and  this  I'll  say  and  stand  to, 
there's  not  a  man  in  Ireland,  high 
or  low,  knows  the  Chief  Baron 
better  than  myself." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  comfort  to 
you  both,"  said  George ;  but  his 
sister  had  laid  her  hand  on  his 
mouth  and  made  the  words  unin- 
telligible. 

"  You'll  say  to  Mr  Mills,  Nicho- 
las," said  she,  in  her  most  coaxing 
way,  "  that  I  did  not  write,  because 
I  preferred  sending  my  message 
by  you,  who  could  explain  why  I 
particularly  wanted  him  this  even- 
ing." 

"  I'll  go,  Miss  Lucy,  resarving 
the  point,  as  they  say  in  the  law — 
resarving  the  point !  because  I  don't 
give  in  that  what  you're  doin'  is 
right ;  and  when  the  master  comes 
home,  I'm  not  goin'  to  defend  it." 

"  We  must  bear  up  under  that 
calamity  as  well  as  we  can,"  said 
the  young  man,  insolently ;  but 
Nicholas  never  looked  towards  or 
seemed  to  hear  him. 

"A  barn-a-brack  is  better  than 
a  sponge-cake,  because  if  there's 


1865.1 


.S'/V  Tlro'ik  Fottbrookc. — /'art  I. 


.37 


some  of  it  left  it  doesn't  get  stale, 
ami  one  -  and  -  sixpence  will  l»e 
enough  ;  and  1  suppose  you  don't 
need  a  lamp  ?  " 

"  Well,  Nicholas,  I  must  say.  1 
think  it  would  be  better  ;  and  two 
randies  on  the  .small  table,  and  two 
on  the  piano." 

"  Why  don't  you  mention  a  fid- 
dler? '  said  he.  bitterly.  "If  it's  a 
ball,  there  ought  to  be  iiiusie  I  ' 

Unable  to  control  himself  longer, 
young  Lendrick  wrenched  open  the 
sash-door,  and  walked  out  into  the 
lawn. 

"  The  devil  such  a  family  for 
temper  from  this  to  limit ry  !  said 
Nicholas  ;  ''and  here's  the  rompany 
comin'  already,  or  I'm  mistaken. 
There's  a  boat  makin'  for  the  land 
ing-place  with  two  men  in  the 
stern.'' 

Lucy  implored  him  once  more  t<> 
lose  no  time  on  his  errand,  and 
hastened  away  to  make  some  change 
in  her  dress  to  receive  the  .strangers. 
Meanwhile  (Jeorge,  having  seen  the 
boat,  walked  down  to  the  shore  to 
meet  his  friends. 

lioth  Sir  Brook  and  Tratlord  were 
enthusiastic  in  their  praises  of  the 
spot.  Its  natural  beauty  was  in- 
deed great,  but  taste  and  culture 
had  rendered  it  a  marvel  of  elegance 
and  refinement.  Not  merely  were 
the  trees  grouped  with  reference  to 
foliage  and  tint,  but  the  tlowcr-beds 
were  so  arranged  that  the  laws  of 
colour  should  be  respected, and  thus 
these  plats  of  perfume  were  not  less 
luxuriously  rich  in  odour  than  they 
were  captivating  as  pictures. 

"It  is  all  the  governors  own 
doing,"  said  George,  proudly,  "and 
lie  is  continually  changing  the  dis- 
position of  the  plants.  He  says 
variety  is  a  law  of  the  natural 
world,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  imitate 
it.  Here  comes  my  sister,  gentle- 
men." 

AM  though  set  in  a  beautiful  frame, 
the  lovely  girl  stood  for  an  instant 
in  the  porch, where  drooping  honey- 
.suckles  and  the  tangled  branches  of 
a  vine  hung  around  her,  and  then 


came  courteously  to  meet  and  wel- 
come them. 

"  1  am  in  ecstasy  with  all  1  sec 
here.  Miss  Lendrick,"  said  Sir 
lirook.  "  Old  traveller  that  I  am. 
1  scarcely  know  where  I  have  ever 
seen  such  a  combination  of  beauty." 

"  1'apa  will  be  delighted  to  hear 
this,''  said  she,  with  a  pleasant 
smile  ;  "  it  is  the  llatlery  he  loves 
best." 

"  I'm  always  saying  we  could 
keep  up  a  salmon-weir  on  the  river 
for  a  tithe  of  what  the-e  carnations 
and  primroses  cost  us  .-aid  ( leorge. 

"  Why.  MI-,  if  you  had  1  icen  in 
llden  you'd  have  made  it  a  market- 
garden,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  If  the  governor  was  a  Ihike  of 
Devonshire  all  these  caprices  might 
be  pardonable;  but  my  theory  is, 
roast  beet  before  n> 

While  young  Lendrick  attached 
himself  to  Trarl'ord,  and  took  him 
here  and  there  to  show  him  the 
grounds,  Sir  lirook  walked  beside 
Lucy,  who  did  the  honours  of  the 
place  with  a  most  charming  cour- 
tesy. 

•  "  1  am  almost  ashamed,  sir," 
said  she,  as  they  turned  towards  the 
house,  "  to  have  asked  you  to  see 
such  humble  objects  a.-  these  to 
which  we  attach  value,  for  my 
brother  tells  me  you  are  a  great 
traveller  ;  but  it  is  ju>t  possible 
you  have  met  in  your  journeys 
others  who,  like  us.  lived  so  much 
out  of  the  world  that  they  fancied 
they  had  the  prettiest  spot  in  it  for 
their  own." 

"  You  must  not  ask  me  what  I 
think  of  all  I  have  seen  here.  Miss 
Lendrick,  till  my  enthusiasm  calms 
down  ;  '  and  his  look  of  admiration, 
so  palpably  addressed  to  herself, 
sent  a  flush  to  her  cheek.  "  A 
man's  belongings  are  his  history," 
said  Sir  lirook,  quickly  turning  the 
conversation  into  an  easier  channel: 
''show  me  his  study,  his  stable,  his 
garden  ;  let  me  see  his  hat,  his  cane, 
the  volume  he  thrusts  into  his  poc- 
ket, and  I'll  make  you  an  indifferent 
good  guess  about  his  daily  doings.'' 


538 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  I. 


[May, 


"  Tell  me  of  papa's.  Come  here, 
Tom,"  cried  she,  as  the  two  young 
men  came  towards  her,  "  and  listen 
to  a  bit  of  divination." 

"  Nay,  I  never  promised  a  lecture. 
I  offered  a  confidence,"  said  he,  in 
a  half  whisper ;  but  she  went  on — 
"  Sir  Brook  says  that  he  reads  peo- 
ple pretty  much  as  Cuvier  pro- 
nounced on  a  mastodon  by  some 
small  minute  detail  that  pertained 
to  them.  Here's  Tom's  cigar-case," 
said  she,  taking  it  from  his  pocket ; 
"  what  do  you  infer  from  that,  sir1?" 

"  That  he  smokes  the  most  exe- 
crable tobacco." 

"  But  can  you  say  why]"  asked 
Tom,  with  a  sly  twinkle  of  his  eye. 

"  Probably  for  the  same  reason  I 
do  myself,"  said  Sir  Brook,  produc- 
ing a  very  cheap  cigar. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  veritable  Cuban 
compared  to  one  of  mine,"  cried 
Tom  ;  "  and  by  way  of  making  my 
future  life  miserable,  here  has  been 
Mr  Trafford  filling  my  pocket  with 
real  Havannahs,  giving  me  a  taste 
for  luxuries  I  ought  never  to  have 
known  of." 

"  Know  everything,  sir,  go  every- 
where, see  all  that  the  world  can 
show  you ;  the  wider  a  man's  ex- 
periences the  larger  his  nature  and 
the  more  open  his  heart,"  said  Foss- 
brooke,  boldly. 

"Hike  the  theory,"  said  Trafford 
to  Miss  Lendrick;  "  do  you'?  " 

"  Sir  Brook  never  meant  it  for 
women,  I  fancy,"  said  she,  in  a  low 
tone;  but  the  old  man  overheard 
her,  and  said,  "You are  right.  The 
guide  ought  to  know  every  part  of 
the  mountain,  the  traveller  need 
only  know  the  path." 

"  Here  comes  a  guide  who  is  sa- 
tisfied with  very  short  excursions," 
cried  Tom,  laughing ;  "  this  is  our 
parson,  Dr  Mills." 

The  little  mellow-looking,  well- 
cared-for  person  who  now  joined 
them  was  a  perfect  type  of  old- 
bachelorhood,  in  its  aspect  of  not 
unpleasant  selfishness.  Everything 
about  him  was  neat,  orderly,  and 
appropriate;  and  though  you  saw 


at  a  glance  it  was  all  for  himself 
and  his  own  enjoyment  it  was  pro- 
vided, his  good  manners  and  cour- 
tesy were  ever  ready  to  extend  its 
benefits  to  others ;  and  a  certain 
genial  look  he  wore,  and  a  manner 
that  nature  had  gifted  him  with, 
did  him  right  good  service  in  life, 
and  made  him  pass  for  "an  excel- 
lent fellow,  though  not  much  of  a 
parson." 

He  was  of  use  now,  if  only  that 
by  his  presence  Lucy  felt  more  at 
ease,  not  to  say  that  his  violon- 
cello, which  always  remained  at  the 
"  Nest,"  made  a  pleasant  accompani- 
ment when  she  played,  and  that  he 
sang  with  much  taste  some  of  those 
lyrics  which  are  as  much  linked  to 
Ireland  by  poetry  as  by  music. 

"  I  wish  he  was  our  chaplain — 
by  Jove,  I  do  !"  whispered  Trafford 
to  Lendrick  ;  "he's  the  jolliest  fel- 
low of  his  cloth  I  have  ever  7net.  " 

"  And  such  a  cook,"  muttered  the 
other. 

"A  cook!" 

"  Ay,  a  cook.  I'll  make  him  ask 
us  to  dinner,  and  you'll  tell  me  if 
you  ever  ate  fish  as  he  gives  it,  or 
tasted  maccaroni  as  dressed  by  him. 
I  have  a  salmon  for  you,  Doctor,  a 
ten-pound  fish.  I  wish  it  were  big- 
ger ;  but  it  is  in  splendid  order." 

"  Did  you  set  it  ? "  asked  the  par- 
son, eagerly. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  set  it  1 " 
whispered  Trafford. 

"  Setting  means  plunging  it  in 
very  hot  water  soon  after  killing  it, 
to  preserve  and  harden  the  '  curd.' 
Yes ;  and  I  took  your  hint  about 
the  arbutus  leaves  too,  Doctor.  I 
covered  it  all  up  with  them." 

"  You  are  a  teachable  youth,  and 
shall  be  rewarded.  Come  and  eat 
him  to-morrow.  Dare  I  hope  that 
these  gentlemen  are  disengaged,  and 
will  honour  my  poor  parsonage  I 
Will  you  favour  me  with  your  com- 
pany at  five  o'clock,  sir  ?" 

Sir  Brook  bowed,  and  accepted 
the  invitation  with  pleasure. 

"  And  you,  sir  1 " 

"  Only  too  happy,"  said  Trafford. 


18G5. 


•SV/'  Ilruok  Fotihrookc. — J'urt  I. 


"  Lucy,  my  dour,  you  must  be  one 
uf  us." 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  ;  it  is  impos- 
sible. Doctor — you  know  it  is.'' 

"  1  know  nothing  of  the  kind.'' 

"  1'apu,  away — not  to  speak  of  his 
never  encouraging  us  to  leave  home," 
muttered  she,  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  accept  no  excuses,  Lucy  ;  such 
i\  rare  opportunity  may  not  occur 
to  me  in  a  hurry.  Mrs  Jirennan, 
my  housekeeper,  will  be  so  proud 
to  see  you,  that  I'm  not  sure  she'll 
not  treat  these  gentlemen  to  her 
brandy  peaches — a  delicacy,  1  feel 
bound  to  say,  she  has  never  con- 
ceded to  any  one  less  than  the 
bishop  of  the  diocese." 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Doctor.  I  know 
that  papa — 

But  he  broke  in,  saying — 

"  '  You  know  I'm  your  jiriost,   ami  your 
conscience  is  mine  ; ' 

and  besides,  I  really  do  want  to  see 
how  the  parsonage  will  look  with 
a  lady  at  the  top  of  the  table  : 
who  knows  what  it  may  lead  to'" 

"Come,  Lucy,  that's  the  nearest 
thing  to  a  proposal  I've  heard  for 


some  time.  You  really  must  go 
now,"  said  Tom. 

"  Papa  will  not  like  it, "whispered 
she  in  his  ear. 

"  Then  he'll  have  to  settle  the 
matter  with  me,  Lucy,"  .said  the 
1  )octor,  "  for  it  was  I  wh<>  over- 
ruled you." 

"  Don't  look  to  me,  Miss  Lend- 
rick,  to  sustain  you  in  your  refusal,'' 
said  Sir  J'rook,  as  the  young  girl 
turned  towards  him.  ''  1  have  the 
strongest  interest  in  .seeing  the 
Doctor  successful." 

If  Tratford  said  nothing,  thtr 
glance  he  gave  her  more  than  backed 
the  old  man  s  speech,  and  she  turned 
away  half  vexed,  half  pleased, 
puzzled  how  to  act.  and  flattered  at 
the  same  time  by  an  amount  of  at- 
tention so  new  to  her  and  so  strange. 
•Still  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
promise  she  would  go,  and  wished 
them  all  good-night  at  last,  without 
a  pledge. 

''  Of  course  she  will,"  muttered 
Tom  in  the  Doctor's  ear.  "  She's 
afraid  of  the  governor  ;  but  1  know 
he'll  not  be  displeased — you  may 
reckon  on  her." 


VOL.   XCVII. — NO.  I>XCV. 


540 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May, 


LIFE     OF     STERNE. 


ON  the  present  occasion  we  will 
not  say  a  word,  if  we  can  help  it, 
on  an  old  and  tempting  subject, 
— on  the  genius  of  Sterne  as  dis- 
played in  Uncle  Toby  and  Corporal 
Trim,  or  in  Mr  and  Mrs  Shandy. 
We  will  not  treat  ourselves  with  a 
single  glance  towards  that  famous 
cabbage-garden  in  which  so  many 
sieges  were  so  happily  conducted ; 
we  will  not  listen  to  a  word  that 
the  Corporal  may  have  to  say,  for 
if  we  do  we  shall  never  escape  from 
him,  we  must  hear  again  for  the 
twentieth  time  the  whole  of  that 
story,  which  is  never  told  and 
scarcely  begun,  of  '  The  King  of 
Bohemia  and  his  Seven  Castles,' 
and  which  is  worth  the  best  nar- 
rated and  most  finished  story  we 
know  of.  We  mean  to  limit  our- 
selves to  the  life  of  Sterne,  to 
some  account  of  the  man  himself, 
who  gave  to  English  literature  these 
incomparable  creations. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  there 
has  been  hitherto  no  biography  of 
Sterne.  Brief  notices,  such  as  we 
expect  to  find  in  a  biographical  dic- 
tionary, have,  of  course,  been  suffi- 
ciently numerous  ;  but  there  has 
been  no  attempt  to  develop  with 
any  amplitude,  or  approach  to  ac- 
curacy, the  life  and  character  of  the 
author  of  '  Tristram  Shandy.'  The 
materials  for  such  a  work,  it  will 
be  said,  were  scanty ;  but  mean- 
while there  were  materials  enough, 
it  seems,  on  which  to  found  certain 
very  harsh  representations  of  the 
conduct  and  character  of  Sterne, 
and  these  representations  should,  at 
least,  have  been  investigated.  We 
feel  obliged  to  Mr  Fitzgerald  for 
undertaking  this  task.  If,  as  he 
himself  modestly  says  in  his  pre- 
face (and  in  which  we  must  re- 
luctantly agree),  he  has  not  written 
what  will  finally  be  accepted  as 


'  The  Life  of  Sterne,'  he  has  sup- 
plied materials  and  prepared  the 
way  for  some  more  fortunate  suc- 
cessor. The  estimate  he  forms  of 
Sterne  commends  itself  to  us  as 
just,  candid,  —  charitable,  if  you 
will — but  by  no  means  overstrained 
in  its  charity, — as  impartial,  in  fact, 
as  any  judgment  can  be  which  is 
passed  on  a  character  that  has  al- 
ready interested  us — already  won 
either  our  affections  or  our  dislike. 
For  no  one  can  sit  down  to  the 
examination  of  the  life  and  con- 
duct of  a  celebrated  author  with- 
out some  bias  or  prepossession 
received  from  his  works ;  and  there 
are  few  writers  who  prepossess  us 
more  favourably  —  or  more  unfa- 
vourably, according  to  the  mood  in 
which  we  read  him — than  Sterne. 
Those  who  have  been  more  an- 
noyed by  the  affectation  and  ab- 
surdity than  they  have  been  de- 
lighted with  the  humour  and 
pathos  of  '  Tristram  Shandy '  will 
be  disposed  to  find  hardness  and 
hypocrisy  in  the  life  of  the  man. 
Mr  Fitzgerald  has  written  as  an 
admirer,  but  as  an  admirer  who 
was  conscious  that  his  preposses- 
sions might  lead  him  to  too  favour- 
able a  judgment.  Many  will  think 
him  but  a  timid  advocate,  and  that 
in  some  instances  he  might  have 
shown  more  zeal  in  the  defence  of 
his  client  without  any  departure 
from  truth.  On  the  whole,  how- 
ever, we  have  no  doubt  that  Mr 
Fitzgerald  will  generally  be  esteem- 
ed as  an  impartial  biographer. 
What  is  Avanted  in  his  book  is 
that  more  felicitous  execution  which 
makes  the  pages  of  one  writer  so 
much  more  captivating  than  those 
of  another,  though  both  may  tell 
substantially  the  same  story.  There 
is  a  skill  of  arrangement,  a  tact  in 
selection,  an  ars  dicendi  that  comes 


'  The  Life  of  Laurence  Sterne. ' 
man  &  Hall,  London. 


By  Percy  Fitzgerald,  M.  A .,  M.  E .  8.  A.     Chap- 


1865.] 


Lift  of  Xl 


out  of  the  nun  hirn-ielf,  t!i:it  no 
writer  ever  learnt,  and  that  no 
critic  can  ever  teach.  In  this  point 
of  view  we  could  not  express  our- 
selves as  satisfied  with  our  present 
biographer ;  but  it  is  not  a  point  of 
view  on  which  we  are  disposed  to 
insist.  We  readily  acknowledge  the 
contribution  he  has  given  us  to- 
wards the  right  understanding  of 
the  character  of  Sterne,  and  our 
object  shall  be  limited  to  the  repro- 
duction of  that  impression  which 
his  book  has  left  upon  our  mind. 

\Ve  shall  pass  over  the  earlier 
chapters  of  Air  Fit/Gerald's  work, 
which  treat  of  Lieutenant  Sterne, 
the  father  of  our  Laurence,  and  of 
Mrs  Sterne,  the  mother  ;  and  of 
their  incessant  joumeyings  to  and 
fro,  and  of  their  numerous  off- 
spring, who  are  generally  .short- 
lived— every  change  of  quarters, 
which  the  frequent  movements  of 
his  regiment  entails  upon  the  Lieu- 
tenant, being  signalised  by  either 
a  birth  or  a  death  in  the  family. 
Mr  Fitzgerald  seems  here  to  have 
taken  a  hint  from  'Tristram  Shan- 
dy' itself,  for  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  biography  is  iilled  with 
events  that  take  place  before  the 
hero  is  born.  Some  chapters  also 
there  are  scattered  through  later 
parts  of  the  work,  which  advance 
the  story  almost  as  little  as  certain 
fantastic  chapters  in  'Tristram'  that 
are  half  filled  with  asterisks  :  they 
bear  inviting  titles  and  are  written 
in  an  emphatic  manner,  but  leave 
much  the  same  impression  behind 
them  as  a  page  of  asterisks  might 
have  done.  All  this,  we  presume, 
is  the  result  of  the  necessity  to  lill 
two  volumes,  whatever  the  quantity 
of  material  might  be  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  author.  And  all  this 
we  shall  pass  over  in  silence,  fixing 
our  attention  on  those  plain  facts 
in  the  life  of  Sterne  which  enable 
us  to  form  some  fair  conception  of 
his  character. 

It  was  time  that  we  should  have 
these  facts  brought  before  us.  That 
coarseness  or  pruriency  which  un- 
happily defaces  his  writings  had,  iu 


the  public  estimation,  stigmatised 
the  man  himself.  No  one  had 
cared  to  draw  the  distinction  be- 
tween the  character  of  the  man's 
wit  and  the  character  of  the  man 
himself.  There  was  an  incongruity 
also  between  the  coarseness  of  one 
part  of  his  writings  and  the  .senti- 
mentality of  another  part,  which 
threw  over  his  pathos  a  suspicion 
of  insincerity.  Men  were  disposed 
to  believe  that  he  was  heartless. 
The  antithesis  once  expressed,  that 
he  who  could  weep  over  a  dead 
ass  could  also  desert  a  wife  or  leave 
a  mother  to  st-.irve,  fastened  itself 
upon  the  public  mind.  It  was  too 
good  an  antithesis,  too  pungent  and 
too  poignant,  to  be  readily  parted 
with.  And  did  he  not  feast  and  revel 
with  the  gaiety  and  fashion  of  the 
London  of  his  day  while  his  poor 
wife  sulked  at  home  in  a  miserable 
Yorkshire  parsonage  \  The  few 
facts  that  were  known  of  his  life 
bore  easily  an  unfavourable  con- 
struction. As  a  i''>u]>  i/,  1 1 rni;',  the 
most  accomplished  and  keenest 
.satirist  of  our  own  days  drew  his 
shaft  against  him— drew  the  arrow 
to  the  head.  Mr  Thackeray,  in  one 
of  his  pleasant,  stinging  papers, 
left  poor  Sterne  writhing  before  us 
as  the  clever,  grinning,  whining 
"  mountebank,"  whom  he,  for  his 
part,  would  have  decorated  with 
laurel  and  put  in  the  pillory  at  the 
same  moment.  The  blow  could 
not  have  come  from  a  more  fatal 
hand,  nor  from  a  quarter  whence  it 
might  have  been  less  expected.  If 
there  was  a  living  man  who  had 
apparently  absorbed  into  his  own 
style  and  manner  all  that  is  indis- 
putably excellent  in  the  writing  of 
Sterne,  it  was  Thackeray  himself. 
Xot,  of  course,  that  the  author  ot 
'Henry  Ksmond '  owed  conspicu- 
ously to  this  or  that  writer  the- 
charm  of  manivr  and  admirable 
command  of  the  Knglish  language 
which  distinguish  him  amongst  his 
contemporaries  ;  but  a  reader  of 
Thackeray  can  hardly  doubt  (what 
indeed  Thackeray  appears  to  say) 
that  there  must  have  been  a  period 


542 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May, 


in  his  life  when  he  read  Sterne 
with  that  affectionate  admiration 
which  alone  infuses  something  of 
the  spirit  of  one  man  into  another. 
He  might  at  the  same  period  of  his 
life  have  read  Fielding  or  Smollett, 
and  been  impelled  by  them  to  con- 
struct plots  and  tell  stories,  but 
Sterne  is  the  only  one  of  his  pre- 
decessors who  could  have  uncon- 
sciously taught  him  to  write.  Field- 
ing and  Smollett  write  like  carpen- 
ters :  they  cut  and  hammer  and 
nail  you  up  a  box,  with  fit  parti- 
tions, that  holds  well  enough  what 
they  have  to  stow  away  in  it. 
Sterne  alone  is  the  artist  in  lan- 
guage, and  carves  where  the  others 
cut.  It  seemed  a  little  ungracious 
that  a  kindred  artist,  whose  plots 
and  stories  derive  all  their  charm 
from  those  strains  of  reflection, 
often  very  subtle,  which,  in  fact, 
constitute  what  we  call  the  style  of 
the  man,  should  have  been  so  very 
bitter  to  that  only  one  amongst  his 
predecessors  who  also  treated  his 
story  as  the  mere  field  or  stage  on 
which  to  disport  himself.  Thack- 
eray is  merciless  to  Sterne.  Per- 
haps he  was  irritated  by  a  false 
ring  in  the  sentimentality  of  the 
'  Sentimental  Journey' — (how  con- 
demnatory that  very  title  has  be- 
come to  our  age  ! ) — but  if  he  was 
just  as  the  literary  critic,  he  was 
unjust  when  dealing  with  the  man 
Sterne.  He  might  have  stripped 
the  tinsel  from  the  embroidered 
coat,  he  should  have  spared  the 
flesh  and  blood  beneath  it.  Not 
to  say  that  the  sentiment  of  a  past 
age  shares  often  the  same  fate  as 
the  music  of  a  past  age ;  both  may 
lose  their  old  power  over  our  tears, 
and  gain  a  new  power  over  our 
risible  faculties,  without  justifying 
any  charge  against  the  sincerity  of 
either  the  musicians  or  the  senti- 
mentalists of  the  olden  time.  Let 
us  now,  at  all  events,  overlook  the 
current  of  Sterne's  life  as  it  lies 
here  before  us,  and  judge  if  he 
deserves  the  severe  censures  that 
have  been  so  often  cast  upon  his 
memory. 


Sterne  was  of  good  family,  and 
the  family  of  the  Sternes  was  con- 
nected with  many  of  our  gentry 
— our  untitled  nobility,  as  it  is 
sometimes  called — both  in  England 
and  Ireland.  This  deserves  to  be 
mentioned,  because  it  partly  ex- 
plains how  it  happened  that  when, 
on  the  publication  of  '  Tristram 
Shandy/  the  Yorkshire  parson  be- 
came the  fashion  of  the  day,  he  found 
himself,  as  he  says,  a  fortnight  deep 
in  dinner  invitations,  tasting  the 
cream  of  London  society.  It  had 
not  become  the  custom  in  Sterne's 
time  to  lionise  a  popular  author,  or 
at  least  he  was  not,  merely  because 
he  had  written  a  popular  book,  lion- 
ised in  the  same  manner  in  which 
he  has  been  since.  When  Sterne 
took  his  seat  at  fashionable  tables, 
he  was  not  only  recognised  as  the 
author  of  'Tristram  Shandy;'  he 
was  also  known  as  the  descendant 
of  an  Archbishop  of  York,  and  as 
allied  to  the  llawdons  and  other  old 
families — as,  in  short,  a  presentable 
man.  We  need  hardly  say  that 
the  Yorkshire  parson  might  have 
been  descended  from  a  dozen  arch- 
bishops or  from  royalty  itself,  this 
alone  would  have  brought  him  no 
invitation  to  the  tables  of  the  great. 
But  neither,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he 
had  walked  out  of  Grub  Street  with 
'  Tristram  Shandy'  in  his  hand, 
would  London  society  have  received 
him  as  it  did.  The  Yorkshire  par- 
son who  had  written  the  drollest 
book,  and  was  the  drollest  man  of 
the  time,  was  a  gentleman  by  birth, 
and  therefore  all  ladies  and  gentle- 
men might  rush  to  see  him.  His 
card  of  invitation — to  adopt  what 
now  seems  to  us  the  affected  style 
of  a  past  age — was  issued  by  the 
muses,  but  it  was  indorsed  by  the 
heralds,  or  the  gentleman  usher. 

The  Archbishop  of  York,  from 
whom  Sterne  traced  his  descent, 
was  that  loyal  ecclesiastic  who, 
when  master  of  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  sent  off  the  college 
plate  to  the  aid  of  Charles  I.  This 
brought  on  him  much  tribulation 
during  the  time  of  the  Common- 


1SG5. 


Life  nf 


543 


wealth,  but  he  outrode  tlic  storm, 
and  finally  secured  an  archbishop- 
ric by  his  act  of  loyalty.  I  Jut  wh;;t 
wax  of  far  more  importance  to 
{Sterne  than  a  deceased  archbishop 
for  an  ancestor,  he  had  a  living 
uncle  who  was  Archdeacon  of  York  : 
and,  moreover,  there  was  a  Squire 
Sterne  living  at  Klvington,  near 
York,  a  cousin,  we  believe,  who 
appears  to  have  acted  like  a  father 
towards  the  lad.  Laurence  Sterne 
was  born  in  the  barracks  of  Clon- 
inel,  on  the  24th  of  November  1713. 
Horn  in  Ireland  he  was  soon  trans- 
ferred to  Kngland,  and  shared  in 
the  wandering  and  unsettled  life  of 
his  parents.  When  he  had  reached 
the  age  of  ten  or  eleven  (and  here, 
in  fact,  his  biography  may  be  said, 
for  us,  to  commence),  he  was  taken 
to  a  school  at  Halifax.  There  his 
father  left  him,  went  abroad,  and 
died.  Laurence  never  saw  his 
father  again,  and  his  mother  seems 
to  have  been  sufficiently  encum- 
bered with  her  other  children.  The 
boy  was  in  the  position  of  an 
orphan  whom  Squire  Sterne  and 
his  uncle,  the  archdeacon,  and  per- 
haps other  clerical  relatives,  had 
taken  charge  of.  It  was  no  fault 
of  the  mother  if  she  was  glad  to 
resign  her  son  to  the  care  of  such 
good  friends;  nor  does  it  appear  to 
have  been  the  fault  of  the  son  that 
there  was  henceforward  so  little  com- 
munication between  them.  Only 
once,  in  the  course  of  this  biogra- 
phy, does  the  mother  reappear 
upon  the  stage  after  Laurence  had 
been  left  at  school  at  Halifax.  We 
hear  that  she  herself  was  keeping  a 
school ;  that,  owing  to  the  extrava- 
gance of  one  of  her  daughters,  she 
became  involved  in  debt;  and  that 
a  subscription  was  raised  amongst 
her  scholars  to  free  her  from  her 
liabilities.  Whether  Sterne  granted 
or  withheld  his  assistance — whether 
assistance  was  asked  from  him.  or 
whether  it  was  in  his  power  to  give 
it — of  all  this  we  know  nothing. 
The  facts  we  have  just  stated  are 
all  that  are  known,  and  are  the 
only  foundation  for  the  cruel  charge 


of  unlilial  conduct  that  has  been 
laid  upon  Sterne's  memory.  This 
charge  is  traceable,  it  seems,  to  a 
conversation  between  Horace  Wai - 
pole  and  Mr  Pinkerton.  "1  know," 
said  Walpole,  "  from  indubitable 
authority,  that  his  mother,  who 
kept  a  school,  having  run  in  debt  on 
account  of  an  extravagant  daugh- 
ter, would  have  rotted  in  a  jail,  if 
the  parents  of  her  scholars  had  not 
raised  a  subscription  for  her.  Her 
own  son,"  he  adds,  ''  had  too  much 
sentiment  t<>  have  any  feeling.  A 
dead  ass  was  more  importmt  to 
him  than  a  living  mother."  And 
so  the  bitter  epigram  was  launched 
into  the  world,  and  it  has  lived  to 
this  day.  His  mother  was  led  into 
debt  by  an  extravagant  daughter, 
and  released  by  affectionate  pupils; 
and  in  the  absence  of  all  informa- 
tion as  to  Sterne's  part  in  the 
transaction,  it  is  inferred  that  he 
would  have  let  her  rot  in  jail,  while 
he  stepped  aside  to  shed  his  tears 
over  a  (lead  ass.  Truly  a  charitable 
judgment  ! 

J5ut  we  must  return  to  the  school 
at  Halifax.  Here  young  Sterne  is 
said  to  have  studied  fitfully,  passing 
many  days  in  idleness,  and  then 
making  up  for  lost  time  by  sudden 
y/mrta  of  application.  A  story  is 
told  here  which  we  venture  to  think 
has  not  received  its  quite  correct 
interpretation,  although  it  is  from 
Sterne  himself  that  the  narrative, 
with  the  interpretation  hero  given 
to  it,  is  gathered. 

"Then*  is  a  sort  of  juvenile  Shande- 
ism,"  writes  Mr  Fitzgerald,  "in  that  well- 
known  Ixiyish  freak  of  his  which  he 
himself  wrote  down,  not  without  a  cer- 
tain complacency,  a  few  months  lief  ore 
his  death.  The  schoolroom  was  Wing 
made  resplendent  with  new  whitewash  ; 
Imt  the  incautious  workmen  had  left 
their  ladders  and  brushes  1«  hind.  Up 
scrambled  the  mischievous  urchin,  and 
wrote  in  'large  capital  letters'  —  a  little 
staggering,  perhaps,  in  outline  his  own 
signature,  I. AT.  SIT.KM.  Presently 
came  the  angry  usher,  who,  viewing 
such  a  prank  as  a  capital  otto  nee.  fetches 
his  cane,  and  whips  the  young  decorator 
soundly,  which  heavy  punishment.  '  Doc- 
tor Paidagumis1  comes  presently  to  hear 


544 


Life  of  tiUrne. 


[May, 


Of — more  likely  still,  sees  the  offending 
characters  staring  down  upon  him  from 
his  newly -beautified  ceiling;  but,  strange 
to  say,  is  much  hurt  at  that  castigatiou, 
and  with  that  text  makes  a  warm  speech 
to  all  the  scholars  assembled,  repudiates 
the  usher,  and  protests  that  the  large 
capitals,  LAU.  STEUNE,  shall  remain 
there  uueffaced  In  perpetiutm  rei  inemo- 
liam,  for  that  Master  Sterne  yonder 
was  a  boy  of  genius,  who,  he  was  sure, 
would  come  to  preferment." 

This  story  is  told  as  if  it  con- 
tained a  sort  of  prophecy  of  Sterne's 
future  celebrity  as  a  man  of  genius. 
To  us  this  looks  like  a  prophecy 
coined  after  the  event.  What  could 
have  suggested  to  the  schoolmaster 
the  idea  that  Sterne  would  write  a 
remarkable  book  ]  Such  an  idea 
never  entered  into  his  own  head 
till  he  was  past  forty.  The  inter- 
pretation we  venture  to  put  upon 
the  story  is,  that  the  schoolmaster 
did  not  approve  of  the  punishment 
which  his  usher  had  inflicted  on 
the  son  of  an  archdeacon  and  the 
relative  of  the  squire,  and  on  a  lad 
likely  himself  one  day  to  "come  to 
preferment."  The  usher  had  appli- 
ed his  cane  too  severely,  or  to  the 
wrong  back,  and  the  schoolmaster 
was  thus  pouring  oil  into  the 
wounds.  We  do  not  think  it  was 
n  vision  of  the  future  man  of  genius 
that  produced  this  conciliatory 
speech;  we  rather  suspect  it  was 
.a  deference  to  existing,  living  dig- 
nities, lay  and  ecclesiastical.  Mr 
Fitzgerald,  however,  reads  it  other- 
wise, and  lest  we  should  be  spoiling 
a  good  story,  it  is  fit  that  we  should 
add  his  own  comment : — 

"  How  long,  we  may  fairly  specu- 
late, did  the  '  large  capitals '  remain 
uneffaced  on  that  Halifax  ceiling  ?  Pos- 
sibly only  till  whitewashing  time  came 
round  again  ;  for  there  are  many  gene- 
rations of  school-heroes.  For  it  was 
not  the  immortality  of  carving  which 
prevails  at  Harrow,  and  secures  to 
Byrons  and  boys  of  that  calibre  a  de- 
cent interval  until  they  have  proved 
their  worth.  This  LAU.  STERNE  was 
no  more  than  paint,  easily  effacc- 
able  ;  and  thirty  good  years  were  to 
run  before  the  village  clergyman  was  to 
get  his  patent  of  fame.  All  credit, 


however,  be  given  to  that  intelligent 
pedagogue  who  forecasted  his  scholar's 
horoscope  so  skilfully.  Was  it  Mr 
Lister  or  Mr  Jackson  ?  Most  likely  it 
was  Jackson  the  Bachelor  of  Arts,  and 
not  Lister  the  Bachelor  in  Physic.  Mr 
Sterne  calls  him  '  an  able  man. '  A  man 
certainly  of  clear  vision  and  intelligence 
for  a  director  of  a  country  school  ;  or 
else  that  readiness  and  Shaiideism  of 
the  youth  must  have  been  so  declared 
as  to  be  palpable  to  the  eye  of  the  dull- 
est professor.  But  though  the  name 
has  been  effaced,  the  schoolroom  still 
remains,  and  may  be  seen  at  this  day, 
with  the  great  oak  beams  across  the 
ceiling,  on  which  the  schoolboy  painted 
his  name." 

After  passing  through  the  school 
at  Halifax,  Sterne  was  transferred 
to  Jesus  College,  Cambridge.  We 
have  the  same  account  of  his  me- 
thod of  study  here  as  at  school. 
He  read  little,  laughed  much,  and 
earned  for  himself  the  character 
"  of  a  man  of  parts  if  he  chose  to 
use  them."  It  is  said  that  with 
moderate  diligence  he  might  have 
secured  a  fellowship  ;  for  Jesus 
College  had  been  endowed  by  his 
ancestor,  that  archbishop  who  was 
formerly  master  of  Jesus,  and  till 
very  lately  the  relationship,  we  are 
told,  if  supported  by  any  reason- 
able amount  of  application,  would 
have  been  a  recognised  claim  upon 
a  fellowship.  We  hear  nothing, 
however,  of  such  honour  or  emolu- 
ment being  even  aimed  at.  He 
read  enough  to  take  the  ordinary 
degree,  and  obtain  his  passport  in- 
to the  Church.  He  was  ordained 
deacon  6th  March  1736,  and  became 
henceforth  the  Reverend  Laurence 
Sterne. 

The  scandal  has  been  that  a 
clergyman  should  write  'Tristram 
Shandy/  or  that  the  author  of 
'  Tristram  Shandy  '  should  be  a 
clergyman.  Why,  it  is  said,  if  he 
could  not  control  the  current  of 
his  wit  or  humour — if  nature  had 
made  him  for  one  of  her  eccentric 
men  of  genius — for  that  and  for  no 
other  kind  of  man, — why  must  he 
go  into  the  Church  ?  Why  must  a 
man  live  1  Why  must  he  eat  and 
drink,  and  be  clothed,  and  be  hous- 


1SG5.] 


Life  of  Sterne. 


515 


c-d  ?  One  relative  sends  young 
Sterne  to  school  and  culluge,  and 
another  is  ready  to  provide  him 
with  some  "cure  of  souls,"  some 
little  vicarage  or  rectory.  He, 
meanwhile,  is  of  slight  frame,  of 
<lelicate  organisation,  and  has  no 
other  outlook  in  the  world.  Let 
him  walk  his  appointed  path — he 
lives;  he  has  his  status  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  —  a  house  and  pro- 
vender, and  a  wife  if  he  eares  for 
one  ;  should  lie  start  from  this 
path,  leap  aside  on  this  side  or  that, 
one  sees  not  what  is  to  become  of 
him.  If  the  plea  of  the  necessity 
of  living  may  l>e  urged  in  any  case 
of  this  nature,  it  may  be  urged  and 
admitted  in  favour  of  Sterne.  He 
probably  recognised  his  profession 
as  a  sort  of  fatality,  as  little  a  mat- 
ter of  choice  as  his  birth  or  parent- 
age had  been.  Let  us  add  that  we 
perceive  no  symptom  in  Sterne  of 
i\i\y  shade  of  doubt,  of  any  de- 
parture from  the  faith.  He  never 
undertook  to  teach  what  he  did  not 
believe  to  be  true.  He  might  have 
suspected  that  the  teacher  should 
have  been  more  gravely  impressed 
himself  with  the  truths  he  had  to 
declare  to  others.  But  this  gravity 
of  character  may  come  with  age,  may 
come  with  sorrow  or  misfortune  ;  it 
is  a  matter  of  seasons  and  degrees. 
Who  knows,  indeed,  what  serious- 
ness and  solemnity  of  mood  might 
at  times  have  possessed  him  ! — and 
especially  at  that  time  when  he  en- 
tered the  portals  of  the  Church, 
those  gates  that  open  only  one  way 
— only  to  those  who  enter, — open 
only  once,  and  then  close  for  ever. 
But,  having  once  entered  through 
those  gates  into  the  sacred  courts 
of  the  Temple,  he  should  have  been 
decorous  ever  after.  Yes.  he  should ; 
theoretically  he  should.  Alas  ! 
Sterne  overpassed  those  bounds  of 
decorum  which  even  a  layman 
should  have  respected,  it  is  his 
manifest,  inexcusable  fault,  for 
which  his  memory  and  his  books 
will  for  ever  suffer.  Here  we  have 
simply  to  blame  and  to  regret. 
But  in  justice  to  Sterne,  and  to  all 


egregious  lovers  of  humour,  let  this 
general  observation  be  made.  As 
humour  itself  deals  with  incongrui- 
ties, bringing  together  what  is  grave 
and  frivolous,  and  out  of  this  very 
contrast  exciting  our  ri.sibility,  so 
the  humorist  himself  may,  or  per- 
haps must,  have  in  his  own  charac- 
ter what  seems  an  incongruity ; 
that  is,  he  may  laugh  much,  and 
yet  retain  a  capacity  for  grave  sen- 
timents, even  on  those  very  topics 
about  which  his  wit  has  been  play- 
ing. A  droll  and  indecorous  par- 
son, Sterne  was  not  necessarily  a 
thoughtless  or  hypocritical  one.  It 
requires  all  our  charity  to  believe 
that  a  man  who  cm  write  a  parody 
has  th«%  Ica^t  wind/fit  of  rtverenc: 
or  admiration  Ivl't  in  him.  yet  we 
have  been  compelled  to  confess 
that  a  man  may  even  perpetrate 
this  most  detestable  of  all  literary 
performances,  and  still  have  sense 
and  heart  enough  to  admire  the 
great  poet  whom  he  has  been 
mimicking — mimicking  as  apes  mi- 
mic men.  Xo  stronger  case  than 
this  could  be  cited  to  show  that 
laughter  and  gravity  may  dwell  to- 
gether in  the  same  man.  The  case 
is,  indeed,  stronger  than  we  need  ; 
for  Sterne  never  made  religion  the 
direct  subject  of  his  jest  or  banter  ; 
he  only  jested  generally  in  a  man- 
ner that  seemed,  yet  might  not 
really  /*•,  incompatible  with  more 
solemn  and  serious  moods. 

Sterne  had  no  sooner  passed 
through  the  necessary  steps  than 
he  was  inducted  into  the  vicarage 
of  Sutton-on-the-Forest,  and  made 
a  prebendary  of  York.  He  had 
already  been  paying  his  addresses 
to  a  Miss  Lumley,  who  was  not 
without  some  small  fortune  of  her 
own.  He  marrie-s  and  settles  down 
in  his  vicarage.  He  is  near  York. 
He  has,  of  course,  his  professional 
duties  to  perform,  and  apparently 
some  glebe  land  to  look  after.  For 
his  amusements  he  has  "  books, 
painting,  and  fiddling."  and  a  little 
"shooting."  The  bass  viol  is  per- 
haps his  greatest  solace.  If  we 
wish  to  form  an  idea  ol  the  man 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May,. 


and  of  his  manner  of  life  at  this 
time,  we  must  not  think  of  him  as 
the  author  of  '  Tristram  Shandy ; ' 
authorship  is  not  yet  dreamt  of ; 
neither  must  we  too  much  con- 
found, as  some  of  us  are  apt  to  do, 
the  portrait  of  Yorick  as  drawn  by 
his  own  hand  with  the  actual  Vicar 
of  Sutton.  We  must  think  of  him 
as  an  active-minded,  jocular  parson, 
fond  of  society,  fond,  too,  of  out-of- 
the-way  books.  He  has  good  com- 
mon sense,  and  apparently  under- 
stands the  management  of  his  own 
affairs.  AVe  hear  of  no  debts.  His 
living  and  his  prebend  of  forty 
pounds,  and  the  other  forty  pounds 
per  annum  which  his  wife  brings 
him,  form  altogether  but  a  small 
income — sufficient,  however,  with 
prudence ;  and  he  has  the  prudence 
to  make  it  sufficient. 

"  For  some  twenty-six  weeks  of  the 
year,  when  his  turn  came  round,  must 
the  Reverend  Mr  Sterne  abide  in  York ; 
no  very  cruel  necessity  for  him,  and  a 
fair  excuse  for  his  being  absent  from 
Sutton.  '  What  prebendary  is  next  to 
come  into  residence  '  (the  author  is  here 
quoting  Sydney  Smith)  '  is  as  important 
a  topic  to  the  cathedral  town,  and  ten 
miles  nrand  it,  as  what  the  evening  or 
morning  star  may  be  to  the  astrono- 
mer.' The  coining  into  residence  of 
young  Mr  Sterne,  and  that  procession 
of  his  up  the  aisle  '  preceded  by  men 
with  silver  rods, '  we  may  be  sure  was 
looked  for  anxiously." 

In  addition  to  Sutton  a  second 
small  living  falls  to  his  lot.  He  is 
a  humorist  if  you  will,  but  as  yet 
without  any  literary  ambition.  He 
may  expect  to  creep  higher  up  in 
the  scale  of  ecclesiastical  prefer- 
ment. Were  it  not  for  his  weak 
lungs,  which,  shut  up  in  a  most 
narrow  and  confined  chest,  are  al- 
ways threatening  asthma  or  bron- 
chitis, you  would  say  that  his  des- 
tiny in  life  was  an  enviable  one — 
not  brilliant,  but  secure.  Least  of 
all  do  we  see  any  morbid  senti- 
mentality in  the  man;  nor  any 
signs  of  that  "  innocence  and  igno- 
rance of  the  world  and  its  affairs," 
which  may,  indeed,  wear  an  inter- 
esting appearance  in  an  imaginary 


Yorick,  but  which  makes  its  pos- 
sessor a  perfect  nuisance  to  all  his- 
friends,  by  reason  of  his  incapacity 
to  take  charge  of  himself.  The 
real  "  parson  Yorick  "  was  happily 
not  afflicted  with  any  such  incapa- 
city. He  can  give  his  mind  when 
occasion  requires  it  to  "  stubbing 
the  moor,"  and  the  planting  of  cab- 
bages ;  and  a  neighbouring  clergy- 
man turns  to  him  for  assistance  in 
the  matter  of  his  own  hay.  Of 
this  Mr  Fitzgerald  gives  ITS  a  pleas- 
ant instance : — 

"  Mr  Sterne's  letters,  and  earnest 
directions  in  these  letters,  all  show  a 
prompt,  energetic  shape  of  action,  any- 
thing but  Shaudean.  Parson  Sterne 
must  have  been  as  vigorous  a  country 

fentleman  as  Squire  Western  himself, 
ee  how  he  can  do  a  stroke  of  business 
for  a  brother  of  the  cloth.    The  clerical 
brother  has  hay  to  dispose  of.    Hearken 
to  Yorick ! 

"  '  I  have  taken  proper  measures  to 
get  chapmen  for  it,  by  ordering  it  to  be 
cried  at  my  own  two  parishes  ;  but  I 
find  a  greater  backwardness  among  my 
two  flocks  in  this  respect  than  I  had 
imagined. '  This  was  owing  '  to  a  greater 
prospect  of  hay  and  other  fodder  than 
there  was  any  expectation  of  about  five 
weeks  ago.  It  is  with  the  utmost 
difficulty,  and  a  whole  morning's  waste 
of  my  lungs,  that  I  have  got  sufficient 
men  to  bid  up  to  what  you  had  offered 
• — namely,  twelve  pounds.  I  have  put 
them  off  under  pretence  of  writing  you 
word,  lut  in  truth  to  wait  a  day  or  two 
to  try  the  market  and  see  what  can  be 
got  for  it.'  " 

Mr  Fitzgerald  makes  a  passing- 
comment  on  this  rather  too  artful 
proceeding.  But  if  there  is,  as  he 
intimates,  some  "  little  stretch  of 
agricultural  morality"  in  waiting 
to  try  the  market  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  in  the  service  of 
a  friend  that  he  practises  the  arti- 
fice. It  is  not  always,  we  fear,  that 
this  excuse  can  be  offered  for  cer- 
tain minor  deviations  from  truth 
that  have  been  fixed  upon  Sterne. 
An  habitual  joker  is  apt  to  lose- 
his  sensitiveness,  or  scrupulosity, 
with  regard  to  the  telling  of  truth. 
He  tells  white  lies,  or  lies  for  an 
innocent  purpose,  and  there  is  a 


I.  i,  n   St?n\  f. 


547 


danger  that  the  lie  may  some  day 
change  its  complexion. 

I'ut  what  of  Mrs  Sterne — the 
wife,  the  companion — in  this  vicar- 
age (  She  is  said  to  have  had  "  a 
good  taste  in  music,"  and  to  have 
sung  well.  In  other  respects  she 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  a  very 
suitable  companion  for  a  man  of 
quick  intellect  and  mirthful  dispo- 
sition. The  attachment  in  its  origin 
was  of  a  highly  sentimental  char- 
acter. Sterne  wooed  her  for  two 
years,  and  .suffered  in  the  course  of 
his  wooing  the  keenest  transitions 
from  hope  to  despondency.  Hut 
when  the  lady  was  safely  housed  in 
the  vicarage,  either  she  ceased  to 
make  the  old  efforts  to  please,  or 
the  husband  detected  deficiencies 
to  which  the  lover  had  been  blind. 
She  is  described  as  utterly  unable 
to  appreciate  the  humour  of  her 
husband,  as  sinking  into  the  meth- 
odical housewife,  indifferent  to  so- 
ciety, contributing  nothing  to  the 
charm  of  conversation,  perhaps  not 
unwilling  that  her  lively  and  irre- 
pressible companion  should  occa- 
sionally seek  society  elsewhere.  Her 
maiden  name  was  Lumley  ;  she 
came  "of  a  good  family  in  Stafford- 
shire," and  was  daughter  of  the  Hev. 
Mr  Lumley,  Rector  of  Bedal.  What 
brought  her  to  York  is  not  known; 
possibly  no  other  motive  than  to 
enjoy  the  gaiety  of  this  capital  of 
the  north.  There  Sterne  made  her 
acquaintance,  and  was  smitten  with 
a  passion  quite  of  the  sentimental 
character,  and  which  hits  every  ap- 
pearance of  having  been  .sincere.  So 
that  if,  on  future  occasions,  he  feels 
in  the  same  fashion  the  tyranny  of 
the  sex,  we  may  at  least  believe  that 
his  susceptibility  is  genuine.  He 
wits  very  open  to  the  power  of  a 
woman's  smile.  Mr  Fitzgerald 
speaks  of"  the  despair  and  anguish 
which  waited  on  the  various  stages 
of  this  attachment."  When  Miss 
Lumley  has  occasion  to  quit  York 
for  a  time,  and  return  into  Stafford- 
shire, Sterne  "  takes  to  his  bed, 
worn  out  by  fevers  of  all  kinds." 
Her  features,  we  are  told,  were  not 


beautiful,  but  of  the  order  we  call 
interesting.  The  interest,  however, 
w«ts  fated  to  wear  off.  We  quote 
the  account  which  Mr  Fit/.gerald 
gives  us  of  the  parson's  wife  after 
some  years  of  connubial  society  : — 

"  I  .link  ing  on  thrin  (Mr  arid  Mrs 
Sterne)  through  many  years,  during 
the  nineteen  nr  so  nf  Mr  Sterne's  pro- 
vincial banishment,  we  an-,  l>y  tin-  aid 
of  scraps  of  letters  and  hints  in  'Tris- 
tram,' helped  to  a  rough  average  jtor- 
trait  of  this  parson's  lady.  She  is  like 
to  have  settled  down  into  a  plain,  well- 
meaning,  orderly,  humdrum  sort  of 

housewife-      exrellellt    for    school-Work, 

for  cottage-visiting,  for  marketing,  for 
sweeping  up  and  weekly  washings, — 
excellent  a->  a  social  labourer  of  life, 
yet,  unhappily,  with  a  literal  turn  of 
mind,  and  «M  uhich  her  liu.-li.-ind'^ 
brilliant  nu  kets  might  explode  harm- 
lessly, quite  unfelt  and  unappreciated 
— a  rigid  and  fatal  ignoring  of  any  non- 
natural  souse  or  witty  metaphor  :  all 
good  workaday  qualities,  but.  :v.s  a  long 
experience  has  shown,  very  ill-suited  to 
the  nii'inii/i'  of  your  brilliant  eccentric. 
She  either  damps  his  powder  utterly, 
and  he  has  to  go  abroad  to  light  up  his 
catherine-wheels,  or  he  lioldly  projects 
them  on  his  domestic  hearth,  ami  fur- 
ni-he.s  himself  with  infinite  amusement 
from  her  insensibility. 

"  Long  after,  when  she  and  her  daugh- 
ter were  to  set  out  from  York  to  join 
him  at  Paris  (a  very  serious  journey), 
his  letters  of  instruction  • —  showered 
thickly  on  her,  tilled  with  minutest  di- 
rections, such  as  one  would  impress  up- 
on a  child  -point  to  the  same  view.  So 
many  things  are  to  l>e  got,  all  enumer- 
ated in  language  purposel)'  childish  and 
simple.  Then,  at  the  end.  all  are  again 
summed  up  in  a  sort  of  epitome,  as 
though  he  had  called  her  back  to  im- 
press all  on  her  once  more.  Comic,  too, 
is  his  caution  -'.Mind  you  keep  these 
things  distinct  in  your  head  ;  '  which 
tone  shows  a  lack  of  confidence  in  Mrs 
Sterne's  intellect." 

These  careful  instructions  show 
at  least  no  unkindly  spirit  in  their 
writer.  And,  to  anticipate  a  little 
in  our  biography,  we  may  add  that 
at  no  time  of  his  life  is  Mr  Sterne 
neglectful  of  the  substantial  inte- 
rests and  comforts  of  his  partner. 
She  does  not  share  with  him  that 
London  life  which  was  afterwards 
due  to  his  celebrity  as  an  author  ; 


;48 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May, 


this  was  perhaps  impossible,  and 
perhaps  by  her  undesirable  ;  here 
he  might  have  sacrificed  his  own 
pleasures,  he  could  not  have  com- 
municated them  to  her ;  but  we 
never  find  him  neglectful  to  pro- 
vide all  things  needful  to  her  in 
her  own  country  life,  and  she  shares 
the  common  purse,  replenished  by 
his  writings,  as  this  journey  to 
Paris  with  her  daughter  testifies. 
She  and  her  daughter  indeed  stay 
in  France  for  some  time,  and  seem 
pleased  with  their  sojourn.  The 
last  we  hear  of  them  is  some  request 
on  the  part  of  Sterne,  who  is  then 
in  England,  that  they  should  return 
to  him.  No  one  can  lift  the  veil, 
and  show  us  distinctly  their  domes- 
tic life — and  why  should  we  wish 
for  any  such  disclosure  ? — but  so  far 
as  the  facts  are  known  to  us,  there 
is  no  foundation  for  any  serious 
charge  against  Sterne  in  his  matri- 
monial relations.  As  to  the  suc- 
cession of  flames  which  kept  his 
heart  in  such  pleasant  torture,  we 
cannot  regard  them  in  the  light  of 
grave  infidelities.  They  were  affairs 
of  sentiment,  of  the  imagination, 
which  did  not  lead,  and  were  never 
intended  to  lead,  to  any  such  liaison 
as  would  have  compromised  his  po- 
sition in  society,  or  broken  up  his 
home  at  the  vicarage. 

Meanwhile  there  is  another  ele- 
ment in  the  country  life  in  York- 
shire that  must  not  be  passed  over  in 
silence.  Skelton  Castle,  near  Guis- 
borough,  was  the  seat  of  Mr  Hall — 
or  Hall  Stevenson — better  known 
to  us  under  the  name  of  Eugenius. 
Sterne  made  the  friendship  of  this 
witty,  accomplished,  but  too  profli- 
gate gentleman  at  Cambridge.  They 
were  both  at  Jesus  College,  where 
Stevenson  was  a  fellow-commoner. 
"  Crazy  Castle  "  (as  the  wits  who  as- 
sembled there  named  the  antiquat- 
ed and  picturesque  building,  which 
has  been  since  pulled  down  and 
substituted  by  a  modern  mansion) 
was  the  frequent  resort  of  Sterne. 
Here  he  could  unbend  to  his  heart's 
delight,  and  let  his  imagination 
riot  as  it  pleased.  Here,  too,  was 


a  library  which  contained  many 
rare,  curious,  grotesque,  and  hu- 
morous volumes.  Without  that 
library  '  Tristram  Shandy  '  would, 
perhaps,  never  have  been  written. 
The  temptations  of  Crazy  Castle 
were  irresistible  to  the  social, 
mirth-loving,  volatile  temper  of 
Sterne.  It  was  an  association 
which  must  have  scandalised  his 
clerical  brethren  at  the  time,  and 
which  still  forms,  and  with  justice, 
a  grave  charge  against  the  memory 
of  Sterne.  Yet  we  must  be  cau- 
tious not  to  implicate  Sterne  in  the 
actual  profligacy  of  his  companion. 
We  meet  daily  with  instances  in 
society  where  a  man  tolerates  in 
his  friend  practices  he  would  not 
indulge  in  himself.  Let  us  hear 
what  Mr  Fitzgerald  says  both  of 
Stevenson  Hall  and  this  association 
of  ill  omen  : — 

"  The  lord  of  Crazy  Castle  was  of 
good  family  and  connections  ;  his  fa- 
ther, Colonel  Hall,  having  married  a 
daughter  of  Lord  N.  Manners.  Mr 
Hall  was  born  in  1718,  and  was  thus  but 
a  few  years  younger  than  his  friend  Mr 
Sterne.  It  has  been  seen  they  were  at 
Cambridge  and  belonged  to  the  same 
college  when  Hall  was  in  the  more  dis- 
tinguished grade  of  fellow-commoner. 
Unfortunately  this  agreeable  promise 
was  very  early  falsified,  and  he  fell 
into  the  ways  of  the  fashionable  pro- 
fessors of  vice,  who  in  that  day  thrust 
their  excesses  upon  the  public  with  an 
outrageous  effrontery  and  a  shameless- 
ness  that  passes  belief.  The  orgies  of 
the  '  Twelve  Monks  of  Madmenham ' 
were  then  attracting  not  so  much 
reprobation  as  curiosity,  and  it  is 
believed  that  this  '  ingenious  young 
gentleman '  was  one  of  the  unholy 
brotherhood. 

"  With  this  godless  fraternity  has 
Mr  Sterne's  name  been  associated  ;  and 
it  is  only  another  illustration  of  the 
charges  which  have  been  recklessly 
heaped  upon  him,  that  he  has  been  an- 
nounced, officially,  as  belonging  to  that 
order.  .  .  . 

"  These  blemishes  are  the  more  to 
be  lamented,  as  he  (Mr  Hall)  seems  to 
have  been  so  accomplished  a  spirit,  and 
adorned  with  an  amiable  and  courteous 
disposition  —  charms  which  seem  to 
have  attached  to  him  a  host  of  friends. 
Topham  Beauclerc,  Johnson's  friend, 


Life  of 


r>49 


:ils,i  united  this  curious  combination 
of  .1  sweet  ami  gracious  tetn|>er  with  a 
wild  lieenee  of  sjn-ech  and  manners. 

"  And  yet  this  was  flu-  friend,  the 
companion,  the  dearest  intimate,  c.f  the 
author  of  the  '  Scntiinent.il  Journey '! 
s'line  will  exelaini  ;  and  at  lirst  sight, 
the  intiinaey  would  ap]tear  signitieatit 
of  the  truth  of  the  well-kn  >wn  proverb 
.kbout  companionship.  I'»  ;  li  men,  how- 
ever, are  entitled  to  some  small  meas- 
ure of  estimation.  The  truth  is,  a 
great  deal  of  these  blemishes  in  their 
writings  must  be  set  t"  the  account  of 
the  peculiar  direction  of  their  studies. 
Both  had  an  almost  fanatical  relish  for 
the  odd  racy  humours  of  Kal>elais  and 
the  minor  pant»mimis,ts  »f  his  school  ; 
with  Ixith  the  appetite  for  that  quaint 
and  most  original  shaj>e  of  wit  and 
mirth  increased  with  study  and  grew 
with  acquaintance.  Any  one  who  ap- 
plies himself  to  this  class  of  literature, 
must  own  the  extraordinary  fascination 
of  this  combination  of  |>crfect  simplicity 
with  a  deep  fund  of  mirth.  He  who 
has  once  tasted  will  lind  other  drink 
insipid  ;  yet  it  must  be  said  that  the 
drollery  is  so  bound  up  with  question- 
able matter,  or  perhaps  the-  whole  hu- 
mour arises  from  the  naive  fashion 
with  which  subjects  we  would  ordinar- 
ily shrink  from  are  dealt  with,  that, 
from  long  habit,  the  student  i.s  apt  to 
forgive  the  matter  for  the  manner, 
and  lind  his  sense  of  delicacy  wearing 
away." 

We  think  that  Mr  Fit/herald  has 
here  put  his  finger  on  the  right 
place.  It  is  what  we  should  call  a 
vitiated  taste  in  the  species  of  wit 
or  humour  that  he  cultivated,  which 
has  led  us  to  think  worse  of  the 
man  Sterne  than  he  deserves.  "() 
for  an  ounce  of  civet  to  sweeten 
my  imagination!''  is  the  prayer 
we  should  have  put  into  Sterne's 
mouth.  That  his  was  a  case  of 
vitiated  taste,  not  of  corrupt  life, 
has  always  been  our  opinion.  Those 
very  sentimental  attachments  to 
"  my  dear  Kitty/'  and  "  my  dear 
Eli/a,"  perhaps  not  altogether  un- 
impeachable in  themselves,  prove 
at  least  that  his  heart  had  not  been 
hardened  or  corrupted  by  any  ac- 
tual habits  of  profligacy.  When 
under  the  influence  of  these  attach- 
ments he  is  like  a  boy ;  nothing 
delights  him  so  much  as  to  render 


some  slight  service,  or  to  make 
some  little  present,  to  a  charming 
woman,  and  he  is  repaid  by  a  smile, 
by  a  welcome,  by  being  received  as 
first  favourite  of  the  house.  "  .My 
dear  Kitty  was  Miss  Fourmantelle, 
a  young  French  lady  who  brought 
her  <  Jallie.  graces  into  the  antique 
city  of  York  ;  "  my  dear  Kli/.a'1 
was  a  .Mrs  Draper,  wife  of  "  Daniel 
Draper,  Inquire,  Counsellor  of  Bom 
bay,'"  who  had  come  from  India  for 
the  benefit  of  her  health,  and  to 
place  her  children  under  proper 
care  in  England,  and  whom  Sterne 
met  in  one  of  his  visits  to  London. 
For  this  .Mrs  Draper  he  runs  and 
rides  and  busies  himself  like  a 
young  knight-errant  ju>t  escaped 
from  school.  "  I  must  ever  have.'' 
he  tells  us  of  himself,  "some  Dul- 
cinea  in  my  head !  It  harmonises 
the  soul  ;  "  and  he  goes  on  lo 
say, — "  1  have  been  in  love  with 
one  princess  or  another  almost  all 
my  life,  and  1  hope  1  shall  go  on 
so  till  1  die,  being  firmly  persuad- 
ed that  if  ever  1  do  a  mean  action, 
it  must  be  in  some  interval  between 
one  passion  and  another.'7  We  must 
give  him  credit  here  for  speaking  as 
he  felt  ;  and  a  man  who  feels  thus 
towards  the  sex  may  not  be  very 
wise  or  prudent,  but  he  certainly 
cannot  be  a  man  of  profligate  habits. 
Ajn-ofms  of  "  my  dear  Kitty/'  or. 
Miss  Fourmantelle,  Mr  Fitzgerald 
gives  us  an  instance,  one  of  the 
most  flagrant  we  have  ever  known, 
of  unfounded  and  malignant  scan- 
dal :— 

"  What  was  the  ultimate  destiny 
of  'dear,  clear  Kitty,'  is  not  known; 
but  Mi's  Western,  the  friend  In-fore 
alluded  to,  actually  took  the  trouble  to 
endorse  ujxm  the  bundle  of  letters  a 
strange  and  ghastly  bit  of  romance- 
quite  apocryphal— which  is  only  worthy 
of  notice  for  the  purjto.-e  of  showing 
what  a  curious  confederacy  there  has 
been  to  vilify  the  memory  of  the  gnat 
humorist  in  every  possible  way.  This 
precious  bit  of  history  sets  mit  how  Mr 
Sterne  paid  his  addresses  to  her  for  h've 
years,  then  suddenly  deserted  her,  and 
married  Mrs  Sterne!  That  by  this 
cruelty  she  lost  her  wits,  and  was  taken 
over  to  Paris  bv  her  eldest  sister  to  be 


550 


of  Sterne. 


placed  in  a  mad-house,  in  which  gloomy 
place  of  confinement  she  died.  Mr 
Sterne,  however,  during  some  of  his 
pleasant  visits  to  Paris,  contrived  to 
see  her ;  and  with  a  practical  eye  util- 
ised all  the  sentiment  in  the  situation, 
working  it  up  effectively  in  that  well- 
known  'bit,'  Maria  of  Moullnes. 

"A  reference  to  a  single  date  dis- 
poses of  this  clumsy  'sensation'  scene. 
Mr  Sterne  was  married  in  1740;  and 
we  find  Miss  Fourmantelle,  in  all  her 
charms,  intimate  with  him  twenty  years 
afterwards,  viz.,  in  1760.  No  one  has 
suffered  so  much  from  these  cruel  fabri- 
cations as  Mr  Sterne.  Think  only  of  a 
'  Mrs  Western '  being  at  the  pains  to 
put  by  this  secret  record  for  some  mys- 
terious purpose  —  a  piece  of  vulgar 
York  scandal,  quite  in  keeping  as  to 
its  truth  and  consistency  with  the  other 
vile  stories  for  which  he  has  been  made 
the  mark.  These  were  some  of  the 
weapons  which  Eugenius  warned  him 
'  llevenge  and  Slander,'  twin-ruffians, 
were  to  level  at  his  reputation." 

We  come  now  to  the  great  event 
of  his  life,  the  publication  of  '  Tris- 
tram Shandy/  What  led  to  the 
design  of  the  work,  what  induced 
him,  who  had  lived  till  he  was  past 
forty  without  literary  ambition,  to 
contemplate  authorship  at  all,  we 
cannot  tell.  Who  in  any  case  can 
trace  the  origin  or  progress  of  a  re- 
markable production  1  Hardly  the 
author  himself,  and  certainly  no 
one  else.  With  justice  do  we  use 
the  old  metaphor  of  striking  upon 
a  vein  of  wit  or  poetry,  for  it  is 
only  in  digging — digging  for  some- 
thing perhaps  which  we  do  not  find 
— that  we  come  upon  the  rich  ore  ; 
we  strike  the  vein,  and  dig  on,  and 
pursue  our  treasure,  still  always 
with  a  vague  fear  that  it  may  vanish 
or  terminate  as  suddenly  as  it  ap- 
peared. 

How  great  and  how  sudden  was 
the  success  of  '  Tristram  Shandy,'  is 
known  to  everybody.  It  is  not 
impossible  that  those  parts  which 
merely  excite  the  impatience  of  the 
present  age — which  are  put  aside 
as  trick  and  tomfoolery,  or  some- 
thing worse — helped  to  give  it  that 
immediate  notoriety  which  its  ster- 
ling merits  would  not  have  won. 
These  would  have  made  their  way 


more  slowly  with  the  public.  All 
classes  or  kinds  of  readers  seem  to 
have  joined  in  their  applause.  The 
happy  author  comes  to  London, 
settles  himself  in  apartments  in 
Pall  Mall,  "  the  genteelest  in  the 
town." 

"It  may  be  questioned,"  says  Mi- 
Fitzgerald,  "if  those  rooms  ever  saw 
such  a  flood  of  fine  company  as  then 
invaded  them.  He  was  not  twenty- 
four  hours  in  town  before  his  triumph 
began.  It  was  enough  to  have  turned 
any  ordinary  mortal's  head.  He  was 
already  engaged  to  '  ten  noblemen 
and  men  of  fashion '  for  dinners, 
which  shows  that  his  coming  must  have 
been  eagerly  looked  for.  Mr  Garrick 
was  the  first  to  take  him  by  the  hand, 
and  overwhelmed  him  with  favours 
and  invitations.  He  had  been  the  first, 
too,  to  discover  the  merits  of  '  Tris- 
tram.' He  had  asked  him  frequently 
to  dine,  introduced  him  to  everybody, 
and  promised  '  numbers  of  great  people' 
to  carry  the  witty  stranger  to  dine  with 
them.  He  made  him  free  of  his  theatre 
for  the  whole  season,  and  undertook 
the  'management  of  the  booksellers,' 
and  to  procure  'a  good  price.'  " 

In  short,  he  was  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  Lord  Chesterfield  asks 
him  to  dinner ;  Lord  Kockingham 
takes  him  to  Court.  "  All  the 
bishops/'  he  writes,  "  have  sent 
their  compliments  to  me."  That 
"  all  the  bishops  "  we  take  to  be 
a  figure  of  speech  as  part  for  the 
whole.  It  is  certain  that  one  dis- 
tinguished bishop,  Warburton,  pro- 
claims aloud  his  merits,  dubs  him 
the  English  Rabelais,  and,  strange 
to  say,  sends  him  a  purse  of  gold. 
This  purse  of  gold  is  a  mysterious 
business  ;  it  is  hard  to  believe  that 
the  bishop  gave,  or  that  Sterne  re- 
ceived it ;  harder  still  to  believe  that 
it  was  given  to  Sterne  as  a  bribe, 
or  purchase-money  for  his  silence, 
— Sterne  having  had  some  design 
of  introducing  the  bishop  in  his 
book.  There  is  nothing  in  the  life 
of  Sterne  to  make  it  credible  that 
he  would  be  so  base  as  to  extort 
money  from  another  by  holding  out 
a  threat  to  turn  him  into  ridicule. 
Just  before  his  triumphant  entry 
into  London,  he  had  written — "  I 


Life  of 


thank  God,  though  I  don't  abound, 
that  I  have  enough  for  a  clean  shirt 
everyday,  and  a  mutton-chop;  and 
my  rontentinent  with  this  has  thus 
far  (and  I  hope  ever  will)  put  me 
above  stooping  one  im-h  for  it.  For 
estate — curse  on  it — 1  like  it  not 
to  that  degree,  nor  envy  (you  may 
he  sure)  any  man  who  kneels  in  the 
dirt  for  it."  And  he  adds,  "1  wrote 
not  to  he  /"/,  but  to  be  Htttinn*." 
General  declarations  of  this  kind,  of 
course,  weigh  nothing  again.st  posi- 
tive evidence.  All  eloquent  men 
give  eloquent  expressions  to  such 
sentiments  as  these.  J5ut  we  have 
no  evidence  before  us  to  convict 
Sterne  of  any  such  baseness.  Least 
of  all  do  we  agree  with  Mr  Fitx- 
gerald  in  the  weight  he  gives  to  "a 
strange  letter  which  1  have  dis- 
covered in  an  obscure  maga/ine, 
and  which  wa.s  written  long  after 
the  death  of  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned." This  anonymous  letter 
gives  what  appears  to  us  a  most 
improbable  version  of  the  story  ; 
nor  is  there  any  evidence  that  it  was 
really  written  by  a  friend  of  Sterne. 
Some  ecclesiastical  preferment 
follows  in  the  train  of  all  this  ap- 
plause. Lord  Fauconberg  gives  him 
the  perpetual  curacy  of  Coxwould 
— no  great  addition  to  his  income  ; 
but  other  gifts  of  the  same  kind 
may  be  anticipated.  Sterne,  no 
doubt,  hoped  that  though  it  would 
not  "  rain  mitres  on  his  head.'' 
some  good  rectory  or  other  solid 
preferment  might  fall  to  his  lot. 
But  here  he  was  disappointed,  and 
was  like  to  be.  (Jood  rectories 
have  their  course  of  devolution 
marked  out  for  them  even  more 
strictly  than  bishoprics,  and  are  less 
likely  than  mitres  to  fall  upon  the 
heads  of  eccentric  people.  Kveii 
Young  the  poet  sighed  for  one  in 
vain.  If  Sterne  had  any  chance 
to  lose,  he  lost  it  by  his  indiscre- 
tion, and  the  flagrant  and  immoder- 
ate manner  in  which  he  assumed 
the  airs  of  the  man  of  pleasure. 
He  wa.s  a  frequent  visitor  at  Hane- 
lagh  ;  he  was  not  contented  with 
the  theatre,  but  must  make  ac- 


quaintance with  the  actresses  behind 
the  scenes.  It  is  true  that  there 
were  many  of  the  cloth  to  keep 
him  in  countenance,  and  that 
public  opinion  was  very  lax,  at 
this  epoch,  in  matters  of  decorum, 
and  even  in  grave  matters  of  mor- 
ality. Hut  it  matters  not  where 
public  opinion  draws  the  line  ;  he 
who  transgresses  that  line  must 
pay  the  penalty.  And  however 
liberal  the  licence  of  speech  or  con- 
duct which  was  granted  in  the  days 
of  Sterne.  Sterne  manifestly  out- 
stcppcd  that  limit. 

Mut  year  after  year  saw  him  en- 
riched by  the  sale  of  'Tristram 
Shandy,'  and  this  accession  of 
wealth  opened  to  him  a  new  source 
of  pleasure  and  a  new  mode  of  life. 
1  le  could  travel  abroad.  His  health, 
too,  required,  or  he  thought  it  re- 
quired, a  change  of  climate.  Mr 
Fit/gerald  travels  pleasantly  over 
the  route  familiarised  to  us  by  the 
'  Sentimental  Journey,'  and  shows 
us  Sterne  in  the  gaiety  of  1'aris  : — 

"  Nut    less    welcome    W.'l-.    he     to    the 

French  than  the  French  to  him.  He 
was  at  once,  with  scarcely  an  hour's  de- 
lay, plunged  into  the  crowd  of  the  wits, 
philosophers,  deists,  actor-.,  courtiers 
and  alil'cs.  Me  was  in  the  salons  in 
a  moment.  The  doors  were  thrown 
open  fur  him.  His  friend  (larrick,  who 
was  known  to  many  there,  had  no 
doulit  stood  his  sponsor  here  as  lie  had 
in  London.  Hut  in  truth  he  found 
hosts  of  friends  already  on  the  Kjx»t. 
Here  was  Mr  Fox,  and  Mr  Macartney, 
who  afterwards  went  to  ( 'hina  ami  W- 
came  Sir  (icorge  ami  Lord  Macartney, 
ami  a  whole  crowd  of  '  Kurdish  of  dis- 
tinction.' .  .  No  wonder  that  he 
should  writ*-  home  in  a  tumult  of  rapture 
of  the  llatteries  and  distinctions  with 
which  he  was  welcomed.  He  had  IM-CII 
there  little  more  than  a  week  when  the 
current  of  dinners,  the  inevitable  shape 
the  popular  homage  was  to  assume,  }•<.•• 
gaii  to  llow  ;  ami  he  was  already  txmml 
in  pleasant  dining  shackles  a  fortnight 
deep.  It  was  the  old  London  story 
over  again  ;  and  there  was  a  new  fea- 
ture, not  found  in  the  London  pro- 
grammes—the 'little  suppxjr. ' '' 

We  naturally  tremble  for  the 
health  of  the  invalid  ;  but  all  this 
festival-work  agrees  marvellously 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May, 


with  Sterne.  He  was,  no  doubt,  as 
singular  and  exceptional  in  bodily 
as  in  mental  constitution.  There 
are  men  framed  on  this  plan,  that 
though  they  sqem  ready  to  suc- 
cumb before  the  first  keen  blast 
that  blows  into  them,  yet  they 
have  that  obstinate  vitality — say  in 
the  brain  or  nervous  system — that 
they  are  always  equal  to  any  emer- 
gency of  enjoyment.  The  joy  re- 
vives them.  We  wonder  that, 
amidst  the  harsh  interpretations 
which  the  character  of  Sterne  has 
had  on  every  side  to  undergo,  no 
one  has  thought  of  accusing  him  of 
affectation  in  this  matter  of  ill 
health.  Sterne  had  no  feeling, 
says  one  ;  it  was  mere  affectation 
of  feeling.  See  how  he  jests  and 
gibes.  With  equal  reason  another 
might  have  decided  that  Sterne 
only  shammed  illness  :  see  how  he 
sports,  and  laughs,  and  dines,  and 
travels.  The  one  would  be  as  fair 
an  inference  as  the  other. 

But  we  have  no  wish  to  travel 
with  Sterne,  or  to  go  over  the 
ground  of  his  '  Sentimental  Jour- 
ney/ And,  indeed,  we  have  touched 
upon  all  the  points  of  his  life  which 
were  necessary  to  our  object.  If, 
after  perusing  the  details  of  his 
career  as  Mr  Fitzgerald  presents 
them,  a  very  harsh  verdict  is  given 
on  this  buoyant,  impressible,  mirth- 
loving  man  of  genius,  it  must  be 
by  a  very  harsh  judge  indeed.  We 
would  rather  not  share  in  the  sever- 
ity of  such  a  judge.  Sterne  is  no 
model  for  any  one  to  imitate,  but 
he  is  an  eccentric  friend  we  can 
easily  tolerate  :  we  could  better 
spare  a  better  man. 

Instead  of  following  the  several 
journeys  into  France  of  Mr  or  Mrs 
Sterne,  we  shall  content  ourselves 
with  looking  in  at  Coxwould,  where 
he  now  resides  when  in  England 
and  at  his  cure,  and  marking  how  he 
proceeds  with  his  '  Tristram  Shan- 
dy/ As  to  the  last  scene  of  his 
death,  and  the  horrible  event  that 
is  said  to  have  occurred  subsequent 
to  his  death,  they  are  known  to 
every  one ;  and,  if  not,  they  can  be 


read  in  the  pages  of  Mr  Fitzgerald. 
We  care  not  to  extract  the  narrative 
here. 

The  following  incident  ought  not 
to  pass  unmentioned  : — 

"  He  had  long  since  handed  over  hi* 
parsonage  at  Sutton  to  a  curate  who 
took  charge  of  that  parish.  One  night, 
through  the  carelessness  of  this  curate, 
or  'of  his  wife,  or  his  maid,  or  some 
one  within  its  gates,'  it  took  lire,  and 
was  burnt  to  the  ground,  with  all  Mrs 
Sterne's  furniture  and  Mr  Sterne's 
books,  '  a  pretty  collection.'  The  loss 
was  close  on  four  hundred  pounds.  Mr 
Sterne  goes  on  with  the  story — 'The 
poor  man  and  his  wife  took  the  wings 
of  the  next  morning  and  fled  away. 
This  has  given  me  real  vexation,  for  so 
much  was  my  pity  and  esteem  for  him, 
that  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  this  disaster, 
I  sent  to  desire  that  he  would  come  and 
take  up  his  abode  with  me  till  another 
habitation  was  ready  to  receive  him ; 
but  he  was  gone,  and,  as  I  am  told, 
through  fear  of  my  persecution.  Heav- 
ens !  how  little  did  he  know  of  me,  to 
suppose  that  I  was  amongst  the  num- 
ber of  those  which  heap  misfortune 
upon  misfortune. '  .  .  .  This  is  fresh 
testimony  to  his  goodness  of  heart,  un- 
der a  trial  that  would  have  tried  an- 
other man's  temper  severely.  At  the 
moment  he  wrote  he  felt  he  would  be 
obliged  to  rebuild  the  house.  The  name 
of  this  unlucky  curate  I  have  discover- 
ed. He  was  Mr  William  Uaper,  and  had 
been  there  for  six  years.  I  find  that  he 
stayed  with  Sterne  until  the  following 
year,  so  that  his  tolerance  of  the  mis- 
fortune was  not  a  mere  flourish." 

But  the  house,  as  every  one  will 
expect  to  hear,  was  not  rebuilt  in 
the  lifetime  of  Sterne.  The  succes- 
sor to  the  vicarage  instituted  a  suit 
for  dilapidation  against  his  widow, 
Mrs  Sterne,  which  he  was  fain  to 
compound  for  the  sum  of  sixty 
pounds. 

It  was  to  Coxwould  he  returned, 
after  the  first  flush  of  triumph,  to 
continue  '  Tristram  Shandy.'  The  . 
plan  he  proposed  to  himself  was, 
every  winter  to  produce  two  vol- 
umes, and  every  spring  to  reappear 
with  them  in  London.  He  must 
have  had  great  confidence  in  his 
own  resources  to  have  formed  such 
a  plan  ;  and  for  a  few  years  it  was 
realised.  His  second  visit  to  Lon- 


1*05.] 


Life  of 


don  with  hi.s  second  instalment  of 
'Tristram'  was  ;is  triumphant  as  his 
first  entry  into  the  capital.  Of 
course  the  critics  were  upon  him, 
nor  did  they  want  fair  grounds  of 
attack. 

Amongst  those  who  were  more 
otVended  with  the  blemishes  than 
pleased  with  the  original  genius  of 
'  Tristram,'  many  have  been  sur- 
prised to  find  the  name  of  Gold- 
smith.  He  who  drew  the  Vicar 
of  Waketicld,  he  who  designed 
Beau  Tibbs,  ought,  it  is  said,  to 
have  recognised  a  fellow-artist  in 
Sterne.  The  hostile  criticism  of 
Goldsmith  has  been  attributed  to 
mortified  vanity.  //•  was  slowly 
and  laboriously  working  his  way  to 
fame,  and  lo  !  this  new-comer  has 
but  to  present  himself,  and  the 
world  of  London  is  at  his  feet.  The 
contrast  was  mortifying  enough, 
and  doubtless  helped  him  to  see 
the  many  improprieties  in  'Tris- 
tram.' But  in  fact  there  was  another 
contrast — the  contrast  between  the 
two  men  themselves — that  would 
sufficiently  account  for  Goldsmith's 
dislike  of  our  English  Rabelais. 
Both  men  write  in  a  clear,  beauti- 
ful, idiomatic  style — both  men  have 
humour  and  refined  observation ; 
but  here  their  similarity  ends.  It 
was  the  tendency  of  Goldsmith  to 
harmonise  and  complete  :  his  was 
the  cfnsxii'  type  of  composition. 
Whether  his  subject  were  humorous 
or  pathetic,  he  aimed  at  a  perfect 
congruity,  a  finished  and  harmo- 
nious whole.  Sterne  was  an  ex- 
treme instance  of  what  has  in  later 
days  been  called  the  romantic 
school,  where  incongruities  are 
sought,  not  shunned.  Sterne  dared 
all  things.  It  was  his  very  aim  to 
startle,  and  disappoint,  and  produce 
a  sort  of  da/.x.ling  chaos.  With  all 
this,  Goldsmith  could  not  sympa- 
thise. He  himself  personally  is 
said  to  have  been  the  least  dignified 
of  men  ;  and  seen  at  the  club,  or 
in  the  streets  of  London,  he  pre- 
sented incongruities  enough  ;  but 
when  he  sat  himself  down  as  author 
to  hold  communion,  from  that  soli- 


tary chair,  witli  the  outride,  invi- 
sible world,  he  became  invested 
with  a  calm  and  modest  dignity, 
and,  in  his  spirit,  was  graceful  as 
one  of  the  muses.  It  was  not. 
therefore,  really  to  be  wondered  at 
that  he  recoiled  at  this  new  pro- 
digy in  literature  ;  it  was  to  him, 
at  very  best,  as  if  a  satyr  had 
mounted  upon  IVgasus,  and  came 
leaping  and  flying  into  the  courts 
of  ( )lympus. 

While  we  should  be  more  indul- 
gent towards  the  criticism  of  Gold- 
smith than  Mr  Fit/gerald  would 
probably  be,  there  arc  other  critics 
whom  we  think  Mr  Fit/gerald 
treats  with  even  more  courtesy 
than  they  deserve.  These  are  the 
pedants,  with  Dr  Ferriar  at  their 
liead,  who,  having  read  the  not 
very  accessible  books  which  Sterne 
had  met  with  at  Cra/y  Castle  or 
elsewhere,  forthwith  cry  out.  "  Pla- 
giarism!" and  would  deny  to  our 
author  his  most  cherished  claim  of 
originality. 

We  should  have  hardly  thought 
of  alluding  to  this  subject,  but  in 
looking  over  a  brief  sketch  of  the 
'  Life  of  Sterne,'  written  by  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  we  were  grieved  to 
find  that  even  that  generous  and 
acute  critic  had  given  ear  to  this 
l)r  Ferriar,  or  had  re-echoed,  with- 
out bestowing  much  attention  to 
the  matter,  the  charges  made  against 
Sterne  of  plagiarism. 

"  F«ir  proof,"  says  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
"  of  this  sweeping  charge  wo  must  re- 
fer the  reader  to  l>r  Kerriar's  well- 
knuwii  '  Kssay  and  Illustrations,'  as  he 
delicately  terms  them,  of  Sterne's  writ- 
ings, in  which  it  is  clearly  shown  that 
lie,  whose  manner  ami  .-style  was  so 
long  thought  original,  was,  in  fact,  the 
most  unhesitating  plagiarist  that  ever 
crihlK-il  from  his  predecessors  in  order 
to  garnish  hi-<  own  pages." 

Now,  a  few  instances  of  positive 
larceny  (if  such  there  are  proved 
against  him),  of  passages  bodily 
taken  from  one  book  and  put  into 
another,  cannot  deprive  Sterne  of 
his  claim  to  originality.  A  man 
may  earn  money  and  steal  money 


Life  of  Sterne. 


[May, 


at  the  same  time.  It  is  not  because 
lie  has  robbed  his  neighbour,  that 
he  has  therefore  gained  nothing  for 
himself  by  his  own  peculiar  skill 
and  industry.  "  Whose  manner 
and  style  was  so  long  thought  ori- 
ginal !  "  Could  twenty  Dr  Ferriars 
prove  that  Sterne's  manner  and 
style  were  not  original  ]  Is  there 
any  book  in  the  language  that,  to 
this  day,  stands  out  so  distinct  and 
solitary  as  '  Tristram  Shandy  '  '< 

Dr  Ferriar  wrote  an  exceedingly 
dull  book  :  brief  as  it  is,  we  doubt 
if  Sir  Walter  had  the  patience  to 
read  it  through  ;  some  extract  from 
it  probably  satisfied  him.  The 
dilettante  Doctor  seems  to  have 
written  his  little  book  from  no 
worse  motive  than  simply  to  parade 
his  own  reading.  See,  I  also  have 
read  these  curious  books  ! — (books 
often  flung  away  because,  on  the 
whole,  they  were  not  worth  pre- 
serving ;  they  had  been  superseded 
by  better  books) — and  I  have  found 
out  where  Mr  Sterne  pastured. 
"  Where  the  bee  sucks  there  suck 
I!"  This  is  what  he  wished  to 
tell  the  world.  But,  of  course,  Dr 
Ferriar's  reading  could  have  no  in- 
terest for  the  world  unless  it  bore 
upon  Sterne's  remarkable  work ; 
the  Doctor  had  to  show  what  dis- 
coveries he  had  made  as  to  the 
growth  and  production  of  '  Tristram 
Shandy.'  And  a  miserable  business 
he  has  made  of  it.  To  drag  in 
some  anecdote  of  his  own  gather- 
ing, he  bungles  and  boggles  over 
the  pages  of  Sterne.  He  has  not 
the  least  conception  of  what  really 
is  plagiarism,  and  what  is  not. 
Had  he  set  to  work  to  criticise 
the  '  Antiquary '  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  he  would  have  read  up  all 
the  books  that  Oldbuck  quotes,  or 
from  which  he  gathers  his  anti- 
quarian lore,  and  then  he  would 
have  complacently  told  the  world 
that  he  had  found  Sir  Walter  out  ! 
Mr  Shandy  is  a  pedant,  a  dealer  in 
learned  crotchets,  in  curious  theories 
— he  has  fed  on  books  grown  out 
of  books — and  Sterne  is  a  plagiarist 
because  he  has  not  invented  a  new 


classic  and  medieval  literature  for 
Mr  Shandy  to  disport  in.  As  well 
require  of  Mr  Oldbuck  to  invent 
an  archaeology  and  a  new  black- 
letter  library,  entirely  for  his  own 
behoof.  It  is  the  merit  of  a  writer 
of  fiction  that  he  thoroughly  imbues 
himself  with  the  literature  of  the 
period,  or  of  the  kind  of  personage, 
he  chooses  to  portray.  "  Where 
the  bee  sucks  there  suck  I  !  "  So 
says  the  snail  crawling  weakly  over 
the  same  vegetation.  A  humorist 
who  finds  the  subject  for  his  jest  in 
the  erudite  follies  of  the  past,  is 
convicted  of  having  read  !  Lo  ! 
these  favourite  quotations,  they 
had  been  made  before ! — this  learned 
nonsense  about  names  and  noses, 
it  may  be  found  in  books  accessible 
to  learned  men — this  incident  which 
the  man  of  genius  has  invested 
with  such  a  charm  and  significance 
that  it  lives  for  ever  in  the  minds 
of  all  his  countrymen,  might  it 
not  have  grown  out  of  this  other 
bald  fact,  or  this  dull  jest,  that  the 
bookworm  can  also  discover  some- 
where in  the  dust  of  his  library  ? 

There  is  nothing  spiteful,  be  it 
said,  in  Dr  Ferriar's  little  book — 
nothing  worse  than  stupidity,  and 
the  mere  vanity  of  the  pedant. 
While  objecting  to  Sterne  that  he 
borrows  from  Burton,  nothing  de- 
lights him  so  much  as  to  show  that 
Sterne  had  not  read  the  original 
Greek  or  Latin  from  which  Burton 
drew — as  if,  for  the  purposes  of 
the  author  of  '  Tristram  Shandy,'  it 
was  necessary  to  verify  the  quota- 
tions of  Burton.  A  vague  feeling 
haunts  the  Doctor  that  if  Sterne 
had  gone  direct  to  the  writers 
from  whom  Burton  quotes,  it 
would  not  have  been  plagiarism  ; 
and  again,  if  he,  Dr  Ferriar,  had 
read  the  Greek  from  which  Burton 
has  translated,  and  Sterne  has  not, 
he,  the  Doctor,  is  so  far  superior 
to  Sterne,  and  the  world  ought  to 
know  this.  After  quoting  one  of 
the  plagiarised  passages  from  Bur- 
ton, about  the  Abederitans.  he  pro- 
ceeds thus  : — "  Why  Sterne  should 
have  called  this  a  fragment  I  can- 


1865.] 


Life  of  Sttrne. 


not  imagine,  unless,  a.s  Burton  for- 
got to  quote  his  author,  Sterne  was 
not  aware  that  the  story  was  taken 
from  the  introduction  to  Lucian's 
essay  on  the  method  of  writing  his- 
tory. Uurton  has  spoiled  this  pas- 
sage 1»y  an  unfaithful  translation. 
Sterne  has  imrkrd  it  tip  to  a  l#-autt- 
f  ill  picture,  />n(  vry  different  from 
(fit  original  in  Lucian,  ii-it/t  irhtch  I 
am  jmsuadtd  /if  teas  unacquainted" 
Very  probably.  As  Sterne's  beau- 
tiful picture,  it  seems,  is  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  original  in  Lucian, 
no  one  would  suspect  him  for  a 
moment  of  having  read  the  original. 
Nor  can  there  be  an  earthly  motive 
for  emphatically  telling  us  that 
"  Sterne,  I  am  persuaded,  was  un- 
acquainted with  the  original,"  un- 
less it  be  to  tell  us  at  the  same  time, 
with  equal  emphasis,  that  "I,  l>r 
Ferriar,  am  acquainted  with  it." 

It  is  well  understood  that  there 
was  a  course  of  reading  out  of  which 
'Tristram  Shandy '  grew  ;  without 
that  course  of  reading  Sterne  might 
have  written  something  else, — he 
could  not  have  written  '  Tristram 
Shandy.'  What  that  something  else 


would  have  been  it  is  idle  to  specu- 
late ;  but  there  was  that  living 
energy  in  the  man  —  that  power 
both  of  humour  and  pathos — which 
would  surely  have  developed  itself 
in  some  direction  or  another. 

Hut  we  promised  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  paper  that  we 
woidd  abstain  here  from  liter- 
ary criticism  ;  and  for  a  fuller  de- 
tail of  the  /iff  of  Sterne  than  we 
are  able  to  find  space  for,  we  will 
refer  our  readers  to  Mr  Fitzgerald. 
His  book  ought  to  be  read  by  all 
who  are  desirous  to  obtain  an  im- 
partial view  of  the  character  of  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  the 
list  of  Knglish  authors.  We  have 
preferred  not  to  enter  into  minute 
criticisms  upon  Mr  Fitzgerald's 
own  manner  of  writing  ;  it  is  of 
that  class  where  there  is  too  inces- 
sant, too  conspicuous  effort  to  be 
lively  and  entertaining.  He  must 
excuse  us  for  saying  that  he  would 
please  more  if  he  trusted  to  the  in- 
herent interest  of  his  subject,  and 
laboured  less  to  keep  up  our  atten- 
tion by  the  little  tricks  and  artifices 
of  composition. 


VOL.   XCVII. — NO.  DXCV. 


2    P 


556 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[May, 


CORNELIUS    O'DOWD   UPON   MEN   AND   WOMEN,    AND    OTHER   THINGS 
IN   GENERAL. 


THE    ENGLISH    INQUISITION". 


"  MY  Lord,"  said  an  eminent 
Irish  counsel,  some  forty- odd  years 
ago,  "  if  there  be  any  principle  em- 
balmed in  the  glorious  constitution 
of  this  realm — if  there  is  any  right 
which  we  claim  distinctively  as 
British — it  is  contained  in  those 
noble  words,  the  strongholds  a- 
gainst  tyranny,  the  refuge  against 
oppression,  '  Nemo  me  impune  la- 
cessit' — Xo  man  is  bound  to  crim- 
inate himself." 

Now,  whether  the  distinguished 
authority  was  perfectly  correct  in 
his  translation,  is  not  the  ques- 
tion I  desire  to  raise  here.  I 
simply  desire  to  ask  if  the  great 
privilege  of  which  we  are  told  we 
should  be  so  proud  avail  us  much, 
or  indeed  avail  us  anything  at  all, 
in  presence  of  the  system  of  cross- 
examination  that  is  now  practised 
in  our  law-courts. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written 
about  the  licence  of  the  Press — and 
unquestionably  there  is  a  certain 
tyranny  in  the  expression  of  opinion 
so  haughtily  delivered,  so  severely 
conveyed,  as  we  occasionally  see 
it — but  what  is  the  most  slashing 
leader,  what  the  most  cutting 
review,  to  that  mauvais  quart 
d'heure  a  man  passes  in  the  wit- 
ness -  box  when  the  examining 
counsel  desires  to  disparage  his 
veracity  ] 

You  are  sued  in  some  trifling 
action.  It  is  a  question  of  some 
garden-seeds  or  a  hearth-rug,  the 
payment  for  which,  for  reasons  of 
your  own,  you  dispute.  You  be- 
lieve your  case  a  good  one  ;  and 
though  the  defence  may  prove  more 
costly  than  a  submission  to  the 
demand,  your  sense  of  self-respect 
requires  resistance,  and  you  make 
it. 


Now,  I  am  willing  to  believe 
that  from  your  earliest  years  you 
have  been  trained  to  habits  of  vir- 
tue and  order;  that,  good  as  a  child, 
you  grew  better  as  a  youth,  and  be- 
came best  as  a  man ;  that,  so  cir- 
cumspect had  you  been  over  your 
conduct  through  life,  it  would  be 
next  to  impossible  to  find  an  in- 
stance in  which  your  behaviour 
could  have  been  altered  for  the 
better  ; — in  a  word,  that  you  have 
ever  shown  yourself  equally  zealous 
in  the  pursuit  of  virtue  as  strong 
in  resisting  every  access  of  tempta- 
tion. Get  up  now  into  the  witness- 
box,  and  see  what  that  eminent 
counsel  will  make  you.  Sit  under 
him  for  five-and-forty  minutes,  and 
tell  me  if  five-and-twenty  years  will 
erase  the  memory  of  the  miseries 
you  endured,  the  insinuations  you 
could  not  reply  to,  the  insults  you 
were  not  permitted  to  resent  ? 

In  the  first  place,  you  are  pre- 
sented to  the  world  of  a  crowded 
court  as  a  species  of  human  target, 
a  mark  which  Serjeant  Buzfuz  is  to 
fire  at  as  long  as  he  likes,  with  his 
own  ammunition,  and  at  his  own 
range.  He  may  be  as  obtuse,  as 
stupid,  as  wrong-headed,  and  as 
blundering  as  the  crier  of  the  court ; 
he  may  mistake  his  facts,  misstate 
his  brief  :  but  there  is  one  thing  he 
will  never  forget  —  that  you  are 
there  for  his  own  especial  torture  of 
you,  and  that,  whether  he  worried 
you  "for  plaintiff"  or  "defendant," 
out  of  that  box  you  don't  come  till 
he  has  blackened  your  character  and 
defamed  your  reputation,  and  sent 
you  back  to  your  home  outraged, 
injured,  and  insulted. 

Is  there  a  bishop,  arch  or  simple, 
on  the  bench,  who  in  his  school- 
days, or  his  college-days,  or  in  his 


1865.] 


a»</  other  Thimjs  in  General. — Part  X  V. 


after  life  as  tutor,  either  by  word 
or  deed,  by  something  he  uttered, 
something  he  wrote,  some  udvire 
lie  gave,  or  some  advice  he  did  not 
give,  has  nut  in  some  shape  or  other 
done  "  that  thing  he  ought  not  to 
have  done,"  or  left  undone  that 
which  he  ought  }  Is  it  not  very 
possible  that  this  same  error,  of 
whatever  kind  it  may  have  been, 
has  acted  upon  his  nature  either  as 
warning  or  corrective  (  Is  it  not 
likely  that  much  of  his  conduct 
through  life  has  been  traced  with 
reference  to  experiences,  bought 
dearly,  perhaps,  and  that  he  has 
shaped  his  course  with  the  know- 
ledge of  these  shoals  and  quicksands 
which  once  had  threatened  him 
with  shipwreck  I  I  take  it  there 
must  be  men  amongst  us  who  have 
learned  something  from  their  own 
errors,  and  whose  example  is  not 
the  less  striking  that  their  manhood 
is  in  strong  contrast  with  their 
youth.  I  take  it  that  the  number 
of  those  who  could  say,  1  have  no- 
thing to  secrete,  nothing  to  recant, 
nothing  to  unsay,  nothing  to  undo, 
must  be  small  ;  and  I  am  strongly 
disposed  to  believe  that  the  influ- 
ence of  the  very  best  men  would  be 
seriously  prejudiced  if  a  perpetual 
reference  were  to  be  made  to  some 
circumstances  or  opinions,  or  some 
accidents  of  their  early  lives. 

Cross-examination  rejects  all  this 
reserve,  and  revels  in  whatever 
.shall  display  the  man  in  the  wit- 
ness-box as  something  totally  un- 
like the  character  he  now  wears 
before  the  world. 

Once  ingeniously  place  him  in 
contrast  with  himself,  and  he  is 
stamped  as  a  hypocrite  ;  and  there 
is  not  a  man  on  the  jury  who  will 
listen  to  him  with  any  respect. 

"  I  will  now  a.sk  the  witness,  my 
Lord,  if  the  Poem  which  I  hold  in 
my  hand,  and  from  which  I  pur- 
pose to  read  some  extracts,  was  not 
written  by  himself.  Take  that 
book,  sir,  and  say  are  these  lines 
yours  ? " 

"  My  Lord,  when   I  wrote  that 


"  Answer  my  question,  sir.  Are 
you  the  author  of  this  production  ?" 

"  My  Lord,  I  humbly  entreat 
your  Lordship's  protection,  and  1 
desire  to  know  it  I  am  bound  to 
answer  this  question  f  " 

The  Court  blandly,  almost  com- 
passionately, assures  him  that  if 
he  deems  any  admissions  he  may 
make  will  have  the  etlect  of  in- 
criminating him,  he  is  not  bound 
to  reply ;  on  which  the  examining 
counsel,  with  the  leer  triumphant 
towards  the  jury  box.  rejoins,  "  I 
\\ill  now  repeat  my  question,  and 
the  witness  will  u.-e  the  discretion 
which  his  Lordship  informs  him  is 
his  privilege." 

''  I  was  a  youth  of  nineteen,  my 
Lord,  when  I  wrote  those  verses!" 
stammers  out  the  confused  and  al- 
most overwhelmed  witness,  turning 
with  a  human  instinct  to  the  one 
living  creature  that  seems  to  look 
pitifully  on  his  sufferings. 

"Address  yourself  to  me,  sir," 
shouts  out  I'liixfux,  "and  tell  me  if 
it  was  at  this  same  irresponsible 
period  of  your  life  you  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Matilda  ( luhhins  i" 

"  She  was  children's  governess  in 
my  uncle's  family,"  stammers  out 
the  blushing  martyr,  who  has  a 
wife  and  a  mother-in-law  in  court, 
and  whose  present  miseries  pale 
before  the  thought  of  another  in- 
qui>ition  that  awaits  him. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  cries 
Buxfux,  in  a  voice  like  that  of  an 
avenging  angel,  "  I  call  upon  you 
to  take  note  of  the  reply  the  wit- 
ness has  just  returned  to  my  ques- 
tion— a  reply  of  which  I  hesitate  to 
marvel  more  at  its  evasion  than  at 
its  outrageous  effrontery.  Instead 
of  a  simple  yes  or  no  to  my  question, 
he  tells  you  that  his  unhappy  victim 
was  in  a  humble  position — a  poor, 
perhaps  friendless  girl." 

"  Really,  brother  Uu/.fu/.,"  inter- 
poses the  judge,  "  I  must  stop  this 
line  of  cross-examination.  It  is 
totally  irrelevant  to  the  matter 
before  us." 

"  My  Lord,  it  is  essential  to  my 
case  to  show  that  this  man  is  not 


558 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[May, 


worthy  of  credit.  He  comes  here 
to-day  to  resist  the  just  demand  of 
a  poor  and  industrious  tradesman, 
and  on  the  faith  of  his  own  words 
to  deny  the  contract  that  subsisted 
between  them ;  but  before  he  leaves 
that  box  the  jury  shall  see  what 
credence  they  will  accord  to  one 
whose  whole  life  has  been  a  tissue 
of  treachery,  evasion,  and  falsehood. 
My  instructions,  my  Lord,  extend 
to  the  period  of  his  school-days,  of 
which  I  now  purpose  to  ask  him 
some  questions." 

It  is  in  vain  for  the  Court  to 
declare  that  the  witness  need  not 
reply  to  this,  that,  and  the  other. 
We  all  of  us  know  what  effect  is 
produced  by  a  man's  refusing  to 
answer  some  home  question,  the 
reply  to  which  we  ourselves  fancy 
to  be  the  easiest  of  all  imaginable 
things,  so  that  when  the  moment 
has  arrived  that  the  counsel  can  say, 
You  may  go  down,  sir  !  he  says  it 
with  a  look,  voice,  and  emphasis 
that  seem  to  consign  the  unhappy 
victim  to  a  depth  from  which  he  is 


never  more  to  emerge  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  life. 

Now,  if  these  be  sore  trials  to  a 
man,  what  are  they  when  a  woman 
is  the  victim  1  what  are  they  when 
the  vaguest  insinuation  swells  to 
the  magnitude  of  an  insult,  and  an 
imputed  possibility  becomes  a  grave 
outrage  1 

We  boast  about  liberty — we  rant 
about  our  house  being  our  castle — 
and  we  repeat  the  Pittite  about  that 
sanctuary  where  the  rain  may  enter, 
and  the  wind  enter,  but  the  King 
cannot  enter;  and  yet  we  endure  a 
serfdom  ten  thousand  times  more 
degrading  than  all  the  perquisitions 
of  a  police,  and  all  the  searchings 
of  a  "  Gendarmerie." 

While  I  write,  I  read  that  a  ver- 
dict, with  one  thousand  pounds 
damages,  has  been  obtained  against 
a  well-known  journal  for  having 
employed  in  a  criticism  the  same 
expressions  of  disparagement  the 
Attorney-General  had  used  in  court: 
the  lawyer  being,  it  is  alleged,  pri- 
vileged, the  critic  is  held  a  def  amer ! 


I  know  of  nothing  so  continu- 
ously, so  pertinaciously  overpraised 
in  this  world  as  thrift ;  nor  do  I  be- 
lieve that  human  selfishness  ever 
took  on  a  mask  of  more  consummate 
hypocrisy  than  in  this  same  lauda- 
tion. When  I  lecture  the  labour- 
ing man  on  the  merits  of  economy — 
when  I  write  my  little  book  to  show 
him  how  life  can  be  maintained  on 
infinitesimal  fragments  of  food,  and 
that  homoeopathy  can  apply  to  diet 
as  well  as  to  physic — my  secret 
motive  is  often  this  :  to  prevent 
the  same  man  becoming  a  burden 
to  me,  and  a  charge  to  the  rates,  if 
sickness  should  overtake  or  idleness 
fall  upon  him.  I  tell  him  how  he 
may  eke  out  life  on  half  rations,  be- 
cause the  day  might  come  in  which 
he  would  address  himself  to  me  for 
a  meal. 

I  know  there  are  numbers  who 
do  not  so  act  or  think,  and  who 


really  feel  for  and  compassionate 
the  poor;  but  even  they  are  prone 
to  suggest  sacrifices  not  one  of 
which  they  would  be  capable  of 
making,  and  instil  precepts  of  self- 
denial  of  whose  cost  they  have  not 
the  faintest  idea. 

First  of  all,  thrift  is  not  every 
man's  gift.  It  is  as  much  an  idio- 
syncrasy as  a  taste  for  drawing  or 
an  ear  for  music.  There  are  people 
in  the  world  whom  no  amount  of 
teaching  would  enable  to  draw  a 
pig  or  play  a  polka.  You  might 
hammer  at  these  till  doomsday 
without  success.  Whatever  be  the 
cerebral  development  that  confers 
the  quality,  they  are  deficient  in  it. 
To  harangue  such  men  as  these  on 
economy,  is  like  arguing  with  a  deaf 
man  to  induce  him  to  dance  in 
time,  or  insisting  on  the  blind  ob- 
serving the  laws  of  perspective. 
The  quality  that  should  supply  the 


1865.1 


ami  ot/tfr  Things  in  General. — J'art  A"  I'. 


gift  is  not  there ;  like  St  C'ecilia, 
Us  n'tnit  ]><!#  ile  ijinti. 

I  n  this  universal  appeal,  therefore, 

to  thriftiness,  we  :ire  as  unjust  as  if 
we  were  to  enjoin  that  all  men  should 
l>e  painters,  statuaries,  or  poets. 
There  are  even  races  in  whom  the  gift 
is  a  very  rare  endowment,  and  the 
man  who  possesses  it  an  exceptional 
being.  The  whole  Celtic  family  are 
deficient  in  thrift.  There  is  a  ming- 
led recklessness  and  hopefulness — 
a  dash  of  devil-may-care  with  self- 
confidence,  that  renders  them  waste- 
ful. They  are  spendthrift  partly 
out  of  a  certain  impulsiveness  that 
drives  them  to  attract  notice  ;  partly 
out  of  the  general  kindliness  which 
loves  to  disseminate  pleasure,  and 
partly  because  they  are  intensely 
sensational ;  and  next  to  the  luxury 
of  atlluence  is  the  struggle  with  a 
positive  dilHoulty.  The  Irishman 
is  a  strong  instance  of  what  1  mean. 
To  attempt  to  make  him  provident 
is  to  try  to  make  the  Ethiopian 
change  his  skin.  You  are,  in  fact, 
about  to  do  something  that  nature 
never  intended — never,  in  her  most 
fanciful  mood,  so  much  as  specu- 
lated on. 

Thrift  sits  very  ill  on  certain 
natures.  If  a  man's  whole  system 
of  life  is  not  penetrated  with  the 
motive,  his  attempt  to  be  thrifty 
will  be  a  failure — not  impossibly 
something  worse  than  a  failure.  Let 
me  give  an  instance  from  my  own 
experience. 

A  good  many  years  ago,  when  I 
was  better  off  in  worldly  wealth  and 
in  spirits  than  it  is  likely  I  shall  ever 
be  again,  a  great  man,  who  was 
gracious  enough  to  take  an  interest 
in  me,  tendered  me  some  very  ex- 
cellent advice  on  the  score  of  my 
wasteful  and  extravagant  mode  of 
life.  He  pointed  out  to  me  how 
I  kept  too  many  horses,  gave  too 
many  dinners,  played  high  points 
at  whist,  and  in  general  indulged  in 
habits  totally  unsuited  to  any  but 
men  of  large  means.  He  brought  the 
matter  so  home  to  me  by  a  refer- 
ence to  himself  and  his  own  expen- 
diture— he  being,  as  1  have  said,  a 


''  Personage" — that  I  could  nut  but 
feel  the  application.  I  pondered  over 

all  he  said,  particularly  one  point, 
on  which  he  laid  an  unusual  stress. 
"  Begin  your  reformation,"  said  he, 
"  by  small  economics.  You  have 
not  an  idea  how  insensibly  the  do- 
sire  to  extend  them  will  grow  on 
you.  Start  with  something  you 
can  do  very  well  without,  and  you 
will  be  astonished  to  find  how 
many  things  you  now  regard  as 
necessaries  will  drop  into  that  cate- 
gory." 

It  was  not  so  easy  as  he  said, 
however,  to  find  that  which  I  could 
so  well  dispense  with.  1  liked  so 
many  things,  and  found  them  all  si* 
pleasant !  At  last  I  hit  upon  one; 
and  it  is  noteworthy  that,  when  a 
man  takes  to  retrenchment,  the  first 
thing  he  should  cut  down  should  be 
his  liberality. 

One  of  my  morning  pastimes  at 
the  time  1  speak  of  was  to  practise 
pistol-shooting  at  a  gallery  in  a  re- 
mote suburb  of  the  city  where  I 
lived.  It  wa.s  a  pretty  spot,  with  a 
nice  garden,  and  resorted  to  by  a 
number  of  idle  amusing  fellows,  who 
usually  divided  their  days  with  a 
due  reference  to  making  them  a.s 
pleasant  as  may  be.  Here  we 
shot,  gossiped,  betted,  and  laughed 
away  the  forenoon  :  and  though 
certainly  the  pastime  might  be 
fairly  called  a  superfluity,  1  had 
not  the  heart  to  abandon  it.  My 
conscience,  however,  urged  me  to 
some  measure  of  reduction  ;  and 
so,  1  bethought  me,  I  might  begin 
my  retrenchment  advantageously 
by  cutting  off  the  daily  franc  I 
gave  a  poor  devil  who  used  to  hold 
my  pony  while  1  was  in  the  gal- 
lery. 

1  made  a  rough  calculation  of  the 
pounds  per  annum  this  "extrava- 
gance" cost  me  ; — how  ready  one's 
mental  arithmetic  becomes  at  such 
a  moment  !  It  was  a  matter  of,  I 
think  I  made  it,  fourteen  pounds 
a-year  I  was  squandering  in  this 
wasteful  fashion.  I  will  begin  with 
this  to-morrow,  thought  I.  It  is  a 
good  commencement,  and  1  know 


5  GO 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[May, 


of    nothing  which    could  less   in- 
trench upon  my  own  enjoyments. 

When  I  rode  up  the  next  day  to 
the  gallery,  therefore,  I  declined  the 
poor  fellow's  services  ;  and,  dis- 
mounting, I  fastened  the  bridle  of 
my  cob  to  the  hook  of  the  window- 
shutters,  those  outside  "jalousies" 
we  see  in  all  foreign  houses.  The 
poor  man's  look  of  dismay,  his  air  of 
half-reproachful  misery,  went  to  my 
heart ;  but  my  great  friend  had 
told  me  to  prepare  myself  for  sacri- 
fices. "  Your  first  steps,"  said  .he, 
"  will  be  very  painful;  now  and  then 
they  will  push  you  to  the  very 
verge  of  endurance  ;  but  you  must 
summon  courage  to  resist,  you  must 
go  on."  And,  like  one  proud  of  a 
victory  over  himself,  I  stepped 
boldly  on  and  entered  the  garden. 
Was  it  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  something  noble  in  self-denial 
that  steadied  my  eye  and  nerved 
my  hand!  Perhaps  so.  At  all 
events,  my  first  shot  struck  the  very 
centre,  and  itself  proclaimed  the 
victory  by  ringing  a  bell  attached 
to  the  back  of  the  target,  but  so 
loudly  and  uproariously  that  my 
pony,  startled  by  the  uproar,  broke 
away,  carrying  with  him  window- 
frame,  jalousy,  and  all  together, 
the  repairs  amounting  to  a  sum  of 
eighty-seven  francs  in  money,  and 
more  ridicule  than  I  am  able  to  set 
down  in  a  "  cash  valuation." 

This  was  my  first,  and,  shall  I 
own  it '?  my  last  attempt  at  eco- 
nomy. There  are  temperaments 
which  thrift  disagrees  with,  just  as 
there  are  constitutions  which  can- 
not take  opium,  or  digitalis,  or  a 
score  of  other  medicaments  that 
others  profit  by.  Mine,  I  say  it 
in  all  humility,  is  one  of  them.  The 
agent  that  acts  so  favourably  in 
others  goes  wrong  with  me.  Some- 
thing or  other  has  been  omitted  in 
my  temperament,  or  something  has 
been  mixed  up  with  it  that  ought 
not  to  have  been  there.  I  cannot 
tell  which.  Whatever  it  be,  it  ren- 
ders me  incapable  of  practising  that 
sage  and  well-regulated  economy 
by  which  other  men  secure  them- 


selves against  difficulties,  and  "  show 
a  surplus"  in  their  annual  balance- 
sheet. 

Just  as  there  are  men  most  eager 
to  become  fox  -  hunters,  but  who 
never  can  sit  a  fence,  or  fellows 
dying  to  be  yachtsmen,  but  who 
cannot  conquer  sea-sickness,  I  have 
a  most  ardent  desire  to  be  thrifty, 
impressed  upon  me,  I  own,  by  that 
stern  condition  which  is  said  to  be 
beyond  all  law.  I  plot  thrift,  I 
dream  thrift,  I  speculate  on  fifty 
different  ways  by  which  I  may  re- 
duce the  estimates  ;  but,  do  what  I 
may,  it  invariably  ends  in  failure. 
It's  always  the  story  of  the  pony 
and  the  window-shutter  over  again  ; 
and  so  assured  have  I  become,  by 
long  and  bitter  experience,  of  my 
incapacity,  that  whenever  I  do  any- 
thing particularly  stingy,  I  have 
that  sensation  of  mingled  vanity 
and  nervousness  that  so  often  is 
felt  as  the  prelude  to  an  outburst 
of  reckless  extravagance.  I  feel 
myself  a  spendthrift,  and  I  almost 
revel  in  the  sense  of  a  thoughtless 
munificence. 

The  most  striking  feature  about 
excessive  thrift  is  its  uselessness. 
Morning  does  not  follow  night  by 
a  more  certain  law  than  does  extra- 
vagance succeed  saving.  Pass  your 
whole  life  in  laying  up  farthings  or 
saving  candle-ends,  and  your  son 
or  your  nephew,  or  whoever  it  be 
inherits  from  you,  will  take  care  to 
waste  in  a  week  what  cost  you  years 
to  accumulate.  Every  lesson  of 
your  life  will  be  read  by  him  back- 
wards, and  all  that  your  dreary  ex- 
istence will  have  taught  him  will 
be  warnings  against  your  philoso- 
phy. 

This  thrift  tendency  would  be 
comparatively  harmless  if  the  indi- 
vidual practising  it  were  satisfied 
with  the  approval  of  his  own  con- 
science, and  the  not  less  pleasant 
consequences  of  his  increasing  store; 
but  this  is  what  he  is  not — nor  can 
he  be.  He  insists  on  going  about 
the  world  recounting  all  the  little 
shabby  and  miserable  expedients 
by  which  he  saves  money,  and  tell- 


i  S6r>. 


an'!  other  Things  in  Gentral. — I'arl  A"  I'. 


ing  all  the  petty  .shifts  ho  is  put  to 
to  preserve  existence  ;  and  in  this 
way  he  poisons  the  life  of  other 
men  who,  poorer  than  himself,  are 
driven  to  regard  themselves  as  reck- 
less spendthrifts.  My  pint  of  sherry 
becomes  a  shameless  extravagance 
the  moment  I  bethink  me  of  my 
neighbour,  who  could  buy  me,  and 
all  belonging  to  me,  oil'  the  face  of 
the  earth,  sitting  down  to  his  table- 
beer  and  saying  that  he  cannot 
atl'ord  butter.  I  may  inveigh 
against  his  meanness,  call  him  by 
every  hard  name  I  can  remember, 
invest  him  with  every  bad  quality 
1  can  think  of,  but  the  victory  is 


his,  and  my  dry  Amontillado  will 
have  got  a  bitterthut  never  belonged 
to  the  vintage,  and  Cleopatra  and 
her  pearl  will  occur  to  me  every 
time  that  I  touch  the  decanter. 

Now  I  deny  his  right  to  do  this. 
Let  him  muddy  his  own  well  if  he 
likes,  but  let  him  not  come  and 
throw  stones  into  mine. 

A  life  passed  in  incessant  savings 
and  perpetual  self  denials  seems  to 
me  as  logical  a  mistake  as  though 
a  man  should  persist  throughout 
his  whole  existence  in  training  for 
a  match  thatw;us  never  to  come  off. 
1  >ec  a  good  deal  of  privation  in 
this,  and  1  cannot  see  the  profit. 


A     rDRSoN.U.-l'AKI.IAMKNTAKV. 


"  Messrs  ShufTell  and  Shift 
present  their  respectful  compli- 
ments to  Mr  O'Dowd,  and  beg  to 
learn  if  he  be  disposed  —  as  some 
time  he  informed  them  he  was — to 
offer  himself  for  a  scat  in  Parlia- 
ment. S.  and  S.  have  now  several 
borough  and  two  county  represen- 
tations on  their  list,  and  are  hope- 
ful that  neither  the  pecuniary  con- 
siderations nor  the  political  obli- 
gations will  be  found  any  obstacle 
to  Mr  O'Dowd's  most  natural  am- 
bition. An  early  reply  is  requested, 
as  a  large  number  of  applicants  is 
already  in  the  field.'' 

I  received  this  despatch  as  I  was 
looking  over  my  fishing-  tackle, 
thinking  of  hooking  something  very 
different  from  an  Under-Secretary- 
ship,  or  even  the  berth  of  Assist- 
ant-Commissioner to  somebody's 
commission.  I  replied  at  once, 
intimating  that  1  had  a  wide  con- 
science and  a  narrow  purse  ;  that 
my  breast  was  charged  with  noble 
aspirations,  but  I  was  afraid  I  had 
overdrawn  my  banker.  If,  then, 
Messrs  S.  and  S.  could  hit  upon  a 
pure-minded  constituency  desirous 
to  distinguish  themselves  in  a  cor- 
rupt age  by  single-mihdedness  and 
devotion,  and  eager  to  send  into 
the  House  a  man  as  unshackled  by 
pledges  ;us  he  was  unstained  by 


bribery,  let  me  have  tlit  ir  address, 
and  they  should  have  mine. 

To  this  came  these  words,  marked 
"Private"— 

"DKAII  ()'l)owi>. —  Xo  bosh. 
Can  you  come  down  with  fifteen 
hundred  ready  !  Rillot,  manhood 
suffrage,  no  Church,  no  entail,  no 
anything  after  ten  years.  —  Yours 
ever,  MAI.UHI  SlllKKKU.." 

My  reply  was — "  Money  tight, 
convictions  easy,  hopes  looking 
up  ;"  and  on  this  we  arranged  a 
meeting  at  Brussels. 

Punctual  to  his  appointment, 
Shuffell  arrived  an  hour  after  my- 
self. He  had  but  a  day  to  give  me, 
but  a  day  is  a  long  space  when 
two  men  understand  each  other, 
and  thoroughly  take  in,  each  the 
intentions  of  the  other.  He  had 
brought  four  specimen  boroughs 
for  my  inspection.  They  were  the 
only  things  going  cheap  at  the  mo- 
ment, for,  as  he  said,  "  There's  a 
great  run  on  the  House  now.  They 
all  want  to  get  in." 

Nothing  could  l»e  more  succinct 
or  business  like  than  his  list.  There 
was  first  the  name  of  the  place,  in  an- 
other column  the  number  of  the  elec- 
tors, in  a  third  "available  voters,"  in 
a  fourth  general  hints  for  canvass, 
as  thus — "  Swarnpleigh  with  G$± 


562 


Cornelius  O1  Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[May, 


The  Baptist  section,  and  Hoddes 
the  saddler,  Maccles  of  the  Fox 
and  Goose,  and  Tom  Groves  of  the 
Post-Office.  Hints— Reduced  taxa- 
tion, overthrow  of  the  Irish  Church, 
subsidy  to  Congregational  religion- 
ists, no  Sunday  traffic,  no  beer- 
houses, a  general  nothingness,  and 
great  economy." 

"  Not  the  thing  for  you,  Mr 
O'D.,"  said  he ;  "  there  is  no 
expansiveness  here  —  nothing  for 
the  man  who  '  glories  in  the  name 
of  Briton.'  This  is  better — Com- 
berton,  voters  1004;  460  avail- 
able by  various  arguments.  Of  this 
borough  there  are  annually  from 
forty  to  fifty  drafted  into  the  public 
service.  They  like  the  Revenue,  and 
many  are  gangers.  They  are  con- 
vivial, Radical,  and  religious,  but 
above  all  bigotry  in  each,  and  are 
really  devoted  to  providing  for 
their  families,  and  have  always  up- 
held the  reputation  of  the  town. 

"  This  is  next  :  Inshakerrigan 
— Tenant-right,  free  passage  to 
America,  no  spirit-duties,  no  Estab- 
lished Church,  no  county  rates,  the 
poor  on  the  Consolidated  Fund/' 

The  last  was  a  Welsh  borough, 
Mnddllmwcrllm ;  but  as  the  candi- 
date would  be  called  on  to  pro- 
nounce the  name,  I  gave  it  up  at 
once. 

"Is  there  nothing  Conservative  ? " 
asked  I,  for  I  had  several  notes  in 
my  desk  against  growing  Radical- 
ism, the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors, 
and  time-honoiired  institutions. 

After  a  brief  pause,  he  replied, 
"  Yes,  there  is  Ditchley  le  Moors ; 
but  it's  costly — very  costly  :  we 
always  keep  it  for  one  of  the 
speechless  younger  sons  of  a  great 
house. 

"You  must  canvass  Ditchley," 
said  he,  "  in  an  earl's  carriage,  and 
send  your  orders  to  the  trades- 
people by  one  of  the  noble  lord's 
flunkeys.  They  have  always  had 
that  respect  paid  them,  and  they 
like  it.  Do  you  happen  to  know  a 
lord  who  could  spare  you  his  equi- 
page for  a  week  or  ten  days  ?  " 

I  shook  iny  head. 


"  Let  us  not  think  of  Ditchley," 
continued  he ;  "  besides,  you'd  find 
it  immensely  hard  to  speak  on  that 
side.  They  all  want  England  to  be 
great,  powerful,  and  Protestant,  but 
with  increased  armaments  and  dimi- 
nished expenditure.  Bully  Europe, 
and  cut  down  the  Income-tax!  is 
the  cry.  The  Church,  too,  is  to  be 
upheld  in  all  its  strength,  uni- 
formity insisted  on,  and  the  right 
of  private  judgment  maintained — 
a  difficulty  in  its  way ;  and  in  the 
distance  a  Reform  Bill,  opening 
the  franchise  to  every  man  with  a 
pair  of  black  trousers.  Can  you  do 
this  ? " 

"  Scarcely." 

"  I  thought  not.  There's  no  such 
easy  tune  on  the  political  fiddle  as 
the  Radical  jig,  '  Down  with  all  o' 
them.'  'Am  I  to  tell  the  vast  and 
intelligent  assembly  I  see  before 
me  this  evening — an  assembly  that 
represents  the  skill,  the  ability,  the 
industry,  ay,  and  the  integrity  of 
this  great  nation — that  they  are 
deemed  too  ignorant,  too  uneducat- 
ed, too  irresponsible,  and  too  dan- 
gerous, to  be  intrusted  with  civil 
rights  1  Is  it  because  by  the  daily 
exercise  of  those  qualities  which 
have  made  England  the  workshop 
of  the  world,  that  you  are  to  be 
excluded  from  any  share  in  the 
Government  whose  enactments  no 
men  are  more  vitally  interested  in 
than  yourselves  1 ' 

"There's  the  key-note — go  on 
now." 

I  arose,  threw  back  my  coat  from 
my  chest,  and  continued  :  "It  is 
by  labour  that  life  is  dignified,  and 
which  of  us  is  not  proud  to  be  a 
labourer  1  If  the  indolent  aristo- 
crat who  refuses  to  let  us  share 
in  the  rewards  and  prizes  of  the 
State  were  but  to  look  back,  he 
would  find  that  his  own  rights  to 
the  very  pre-eminence  he  asserts 
were  founded  on  labour,  and  that 
the  coronet  on  his  brow  was  picked 
up  in  the  mill  or  the  factory,  the 
counting-house  or  the  law-court. 
He  would  learn  that  toil  which 
disciplines  the  heart,  elevates  the 


1865.1 


ot/tfr  Things  in  General. — Part  X  V. 


man,  and  that  production  is  to 
humanity  what  creation  is  to  na- 
ture." 

"  No,  no  ;  that  won't  do.  None 
of  that.  Keep  to  the  labourer — 
you  were  good  there." 

"  You  are  perhaps  too  narrow- 
minded  for  the  exercise  of  the 
franchise  !  I  wish  the  men  who 
say  this  would  come  down  with  me 
to  your  Mechanics'  Institute.  1 
wish  they  would  enter  into  discus- 
sion with  some  of  those  intelligent 
men  I  met  there  not  more  than  an 
hour  since.  I  should  like  to  see 
their  effeminate  intellects  brought 
face  to  face  to  those  great  mule 
organisations." 

"  That's  bad ;  male  is  Frenchified  ; 
say  manly." 

"You  mustn't  interrupt,"  said 
I  ;  "  how  the  devil  am  I  to 
keep  up  the  steam  if  you're  al- 
ways '  banking '  my  fire  ]  I  would 
like,  I  say,  to  see  these  club- 
nurtured  creatures  of  self  -  in- 
dulgence and  indolence  confront- 
ed for  once  with  the  stupendous 
vigour  of  our  manufacturing  pop- 
ulation, and  compel  them  to  argue 
out  the  great  question  between 
them  in  their  proper  persons.  How 
do  we  legislate  for  the  working 
man  ?  I  ask ;  is  it  with  reference  to 
himself,  to  his  wants,  his  habits, 
his  hopes,  or  his  instincts  ?  or  is  it 
simply  by  a  respect  for  the  conve- 
nience, the  security,  and  the  wealth 
of  him  who  employs  him  ]  If  we 
change  an  order  in  the  Court  of 
Bankruptcy,  we  send  out  a  com- 
mission to  supply  us  with  informa- 
tion, to  search  out  every  detail  and 
particle  that  may  serve  to  guide  us 
in  our  judgment,  and  especially  are 
we  concerned  to  know  that  no  ser- 
vant of  the  State  should  be  dam- 
aged in  his  fortune  without  being 
duly  indemnified  ;  but  how  do  we 
deal  with  you  ?  We  decree  the 
hours  you  shall  labour,  and  the 
hours  you  shall  rest ;  we  settle 
the  periods  of  your  toil  as  though 
they  were  the  enactments  of  a 
penal  code  ;  and  when  the  day  of 
repose  arrives,  we  arrest  your  plea- 


sures, we  close  to  you  the  few 
sources  of  recreation  moderate 
means  could  compass;  we  forbid 
the  little  excursions  that  health 
almost  necessitates ;  and  we  tell 
you  to  sit  down  and  brood  over  the 
evil  destiny  that  has  made  you 
Englishmen  and  mechanics  ! 

"Do  they  like  Latin  I" 

"  No ;  Latin  is  not  quoted  in  a 
borough  ;  it  will  do  in  the  counties 
and  the  metropolitan  seats,  where 
men  cheer  it  that  they  may  seem 
to  understand  it." 

"It's  a  pity:  there's  nothing 
rounds  on"  a  speech  like  something 
with  hominum  in  it." 

"  Keep  it  for  the  House;  it's 
always  good  there." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  I  shall 
get  there  ?" 

"  Your  return  is  certain. — Let  us 
order  dinner." 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  I,  "what 
about  a  petition  /  They  sometimes 
try  to  smash  one's  election  that 
way." 

"  A  petition,"  said  he,  with  a 
sort  of  contemptuous  irritation  in 
his  tone,  "  never  succeeds,  but 
against  a  fellow  with  some  small 
mean  scruple, — some  one  who  hesi- 
tates,—  some  one  who  won't  go  in 
at  once  and  say.  Here  I  am,  ready 
to  swear:  what  shall  it  be?  Bribe  ? 
never  bribed.  Treated  ?  never 
treated.  Promise  ?  never  promised. 
I  stand  here  perfectly  unassailable 
on  the  score  of  all  corrupt  influence, 
my  first  and  lost  declaration  to  the 
electors  being,  '  Gentlemen,  if  you 
really  desire  an  independent  repre- 
sentative— if  you  are  satisfied  to 
send  into  Parliament  a  nv.in  un- 
pledged and  unfettered,  and  who  is 
no  more  capable  of  endeavouring 
to  exert  an  unfair  influence  over 
you  than  he  is  of  submitting  to  a 
similar  bondage  to  himself.  I  shall 
be  proud  to  serve  you  ;  but  if  the 
price  of  my  seat  were  to  be  one 
shilling  disbursed  in  corruption,  1 
would  refuse  it."' 

"Will  a  committee  believe  all 
this  ? " 

"  Not  a  word  of  it,  but  they'll  have 


564 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women, 


[May, 


to  swallow  it  all  the  same.  Nobody  "  I'm 
can  contradict  me  but  myself ;  let  said  I, 
them  try  and  make  me,  that's  all."  petite." 


ready   for   dinner    now," 
''  and  with   a  capital   ap- 


I  fell  asleep  over  the  Archbishop 
of  York's  Charge,  and  I  dreamed  a 
dream  !  I  suppose  that  the  doctor 
in  Mr  Wilkie  Collins's  story  of 
'  Armadale  ;  could,  on  interrogat- 
ing me,  easily  find  a  clue  to  each 
successive  portion  of  my  vision,  and 
plainly  demonstrate  that  there  was 
nothing  creative  in  my  imaginings 
— that  they  were,  in  fact,  mere  re- 
productions of  ideas  which  had  once 
before  impinged  upon  my  brain. 

Now,  whoever  glances  over  the 
broad  sheet  of  the  '  Times ' — no 
matter  how  cursorily  or  passingly — 
will  in  all  likelihood  have  obtained 
a  "  reason  fair  "  for  a  wide  discur- 
siveness in  his  after  thoughts,  and 
the  Manx  physician  would  have 
very  little  difficulty  in  tracing  any 
consecutive  train  of  ideas  to  some- 
thing between  the  Australian  clip- 
per in  the  first  page  and  the  Church 
Extension  Report  in  the  last. 

At  all  events,  I  dropped  off  asleep, 
my  mind  imbued  with  the  solemn 
picture  of  York  Cathedral,  its  still- 
ness broken  by  but  one  deep-toned 
voice,  so  "far  off  in  a  shadowy  aisle 
as  to  sound  like  a  mere  echoed 
thunder  in  a  mountain-gorge  ;  and 
mixed  up  with  this,  at  minute- 
peals,  as  it  were,  came  the  measured 
boom  of  loud  artillery. 

Mr  Collins's  doctor  would  imme- 
diately ask  if  I  had  not  recently 
been  reading  the  account  of  the 
ordnance  experiments  at  Shoebury- 
ness;  and  I  have  but  to  say  it  is 
perfectly  possible  I  may,  though  I 
can't  positively  affirm  it.  My  dream 
was  a  very  confused  affair  ;  and  all 
I  can  pick  out  of  its  scattered  frag- 
ments was,  that  while  standing 
under  the  lofty  groinings  of  a 
stately  Gothic  cathedral,  some  one 
dressed  in  a  cassock,  but  with  a 
horse-artillery  helmet  on  his  head, 
was  explaining  to  my  ignorance  the 
complicated  mechanism  of  an  enor- 


mous gun.  It  was,  as  he  inform- 
ed me,  the  most  perfect  piece  of 
casting  that  had  ever  come  out  of  a 
mould  ;  and  really,  for  smoothness, 
uniformity,  solidity,  and  lustre,  it 
was  a  marvel  to  look  at.  All  its 
mounting,  too,  was  costly  and  com- 
plete ;  and  it  was  as  perfect  and  as 
finished  as  wood  and  brass  could 
make  it. 

"This/'  said  he,  "is  the  great 
cannon  of  the  Established  Church, 
forged  at  the  time  of  the  Reforma- 
tion OHt  of  the  scrap-iron  of  the 
Church  of  Rome.  It  has  been  well 
tempered  and  hammered  since  that, 
and  is  now  considered  to  be  the 
most  perfect  gun  in  Christendom. 
Its  range  might,"  he  added,  "  be  set 
down  as  unlimited  ;  at  least  it  had 
been  known  to  throw  a  shell  as  far 
as  New  Zealand  ;  and  a  very  ordin- 
ary day's  practice  was  the  coast  of 
Africa,  or  the  islands  in  the  South 
Pacific."  He  admitted  that  now  and 
then  accidents  did  occur  from  diver- 
sity of  opinion  as  to  the  charge,  and 
the  length  of  the  time-fuzes — some 
shells  exploding  too  soon  (they 
were  invented  by  a  certain  Colenso), 
others  never  going  off  at  all ;  in  fact, 
as  he  said,  we  are  all  agreed,  about 
the  gun  itself  ;  it  is  the  ammunition 
that  we  are  disposed  to  differ  on. 

"And  what  do  you  fire  at?" 
asked  I. 

"  Human  wickedness,"  replied 
he,  "  in  every  shade  :  whatever  cor- 
rupts, degrades,  and  debases  man ; 
all  that  unfits  him  for  a  better  state 
and  a  higher  destiny.  At  these  we 
aim.  You  should  be  here,"  cried 
he,  enthusiastically,  "  at  one  of  our 
practising  days  :  such  a  deafening 
report,  such  smoke,  such  a  tremor 
in  the  ground  as  follow  the  dis- 
charge, never  were  witnessed  be- 
fore." ' 

"  And  do  you  always  hit  the 
mark  ] "  asked  I. 


1805.] 


othfr  Things  in  General. — l\irt  X  V. 


"  Well,  not  always,"  said  he,  he- 
sitatingly ;  "  we  now  and  then  go 
short — occasionally  to  one  side,  and 
.sometimes  dean  over  it.  When  we 
set  up  the  target  .some  thousand 
miles  away — at  the  North  Pole,  for 
instance — a  miss  doesn't  signify  so 
much  ;  there's  no  one  there  to  re- 
cord it,  and  so  we  conclude  we  have 
made  a  bull's  eye  ;  but  when  we 
fire  at  short  range  it  is  disagreeable 
to  fail." 

"  After  all,"  said  1.  "  with  such  a 
costly  piece  of  ordnance  and  such 
practised  gunners.  L  don't  wonder 
if  the  public,  look  for  very  perfect 
practice." 

"  As  I  told  you  before,"  said  he, 
"  we  are  not  agreed  as  to  the  am- 
munition ;  some  are  for  compact 
loading,  and  would  take  a  Ion;; 
careful  aim  ;  others  say.  Load  with 
grape — fire  away  right  and  left,  and 
you'll  hit  something  at  hist :  and 
disputes  have  now  got  so  far  that 
each  puts  in  pretty  nigh  what  he 
likes  ;  and,  worse  still,  some  have 
been  known  to  take  a  shot  at  a 
comrade  when  he  accidentally  ex- 
posed himself  outside  the  marking 
hillock." 

"  This  was  shameful  !  "  exclaimed 
1. 

"  Unhappy,  certainly,"  lie  re- 
plied ;  "but  for  all  that  it's  a  mag- 
nificent gun,  and  costs  the  country 
some  millions,  too,  to  keep  it  in 
order.  There's  to  be  a  meeting  in 
a  few  days  now,  to  determine,  if 
possible,  on  one  kind  of  charge,  not 
so  much  for  the  sake  of  its  etlici- 
enc.y  as  a  projectile,  but  that  it 
should  be  easily  fired,  and  that  every 
man  could  use  it.  If  we  could  hit 
upon  that."  said  he.  <- it  would  be 
a  great  blessing,  and  mainly  pro- 
mote that  good  feeling  and  brother- 
hood amongst  us  that  the  outside 
world  expects  to  see  in  us.  1  must 
leave  you  now,"  said  he,  pointing 
to  a  MS.  labelled  'Episcopal 
Charge  ;'  "  the  bishop  is  waiting  for 
the  wadding,  and  it  is  his  turn  to 
tire;"  and  so  he  went. 

1  cannot  give  any  shape  or  form 
to  my  dreamings  after  this — short 
fitful  glimpses  1  had  of  dumpy  little 


men  in  lawn  sleeves  running  wildly 
to  and  fro—  some  with  ramrods, 
some  with  crosiers.  There  was  much 
confusion,  much  noise,  and  much 
smoke.  1  remember  no  more. 
When  1  awoke — taking  up  as  well 
as  I  could  the  fragments  of  my 
vision — 1  endeavoured  to  lay  the 
pieces  together  into  something  con- 
sistent. The  task  was  not  easy. 
Sir  William  Armstrong  i/'OM^/come 
into  the  Chapter-House,  and  there 
was  no  means  <>l  keeping  Messrs 
Whitworth  and  Illakeiiey  out  of  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles.  I'.y  a  gre.it 
effort  of  concentration,  however,  I 
fixed  one  object  to  the  exclusion  of 
the  other,  and  got  my  eye  steadily 
bent  upon  the  bishops.  Is  it 
true,  asked  I  of  my>elf,  as  my 
dream  seemed  to  indicate,  that  these 
men,  admirably  trained  and  skilled 
as  they  were,  do  not  hit  the  in. irk 
they  aim  at.  and  that  a  large  pro- 
portion of  their  fire  is  wide  and  de- 
sultory I  And  if  so,  why  so  I 

Idonotdare  to  approach  the  high- 
er view  of  the  question,  but,  simply 
regarding  the  matter  as  one  a  fleet- 
ing the  civilisation  of  the  nation, 
why  is  the  Church  so  inoperative  I 
why  is  it  so  ineffectual  in  the  cor- 
rection of  those  vices  which,  by 
frequency  alone,  are  sufficient  to 
temper  the  national  disposition, and 
render  a  people  habitually  brutal 
ised  and  coarse  /  Why,  in  one 
word,  is  all  the  expensive  organ- 
isation we  have  provided  to  pro- 
pagate virtue  and  conquer  vice 
something  not  very  far  from  a  fail- 
ure I  And  why  do  we  occasionally 
find  that  the  correction  of  a  na- 
tional disgrace  is  more  referable  to 
that  vague  and  undefined  senti- 
ment we  call  public  opinion  than 
to  the  distinct  operation  of  the 
Church  I  Take  the  case  of  duel- 
ling. If  this  practice  has  entirely, 
or  all  but  entirely,  been  banished 
from  amongst  us.  to  what  or  to 
whom  do  we  owe  it  \  Certainly 
not  to  the  bishops.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  the  habit  of  profane 
swearing.  There  was  a  time  that 
men  of  breeding  garnished  all  they 
said  with  oaths,  and  persona  of 


506 


Cornelius  O'Dowd  upon  Men  and  Women. 


[May, 


education  felt  it  no  disgrace  to 
mingle  through  their  talk  expres- 
sions the  coarsest  and  most  irrever- 
ent. This  has  gone,  entirely  gone. 
The  fast  man  of  the  novel  or  the 
''Blood"  of  the  comedy  no  longer 
offends  good  taste  by  such  excesses. 
And  who  made  this  reformation  1 
The  same  enlightened  public  opinion 
that  suppressed  the  duel,  enlighten- 
ed through  the  influence  of  an  able 
press,  quick  to  mark  and  to  record 
the  advanced  civilisation  of  the  na- 
tion. With  whom  then  the  fault  ? 
With  the  teachers  or  the  scholars  ? 
Are  the  former  unsuccessful  be- 
cause they  are  unwilling  to  deal 
with  vice  save  by  the  weapons  of 
the  Church?  or  are  the  latter  deaf 
to  all  appeals  save  such  as  come 
coupled  with  what  may  stimulate 
self  -  interest  or  flatter  self  -  love  '] 
Preaching  certainly  never  put  down 
duelling,  but  telling  men  that  if 
they  fought  they  would  be  ill 
looked  on  and  shunned,  excluded 
from  trust,  cut  off  from  employ- 
ment. These  were  arguments  that 
had  their  weight.  So,  too,  of  the 
habit  of  using  oaths.  "  Swear  not  at 
all"  rang  out  from  the  pulpit,  and 
men  heeded  it  not ;  but  when  they 
were  told  it  was  low-bred,  was  vul- 
gar, that  lords -in -waiting  rarely 
swore,  and  maids  of  honour  almost 
never,  they  began  to  feel  it  was  the 
right  thing  to  weed  their  speech  of 
expletives,  and  leave  curses  to  the 
cabmen. 

The  crusade  is  now  against  intem- 
perance, and  I  am  fully  convinced 
that  to  be  successful  it  must  be 
shown  that  gentlemen  do  not  get 
drunk.  Once  you  convince  M'Guppy 
that  my  Lord  Tomnoddy  never  ex- 
ceeds three  or  four  glasses  of  sherry, 
his  snob  nature  imbibes  a  virtue 
through  the  pores  of  his  vulgarity, 
and  he  becomes  temperate  because 
it  is  genteel. 

What  hypocrisy  renders  to  virtue 
Snobbery  yields  to  good  manners. 
It  is  an  unsound  homage,  if  you 
will,  but  it  is  still  homage,  and  it 
would  be  ill  policy  to  ignore  or  to 
reject  it. 


It  takes  a  long  time  for  the 
higher  graces  that  adorn  a  people 
to  filter  down  to  the  lower  strata  of 
society,  but  we  may  see  the  process 
going  on  any  day  amongst  us. 
Civilisation  is  now  permeating 
masses  in  England  whose  compact 
insensibility  would  at  one  time 
have  seemed  to  defy  all  transit. 
Why  should  not  the  Church  aid 
this  process,  even  by  an  assistance 
not  enjoined  by  the  rubric1?  Good 
taste  is,  I  am  aware,  not  the  great 
standard  to  appeal  to ;  but  why 
not  take  it  as  a  mezzo  termine? 
A  people  brutalised  by  low  habits 
and  corrupt  ways  are  not  very  ac- 
cessible to  scriptural  admonition. 
Why  not  elevate  them  out  of  this, 
and  raise  them  to  a  level  in  which 
higher  and  nobler  appeals  will  be 
listened  to  ?  Washing  a  man's 
hands  may  not  give  him  an  appetite 
for  his  dinner,  but  it  will  certainly 
better  prepare  him  to  enjoy  his  meal. 

The  medieval  monks  recovered 
all  the  prestige  that  the  Church 
had  lost,  by  devoting  themselves  to 
the  arts  which  advance  civilisation; 
and  they  threw  off,  besides,  the  re- 
proach that  rash  men  had  been  too 
prone  to  make,  as  to  priests  being 
essentially  lazy  and  indolent,  doing 
little  for  themselves,  and  even  less 
for  their  neighbours. 

The  taunt  ceased  to  apply  when 
men  saw  that  these  same  monks 
knew  more  of  art,  more  of  litera- 
ture, were  better  agriculturists,  bet- 
ter craftsmen  than  all  the  laity,  and 
that,  when  the  work  of  life  went 
busily  on,  with  its  wars  and  dis- 
putes, its  toils,  its  ambitions,  and 
its  jarrings,  it  was  no  small  privi- 
lege to  have  a  class  who  stood  aloof 
from  these  passing  interests,  and 
whose  function  it  was  to  link  past 
and  future  so  together,  that  what- 
ever men  had  done  in  bygone  days 
for  the  betterment  of  their  fellows 
should  not  be  lost  or  forgotten,  but 
held  as  a  precious  treasure  to  be 
transmitted  to  all  posterity. 

Might  not  the  lesson  they  then 
gave  the  world  be  worth  remem- 
bering now  ? 


1865.] 


J//M  Marjnribanks. — I'art  1 I'. 


MISS      M  A  It.)  OK  I  II  AXKS.  —  I'AKT      IV. 


(•HAITI  It    XIII. 


IT  was  thus  that  the  reign  of 
Miss  Marjoribanks  became  gradu- 
ally established  and  confirmed,  in 
Carlingford.  It  would  be  unneces- 
sary  to  enter  into  detail,  or  to  re- 
double instances  of  that  singular 
genius  which  made  itself  so  fully 
felt  to  the  farthest  limits  of  society, 
and  which  even  indeed  extended 
those  limits  miraculously  beyond 
the  magic  circle  of  Orange  Lane. 
Lucilla's  powers  beguiled  not  only 
the  Powells  and  Sir  John  Rich- 
mond's family,  who  were,  as  every- 
body knows,  fully  entitled  to  be 
called  county  people,  and  came 
only  on  the  Thursdays  when  there 
was  moonlight  to  light  them  home, 
which  was  not  so  much  to  be  won- 
dered at,  since  county  society  in 
those  parts  wa.s  unusually  heavy  at 
that  period;  but  even,  what  was 
more  extraordinary,  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  made  a  lodgment  in  the  ene- 
my's conn  try  on  the  other  side,  and 
made  a  capture,  of  all  people  in  the 
world,  of  John  lirown,  who  lived 
in  his  father's  big  old  house  at  the 
town  end  of  CJeorge  Street,  and 
had  always  laughed  in  his  cynical 
way  at  the  pretensions  of  (J  range 
Lane.  15ut  then  Lucilla  had,  as  all 
the  ladies  admitted,  an  influence 
over  "the  gentlemen,"  of  which, 
as  was  natural,  they  were  slightly 
contemptuous,  even  if  perhaps  en- 
vious, to  some  extent,  of  the  gift. 
For,  to  be  sure,  everybody  knows 
that  it  requires  so  little  to  satisfy 
the  gentlemen,  if  a  woman  will  only 
give  her  mind  to  it.  As  for  Miss 
Marjoribanks  herself,  she  confessed 
frankly  that  she  did  her  best  to 
please  Them.  "  For  you  know, 
after  all,  in  Carlingford  one  is 
obliged  to  take  them  into  conside- 
ration," she  said,  with  a  natural 
apology.  "  So  many  of  you  poor 
dear  people  have  to  go  where  they 
like,  and  see  the  people  they  want 


you  to  see,"  Miss  Marjoribanks 
added,  fluttering  her  maiden  plumes 
with  a  certain  disdainful  pity  in 
the  very  eyes  of  Mrs  Centum  and 
Mrs  Wood  burn,  who  were  well 
aware,  both  of  them,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  their  hearts,  that  but  for 
Dr  Marjoribanks's  dinners,  their 
selfish  mates  would  find  infinite 
objections  to  the  Thursday  evening, 
which  wa.s  now  an  institution  in 
Carlingford.  And  Lucilla  knew  it 
just  as  well  as  they  did,  which  gave 
a  certain  sense  of  condescension 
and  superiority  to  her  frankness. 
''  1  never  pretend  1  don't  try  to 
please  them,"  Miss  Marjoribanks 
said  ;  and  the  matrons  found  them- 
selves worsted  as  usual  ;  for,  to  IK) 
sure,  it  was  not  for  Tin  in,  but  for 
the  good  of  the  community  in  gene- 
ral, that  Lucilla  exerted  herself  so 
successfully.  Nothing  indeed  could 
have  proved  more  completely  the 
disinterested  character  of  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's proceedings  than  her 
behaviour  in  respect  to  Mr  Caven- 
dish, which  filled  everybody  with 
admiration.  After  the  bold  and 
decisive  .action  taken  by  Lucilla  on 
the  first  occasion  when  the  flirta- 
tion between  him  and  llarharn 
Lake  became  apparent,  the  mis- 
guided young  man  returned  to  a 
better  frame  of  mind  ;  perhaps  out 
of  admiration  for  her  magnanimity, 
perhaps  attracted  by  her  indilVer- 
ence,  as  is  the  known  and  ascer- 
tained weakness  of  the  gentlemen. 
And  perhaps  also  Mr  Cavendish 
was  ashamed  of  himself,  as,  in  Mrs 
Chiley's  opinion  at  least,  he  had  so 
much  reason  to  be.  Anyhow,  what- 
ever the  cause,  he  behaved  himself 
with  the  profoundest  decorum  for 
several  Thursdays  in  succession, 
and  treated  the  contralto  with  such 
overwhelming  politeness  as  reduced 
poor  Harbara  out  of  her  momentary 
exultation  into  the  depths  of  humil- 


568 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I V. 


[May, 


iation  and  despair.  Mr  Cavendish 
was  Lucilla's  right  hand  for  that 
short  but  virtuous  period,  and  fully 
justified  Miss  Marjoribanks's  opin- 
ion, which  was  founded  at  once 
upon  reflection  and  experience, 
that  to  have  a  man  who  can  flirt 
is  next  thing  to  indispensable  to  a 
leader  of  society;  that  is  to  say,  if 
lie  is  under  efficient  discipline,  and 
capable  of  carrying  out  a  grand 
conception.  Everything  went  on 
delightfully  so  long  as  this  interval 
lasted,  and  Lucilla  herself  did  not 
disdain  to  recompense  her  faithful 
assistant  by  bestowing  upon  him 
various  little  privileges,  such  as 
naturally  appertain  to  a  subject 
whose  place  is  on  the  steps  of  the 
throne.  She  took  him  into  her 
confidence,  and  made  him  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  a  party  to  her  large  and 
philanthropic  projects,  and  even 
now  and  then  accepted  a  suggestion 
from  him  with  that  true  candour 
and  modesty  which  so  often  accom- 
pany administrative  genius.  While 
this  continued,  kind  old  Mrs  Chiley 
kept  caressing  them  both  in  her 
old-womanly  way.  She  even  went 
so  far  as  to  call  Mr  Cavendish  "  my 
dear,"  as  if  he  had  been  a  grandson 
of  her  own,  and  took  her  afternoon 
drive  in  her  little  brougham  past 
his  house  with  a  genial  sense  of 
prospective  property  through  Lu- 
cilla, which  was  wonderfully  pleas- 
ant. To  be  sure  there  was  not  very 
much  known  in  Carlingford  about 
his  connections;  but  then  every- 
body was  aware  that  he  was  one 
of  the  Cavendishes,  and  the  peo- 
ple who  are  not  content  with  that 
must  be  hard  indeed  to  please.  As 
for  Mrs  Woodburn,  she,  it  was  true, 
continued  to  "take  off"  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks;  but  then,  as  Mrs  Chiley 
justly  remarked,  she  was  a  woman 
who  would  take  off  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  or  the  Virgin  Mary, 
if  she  had  the  opportunity;  and 
there  was  no  fear  but  Lucilla,  if 
once  married,  would  soon  bring 
her  to  her  senses ;  and  then  Mr 
Chiltern  grew  more  and  more  feeble, 
and  was  scarcely  once  in  a  fortnight 


in  his  place  in  Parliament,  which 
was  a  sacrifice  of  the  interests  of 
the  borough  dreadful  to  contem- 
plate. And  thus  it  was  in  the  in- 
terests of  Lucilla,  notwithstanding 
that  ladies  are  not  eligible  for  elec- 
tion under  such  circumstances,  that 
Mrs  Chiley  carried  on  a  quiet  little 
canvass  for  the  future  M.P. 

All  this  lasted,  alas !  only  too 
short  a  time.  After  a  while  the 
level  eyebrows  and  flashing  eyes 
and  magnificent  contralto  of  Bar- 
bara Lake  began  to  reassert  their 
ancient  power.  Whatever  may  be 
the  predisposition  of  the  Caven- 
dishes in  general,  this  particular 
member  of  the  race  was  unable  to 
resist  these  influences.  Barbara 
had  managed  to  persuade  Hose  to 
persuade  her  father  that  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  her  to  have  a  new  dress ; 
and  Mr  Lake  was  more  persuadable 
than  usual,  being  naturally  pleased 
to  be  complimented,  when  he  went 
to  give  his  lessons,  on  his  daughter's 
beautiful  voice.  "  Her  talent  has 
taken  another  development  from 
ours,"  he  said,  with  his  little  air  of 
dignity,  "  but  still  she  has  the  ar- 
tist temperament.  All  my  children 
have  been  brought  up  to  love  the 
beautiful ;"  and  this  argument  had, 
of  course,  all  the  more  effect  upon 
him  when  repeated  by  his  favourite 
daughter.  "  And  then  Barbara  has 
such  a  noble  head,"  said  Hose ; 
"  when  nobody  is  looking  at  her 
she  always  makes  a  fine  composi- 
tion. To  be  sure,  when  she  is  ob- 
served she  gets  awkward,  and  puts 
herself  out  of  drawing ;  but  that  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at.  I  don't 
want  her  to  be  fine,  or  to  imitate 
the  Grange  Lane  people  ;  but  then, 
you  know,  papa,  you  always  say 
that  we  have  a  rank  of  our  own, 
being  a  family  of  artists,"  said 
Bose,  holding  up  her  little  head 
with  a  pretty  arrogance  which  de- 
lighted the  father  both  in  a  pater- 
nal and  a  professional  point  of 
view.  "  If  one  could  only  have 
made  a  study  of  her  at  that  mo- 
ment," he  said  to  himself,  regret- 
fully ;  and  he  consented  to  Bar- 


L865 


MarjorttHmkt.—Part  I V. 


bara's  dress.  As  for  the  contralto, 
whoso  sentiments  were  very  differ- 
ent from  those  of  her  father  and 
sister,  she  watched  over  the  mak- 
ing of  the  robe  thus  procured  with 
a  certain  jealous  care  which  no- 
body unacquainted  with  the  habits 
of  a  family  of  artists  could  under 
stand.  1'arbara's  talent  was  not 
sufficiently  developed  to  permit  of 
her  making  the  dress  herself;  but 
she  knew  already  by  sad  experience 
that  Hose's  views  of  what  was  pic- 
turesque in  costume  were  peculiar. 
and  not  always  successful.  And 
then  it  was  only  a  new  dress  to 
Hose,  whereas  to  Barbara  it  was  a 
.supreme  effort  of  passion  and  am- 
bition and  jealousy  and  wounded 
mnmir  i>r<>i>n.  Mr  Cavendish  had 
paid  a  great  deal  of  attention  to 
her,  and  she  had  naturally  enter- 
tained dreams  of  the  wildest  and 
most  magnificent  character — of  rid- 
ing in  her  carriage,  as  she  would 
herself  have  said,  and  dressing  as 
nobody  else  dressed  in  Carlingford, 
and  becoming  the  great  lady  of  the 
town,  and  eclipsing  utterly  Lucilla 
Marjoribanks,  who  had  been  so  im- 
pertinent as  to  patronise  her.  Such 
had  been  Barbara's  delicious  dreams 
for  a  whole  fortnight  ;  and  then  Mr 
Cavendish,  who  had  taken  her  up, 
put  her  down  again,  and  went  away 
from  her  side,  and  delivered  him- 
self over,  heart  and  soul,  to  the 
service  of  Lucilla.  Barbara  had 
no  intellect  to  speak  of,  but  she 
had  what  she  called  a  heart — that 
is  to  say,  a  vital  centre,  formed  by 
passions,  all  of  which  were  set  in 
motion  by  that  intense  force  of  self- 
regard  which  belongs  to  some  of 
the  lower  organisations.  Thus  she 
arrayed  herself, not  insimplemuslin, 
but  in  all  the  power  of  fascination 
which  a  strong  will  and  fixed  pur- 
pose can  add  to  beauty.  And  in 
lier  excitement,  and  with  the  sense 
she  had  that  this  was  her  oppor- 
tunity, and  that  advancement  and 
grandeur  depended  upon  the  result 
of  her  night's  work,  her  level  eye- 
brows, and  flushing  cheeks,  and 
black  intense  eyes,  rose  almost  in- 


to positive  beauty.  There  was  no- 
body in  the  room  to  compare  with 
her  when  she  stood  up  to  sing  on 
that  memorable  evening.  The  Mi>s 
Browns,  for  example,  were  verv 
pretty,  especially  Lydia,  who  was 
afterwards  married  to  young  Rich- 
mond, Sir  .John's  eldest  son  ;  and 
they  were  much  nicer  girls,  and  far 
more  engaging  than  Barbara  I>ake, 
who  was  not  even  a  lady,  Mrs 
Chiley  said.  I'.ut  then  her  deter- 
mination, though  it  was  a  poor 
enough  thing  in  itself,  gave  a  cer- 
tain glow  and  passion  to  her  coarser 
beauty  which  it  would  have  been 
very  difliciilt  to  explain.  When 
she  stood  up  to  sing,  the  whole 
room  was  struck  with  her  appear- 
ance. She  had  her  new  dre.-s 
on,  and  though  it  was  only  white 
muslin  like  other  people's,  it  gave 
her  the  air  of  a  priestess  inspired 
by  some  approaching  crisis,  and 
sweeping  forward  upon  the  victim 
who  was  ready  to  be  sacrificed. 
And  yet  the  victim  that  night 
was  far  from  being  ready  for  the 
sacrifice.  On  the  contrary,  lie 
had  been  thinking  it  all  over,  and 
had  concluded  that  prudence  and 
every  other  reasonable  sentiment 
pronounced  on  the  other  side,  and 
that  in  many  ways  it  would  be  a 
very  good  thing  for  him  it'  he  could 
persuade  Miss  Marjoribanks  to  pre- 
side over  and  share  his  fortunes. 
He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  this 
with  all  the  more  certainty  that  he- 
was  a  man  habitually  prone  to  run 
off  after  everything  that  attracted 
him,  in  direct  opposition  to  pru- 
dence— an  inclination  which  he 
shared  with  his  sister,  who,  as 
everybody  knew,  had  ruined  poor 
Mr  Woodburn's  fortunes  by  "tak- 
ing off''  before  his  very  face  the 
only  rich  uncle  in  the  Woodburn 
family.  Mr  Cavendish,  with  this 
wise  resolution  in  his  mind,  stood 
up  in  the  very  path  of  the  contralto 
as  she  followed  Miss  Marjoribanks 
to  the  piano,  and,  confident  in  his 
determination,  even  allowed  himself 
to  meet  her  eye — which  was  rash,  to 
say  the  lea-st  of  it.  Barbara  Hashed 


570 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


upon  him  as  she  passed  a  blaze  of 
intense  oblique  lightning  from  un- 
der her  level  brows — or  perhaps  it 
was  only  that  straight  black  line 
which  made  it  look  oblique — and 
then  went  on  to  her  place.  The 
result  was  such  as  might  have  been 
anticipated  from  the  character  of 
the  man;  and  indeed  from  that 
hour  the  history  of  his  perversion 
could  be  clearly  traced  by  the  in- 
terested spectators.  Barbara  was 
in  richer  voice  than  ever  before, 
and  all  but  obliterated  even  Lucilla, 
though  she  too  was  singing  her  best; 
and  thus  poor  Mr  Cavendish  again 
fell  into  the  snare.  That  very  night 
the  flirtation,  which  had  already 
created  so  much  talk,  was  resumed 
with  more  energy  than  ever  ;  and 
Barbara  took  Miss  Marjoribanks's 
place  at  the  piano,  and  sang  song 
after  song  in  a  kind  of  intoxication 
of  triumph.  This,  to  be  sure,  was 
visible  only  to  a  small  portion  of 
the  guests  who  crowded  Lucilla's 
drawing-room.  But  the  result  was 
soon  so  visible  that  all  Carlingford 
became  aware  of  it.  To  be  sure, 
the  hero  wavered  so  much  that  the 
excitement  was  kept  up  for  many 
weeks ;  but  still  from  the  first  no- 
body could  have  any  reasonable 
doubt  as  to  how  it  was  to  end. 

And  it  was  while  this  process  of 
seduction  was  going  on  that  the  char- 
acter of  Miss  Marjoribanks  revealed 
itself  in  all  its  native  grandeur. 
Lucilla  had  various  kind  friends 
round  her  to  advise  her,  and  es- 
pecially old  Mrs  Chiley,  whose  in- 
dignation went  beyond  all  bounds. 
"  My  dear,  I  would  never  let  her 
enter  my  door  again — never ! "  cried 
the  old  lady;  "  I  told  you  long  ago 
I  never  could  bear  her  looks — you 
know  I  warned  you,  Lucilla.  As 
for  her  singing,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter 1  You  have  a  much  prettier  voice 
than  she  has  :  everybody  knows 
that  a  soprano  is  perfect  by  itself, 
but  a  contralto  is  only  a  second," 
Mrs  Chiley  said,  with  mingled 
wrath  and  satisfaction  ;  "  and,  my 
dear,  I  should  never  let  her  enter 
my  house  again,  if  it  was  me." 


"  Dear  Mrs  Chiley,"  said  Lucilla, 
who  was  now,  as  usual,  equal  to  the 
occasion,  "  it  is  so  nice  of  you  to  be 
vexed.  You  know  I  would  do  any- 
thing to  please  you ; — but,  after  all, 
there  are  thousands  and  thousands 
of  gentlemen,  and  it  is  not  so  easy 
to  find  a  voice  that  goes  with  mine. 
All  my  masters  always  said  it  was 
a  quite  peculiar  second  I  wanted ; 
and  suppose  Barbara  is  foolish,  that 
is  not  to  say  I  should  forget  my 
duties,"  Miss  Marjoribanks  added, 
with  a  certain  solemnity;  "and then, 
you  know,  she  has  no  mother  to 
keep  her  right." 

"And  neither  have  you,  my  poor 
dear,"  said  Mrs  Chiley,  kissing  her 
protegee.  As  for  Lucilla,  she  accepted 
the  kiss,  but  repressed  the  enthusi- 
asm of  partisanship  with  which  her 
cause  was  being  maintained. 

"  I  have  you"  she  said,  with  art- 
less gratitude ;  "  and  then  I  am  dif- 
ferent," added  Lucilla.  Nothing 
but  modesty  of  the  most  delicate 
description  could  have  expressed 
the  fact  with  such  a  fine  reticence. 
No  doubt  Miss  Marjoribanks  was 
different ;  and  she  proved  her  su- 
periority, if  anybody  could  have 
doubted  it,  by  the  most  beautiful 
behaviour.  She  took  no  more  no- 
tice of  the  unprincipled  flirtation 
thus  set  agoing  under  her  very 
eyes,  than  if  Mr  Cavendish  and 
Barbara  Lake  had  been  two  figures 
in  gingerbread.  So  far  as  anybody 
knew,  not  even  a  flying  female 
shaft  from  Lucilla's  bow,  one  of 
those  dainty  projectiles  which  the 
best  of  women  cast  forth  by  times, 
had  ever  been  directed  against  the 
ungrateful  young  person  who  had 
made  so  unprincipled  a  use  of  her 
admittance  into  Grange  Lane ;  and 
the  faithless  gallant  had  not  even 
the  gratification  of  feeling  that  Lu- 
cilla was  "  cool  "  to  him.  Whether 
this  singular  self-denial  cost  Miss 
Marjoribanks  any  acute  sufferings, 
to  be  sure,  nobody  could  tell,  but  Mrs 
Chiley  still  marked  with  satisfac- 
tion that  Lucilla,  poor  dear,  was 
able  to  eat  her  dinner,  of  which  she 
had  so  much  need  to  support  her 


1805.") 


MarjoribanJc*. — Part  1  ]'. 


571 


strength  ;  Jiiul  after  she  had   eaten 
her  dinner  Miss  Marjoribanks  would 
go  lip-stairs  and  show  herself  just 
as  usual.      She  was  in  perfect  vuirr, 
.uid  neither  lost  her  colour,  nor  grew 
thin,  nor  showed  any  of  those  exter- 
nal signs  of  a  disappointment  in  lovo 
with  which  most  people  are  famil- 
iar.     "  It  might   have   Keen    di tier- 
cut,  you  know,  if  my  affections  had 
been  engaged,"  she  said  to  her  sole 
and  sympathising  counsellor  ;  and 
Mrs  Chiley,  who   had  had  a   threat 
deal  of  experience  in  girls,  became 
more    and    more    of    opinion    that 
such  sense  was  all  but  superhuman. 
Meantime  the  tide  of  public  opin- 
ion   ran  very  high   in  Carlingford 
against    Mr   Cavendish,    who    had 
been  so  popular  a  little   while  be- 
fore.     If   it   had   been    one   of   the 
Miss    Browns,  or   a    niece    of    the 
Colonel's,    or    indeed    anybody    in 
(.J range    Lane,   people  might   have 
passed  over  it — but  one  of  Mr  Lake 
the    drawing -master's    daughters  ! 
The   only   person    indifferent   was 
Mrs  Woodburn,  who  ought  to  have 
known    better;   but    then  she  was 
thoughtless,  like  her  brother,  and 
thought   it  all   the    better,  on   the 
whole,  that  he  should  transfer  those 
attentions  which  he  had  been  pay- 
ing   to    Miss     Marjoribanks,    and 
which  in   that  quarter  must   have 
come  to  something,  to  a  little  harm- 
less amusement  with  Barbara,  who, 
after  all,  was  very  handsome,  and 
had  by  times  a  little  air  of  obdur- 
ate stupidity  which  captivated  the 
mimic.     As  for  anything  coming  of 
tln.it,   Mrs  Woodburn   rejected   the 
idea  with  a  simplicity   which   was 
perfectly    consistent    with    her  in- 
sight into  other  people's  weaknesses. 
She  could  put  on   Barbara's  stolid 
defiant   look,  and  even   make   her 
eyebrows    square,   and  give    some- 
thing of  an   oblique   gleam  to   her 
eyes,  with  the    most  perfect  skill 
and  mastery  of  the  character,  and 
at  the  same  time  be  just  as  stolid 
as  Barbara  in  respect  to  what  was 
going  on  at  her  very  hand,  and  to 
the  consequences  which   must  fol- 
low.   She  did  not  want  her  brother 
VOL.  xcvu. — so.  DXCV. 


to  marry  Miss  Marjoribanks,  and 
yet  she  could  not  have  said  a  word 
against  so  unexceptionable  a  match  ; 
and  accordingly  it  was  quite  a  satis- 
faction to  her  to  see  him  turned  aside 
in  so  perfectly  legitimate  a  manner. 
She  added  to  her  repertory  a  sketch 
of  Barbara,  at  the  moment  when, 
yielding  to  Mr  Cavendish's  entreat- 
ies, she  seated  herself  at  the  piano 
"lor  just  one  song;"  and  being  per- 
fectly successful  in  the  representa- 
tion, Mrs  Woodburn  took  no  further 
care  about  the  matter.  To  be  sure, 
the  hero  was  sufficiently  experi- 
enced in  such  matters  to  know  how- 
to  get  out  of  it  when  it  should  be 
the  proper  time. 

Thus  the  atl'air  progressed  which 
was  to  have  tar  more  serious  con- 
sequences than  these  thoughtless 
persons  dreamed  of.  Barbara  as- 
cended again  to  the  heights  of 
exultation  and  enchantment.  Per- 
haps she  was  even  a  little  in  love; 
for,  alter  all,  she  was  young,  and 
grateful  to  the  man  who  thus  dis- 
tinguished her  from  the  world.  Yet, 
on  the  whole,  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
his  house  and  his  position  in  society, 
and  the  prospect  of  unlimited  mil- 
linery, were  more  to  her  than  Mr 
Cavendish.  All  these  details  were 
not  perhaps  contemplated  by  him- 
self as  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
handsome  contralto.  He  had  not 
begun  to  dream,  a.s  Barbara  had 
done  for  a  long  time,  of  the  wedding 
breakfast  and  the  orange  blossoms, 
or  even  of  furnishing  a  new  draw- 
ing room  handsomer  than  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks's,  and  giving  parties  which 
should  be  real  parties  and  not  mere 
Thursdays.  None  of  these  imagin- 
ations occupied  Mr  Cavendish  as  he 
followed  Barbara's  glowing  cheeks 
and  Hashing  eyes  to  his  undoing. 
But  then  if  he  did  not  mean  it  she 
meant  it  ;  and,  after  all,  there  arc 
occasions  in  which  the  woman's  de- 
termination is  the  more  important 
of  the  two.  So  that,  taking  every- 
thing into  consideration,  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  it  w;us  very  fortun- 
ate that  Lucilla's  affections  were  not 
engaged.  She  behaved  a.s  nobody 
2Q 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  I V. 


[May, 


else  in  Carlingford  was  capable  of 
behaving,  and  very  few  people  any- 
where, according  to  Mrs  Chiley's 
admiring  belief.  It  was  not  for  a 
vulgar  antagonist  like  Barbara  Lake 
to  touch  Lucilla.  The  way  in  which 
she  asked  her  to  lunch  and  went 
on  practising  duets  with  her  was 
angelical — it  brought  the  tears  to 
Mrs  Chiley's  eyes  ;  and  as  for  the 
domestic  traitor  whom  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  thus  contrived  to  warm 
in  her  magnanimous  bosom,  she  was 
sometimes  so  full  of  spite  and  disap- 
pointment that  she  could  neither  eat 
her  lunch  nor  go  on  with  her  sing- 
ing. For,  to  be  sure,  the  dearest 
climax  of  her  triumph  was  wanting 
so  long  as  Lucilla  took  no  notice  ; 


and  so  far  from  taking  any  notice, 
Miss  Marjoribanks  was  sweeter  arid 
more  friendly  than  usual  in  her 
serene  unconsciousness.  "  I  am  so 
afraid  you  have  caught  cold," 
Lucilla  would  say;  "if  you  don't 
feel  clear  in  your  lower  notes,  we 
can  pass  over  this  passage,  you  know, 
for  to-day.  You  must  see  papa  be- 
fore you  go  away,  and  he  will  order 
you  something  ;  but,  my  dear  Bar- 
bara, you  must  take  care."  And 
then  Barbara  could  have  eaten  her 
fingers  instead  of  the  gloves  which 
she  kept  biting  in  her  vexation. 
For,  to  tell  the  truth,  if  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks was  not  jealous,  the  vic- 
tory was  but  half  a  victory  after 
all. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


It  was  thus  that  Miss  Marjori- 
banks went  through  all  the  prelim- 
inary stages,  and  succeeded  finally 
in  making  a  triumph  out  of  what 
would  certainly  have  been  a  defeat, 
and  a  humbling  defeat,  for  anybody 
else.  She  was  much  too  sensible 
to  deceive  herself  on  the  subject,  or 
not  to  be  aware  that  to  have  a 
gentleman  who  was  paying  atten- 
tion to  her  withdrawn  from  her 
side  in  this  open  manner  in  the 
sight  of  all  the  world,  was  as  trying 
an  accident  as  can  happen  to  a 
woman.  Fortunately,  as  Lucilla  said, 
her  affections  were  not  engaged  ; 
but  then,  apart  from  the  affections, 
there  are  other  sentiments  which 
demand  consideration.  Everybody 
in  Carlingford  (that  is  to  say,  every- 
body who  was  anybody)  knew  that 
Mr  Cavendish  had  been  paying  her 
a  great  deal  of  attention,  and  the 
situation  was  one  which  required  the 
most  delicate  skill  to  get  through  it 
successfully.  Besides,  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  circumstances  were  all  the 
more  difficult,  since  up  to  this 
moment  she  had  been  perfectly 
sincere  and  natural  in  all  her  pro- 
ceedings. Policy  had  been  con- 
stantly inspired  and  backed  by 
nature  in  the  measures  Lucilla  had 


taken  for  the  organisation  and  wel- 
fare of  her  kingdom,  and  even  what 
people  took  for  the  cleverest  cal- 
culation was  in  reality  a  succession 
of  happy  instincts,  by  means  of 
which,  with  the  sovereignty  of  true 
genius,  Miss  Marjoribanks  managed 
to  please  everybody  by  having  her 
own  way.  A  little  victory  is  almost 
necessary  to  begin  with,  and  it  is  a 
poor  nature  that  does  not  expand 
under  the  stimulus  of  victory ;  but 
now  the  young  reformer  had  come 
to  the  second  stage.  For,  to  be  sure, 
that  sort  of  thing  cannot  last  for 
ever  ;  and  this  Lucilla,  with  the 
natural  prevision  of  a  ruling  mind, 
had  foreseen  from  the  beginning. 
The  shape  in  which  she  had  feared 
defeat,  if  a  nature  so  full  of  re- 
sources could  ever  be  said  to  fear, 
was  in  that  of  a  breakdown,  when 
all  the  world  was  looking  to  her 
for  amusement,  or  the  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  a  rival  entertainer  in 
Carlingford  with  superior  powers  : 
though  the  last  was  but  a  dim  and 
improbable  danger,  the  first  was 
quite  possible,  and  might  have 
arrived  at  any  moment.  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks was  much  too  sensible 
not  to  have  foreseen  this  danger  in 
all  its  shapes,  and  even  in  a  kind 


1865.] 


.—l*<trt  IV. 


of  ;i  way  to  have  provided  against 
it.  Hut  Providence,  which  had  al- 
ways taken  care  of  IHT,  as  Lucilla 
piously  concluded,  had  spared  her 
the  trial  in  that  form.  l'j»  to  this 
inoiiH'iit  it  had  always  providen- 
tially happened  that  all  the  prin- 
cipal people  in  Carlingford  were 
quite  well  and  disengaged  on  the 
Thursdays.  To  lie  SUIT,  the  ladies 
had  headaches,  and  the  married 
gentlemen  now  and  then  w<  re  out 
of  tcinperin  ( !  range  Lane  as  in  other 
less,  favoured  places;  hut  these  so- 
cial accidents  had  been  mercifully 
averted  on  Thursdays,  perhaps  by 
means  of  some  special  celestial 
agency,  perhaps  only  through  that 
good-luck  which  had  been  born  with 
Lucilla.  Not  in  this  vulgar  and  likely 
manner  was  the  trial  of  her  strength 
to  come.  When  she  was  at  the  height 
of  her  success,  and  full  in  the  eye 
of  the  world,  and  knew  that  every- 
body was  remarking  her,  and  that 
from  the  sauces  for  which  the  Doc- 
tor's table  was  once  so  famed,  but 
which  even  Colonel  ( 'hiley  no  longer 
thought  of  identifying  as  PrMar- 
jorihanks's,  to  the  fashion  of  the 
high  white  frock  in  which  Lucilla 
had  taught  the  young  ladies  of  ( 'ar- 
lingford  to  appear  of  an  evening, 
she  was  being  imitated  on  every 
hand, — at  that  moment,  when  an 
ordinary  person  would  have  had  her 
head  turned,  and  gone  wild  with 
too  much  .success.  Miss  Marjori- 
banks suddenly  saw  her  dragon 
approaching  her.  .lust  then,  when 
she  could  not  put  on  a  new  ribbon, 
or  do  her  hair  in  a  different  style, 
without  all  Carlingford  knowing  of 
it — at  that  epoch  of  intoxication 
and  triumph  the  danger  came,  sud- 
den, appalling,  and  unlooked  for. 
If  Lucilla  was  staggered  by  the 
encounter,  she  never  showed  it. 
but  met  the  dith'culty  like  a  woman 
of  mettle,  and  scorned  to  Hindi. 
It  had  come  to  be  summer  weather 
when  the  final  evening  arrived 
upon  which  Mr  Cavendish  forgot 
himself  altogether,  and  went  over 
•  to  the  insidious  enemy  whom  Miss 
Marjoribanks  had  been  nourishing 


in  her  bosom.  Fifty  eye,  were 
upon  Lucilla  watching  her  conduct 
at  that  critical  moment  fifty  ears 
were  on  the  strain  to  divine  her 
sentiments  in  her  voice,  and  to  catch 
.sonic  intonation  at  le.ist  which 
should  betray  her  coiiM-iou>n'-.s.s  of 
what  was  going  mi.  Hut  it'  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  biographer  has  fitly 
discharged  hi-  duty,  the  readers  of 
this  history  will  have  no  d.tliciilty 
in  divining  that  the  curiosity  of 
the  spectators  got  no  satisfaction 
from  Lucilla.  Many  people  even 
supposed  she  had  not  remarked 
anything,  her  composure  was  so 
perfect.  No  growing  red  or  grow- 
ing pale,  no  harsh  not-->  in  her 
voice,  nor  evidence  of  distracted  at- 
tention, betrayed  that  her  mind  was 
elsewhere  while  she  was  attending 
to  her  guests  ;  and  yet.  to  be  sure, 
she  saw.  ju>t  a-  other  people  did, 
that  Ilarbara.all  Mushed  and  crimson, 
with  her  eyes  bla/ing  uiid.-r  their 
sullen  brows,  stood  in  a  glow  of 
triumph  at  the  open  window,  with 
Mr  Caveiidi.sh  in  devoted  attend- 
ance, a  captive  at  her  chariot  wheels. 
Matters  had  been  progressing  to 
this  point  for  some  time  :  but  yet 
the  two  culprits  had  never  before 
-lioued  themselves  so  lost  to  all 

sense  of  propriety.  Instead  of 
fainting  or  getting  pale,  or  show- 
ing any  other  symptoms  of  violent 
despite,  Lucilla  went  upon  her 
airy  way.  indirectly  approaching 
this  point  of  interest.  When  she 
came  up  to  that  group,  which  Mrs 
Chiley  kept  regarding  as  if  her 
kind  old  countenance,  garlanded 
in  her  prettiest  cap,  was  a  Medusa 
head.  Miss  Marjoribanks  made  a 
pause,  and  all  Carlingford  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  felt  its  heart  stand 
still,  to  observe  the  conHict.  Hut 
then  the  conflict  was  an  utterly 
unequal  one,  and  few  people  could 
have  any  doubt  of  the  result. 
"  Harbara."  said  Lucilla.  "  do  put 
your  shawl  on  when  you  go  to  the 
window.  You  will  lo.se  your  voice, 
and  then  what  shall  we  all  do  I  Mr 
Cavendish,  please  to  take  her  away 
from  the  window — take  her  out  of 


574 


Miss  MarjoribanliS. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


the  draught.  I  wonder  what  you 
can  be  thinking  of  to  let  her  stand 
there.  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  would  all  say  if  she  were  to  lose 
her  voice/' 

And  when  she  had  said  this,  Lu- 
cilla  plunged  once  more  into  the 
vortex  of  her  guests.  If  she  was 
affronted,  or  if  she  was  wounded, 
nobody  found  it  out ;  and  when 
Mrs  Chiley  offered  the  tribute  of 
her  indignation  and  sympathy,  it 
has  already  been  recorded  how  her 
young  friend  responded  to  her. 
"  Fortunately  my  affections  never 
were  engaged,"  Lucilla  said,  and  no 
doubt  that  was  a  great  advantage  ; 
but  then,  as  we  have  said,  there  are 
other  things  besides  affections  to  be 
taken  into  account  when  the  woman 
whom  you  have  been  kind  to,  snaps 
up  the  man  who  has  been  paying 
attention  to  you,  not  only  before 
your  eyes,  but  before  the  eyes  of 
all  the  world.  The  result  of  her 
masterly  conduct  on  this  occasion 
was  that  her  defeat  became,  as  we 
have  said,  a  triumph  for  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks.  To  be  sure,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that,  in  the  sweets  of  their 
mutual  regard,  the  two  criminals 
found  compensation  for  the  disap- 
proval of  the  spectators;  but  nothing 
could  be  more  marked  than  the  way 
in  which  Caiiingford  turned  its  cold 
shoulder  on  its  early  favourite.  "  I 
never  imagined  Cavendish  was  such 
a  fool,"  Mr  Centum  said,  who  was  a 
man  of  few  words  ;  "  if  he  likes  that 
style  of  philandering,  it  is  nothing  to 
me,  but  he  need  not  make  an  idiot 
of  himself."  As  for  Mr  Woodburn, 
he,  as  was  natural,  inflicted  vicari- 
ous punishment  upon  his  wife.  "  It 
must  be  all  your  fault,"  he  growled, 
when  he  was  taking  her  home,  and 
had  her  at  his  mercy,  with  that  logic 
peculiar  to  a  married  man ;  "  you 
ought  to  tell  him  he's  making  an  ass 
of  himself.  Why  the  deuce  do  you 
let  him  go  on  with  that  tomfoolery  ] 
He'll  lose  all  his  chances  in  life,  and 
then,  I  hope,  you'll  be  satisfied. 
You  women  can  never  see  an  inch 
before  your  own  noses  !  "  cried  the 
uncivil  husband ;  which,  it  must  be 


confessed,  was  rather  hard  upon 
poor  Mrs  Woodburn,  who  had  no- 
thing to  do  with  it,  and  had  in- 
deed calculated  upon  perfecting  her 
sketch  of  Barbara  in  the  quietness 
of  the  walk  home  ;  for  as  every- 
body lived  in  Grange  Lane,  car- 
riages were  not  necessary  for  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  guests.  They  flitted 
out  and  in  in  the  moonlight  with 
pretty  scarfs  thrown  over  their 
heads  and  laced  handkerchiefs 
tied  under  their  chins,  and  made 
Grange  Lane,  between  the  two 
straight  lines  of  garden  -  wall, 
like  a  scene  in  a  masquerade 
on  the  Thursday  evenings.  And 
while  Mr  Cavendish  was  thus  suf- 
fering by  deputy  the  contempt  of 
his  former  admirers,  Lucilla,  by 
herself  in  the  abandoned  drawing- 
room,  was  thinking  over  the  even- 
ing with  a  severe  but  on  the  whole 
satisfactory  self-examination.  After 
the  first  shock,  which  she  had  en- 
countered with  so  much  courage, 
Miss  Marjoribankswas  rather  grate- 
ful than  otherwise  to  Providence, 
which  had  brought  the  necessary 
trial  upon  her  in  this  form.  If  it 
had  been  a  breakdown  and  humil- 
iating failure  instead,  how  different 
would  her  sensations  have  been ! 
and  Lucilla  was  quite  conscious 
that  such  a  thing  might  have  oc- 
curred. It  might  have  occurred 
to  her,  as  it  had  'done  to  so  many 
people,  to  see  Thursday  come 
round  with  a  failure  of  all  that 
made  Thursday  agreeable.  Lady 
Richmond  might  have  had  her 
influenza  that  day,  and  little  Henry 
Centum  his  sudden  attack,  which 
had  kept  his  mother  in  conversation 
ever  since,  and  Mrs  Woodburn  one 
of  her  bad  headaches ;  and  as  for  the 
Miss  Browns,  there  was  nothing 
in  the  world  but  Lucilla's  habitual 
good  fortune  which  prevented  them 
from  having  blacked  their  fingers 
with  their  photography  to  such 
an  extent  as  to  make  them  per- 
fectly unpresentable.  Or,  to  turn 
to  another  chapter  of  accidents, 
the  last  duet,  which  Barbara  had 
insisted  upon  singing  without  pro- 


1805.1 


Mn,-j»n1,anks.—rart  1  V. 


per  practice,  might  h;ivc  broken 
down  utterly.  None  of  these 
tilings  li  ul  happened,  and  I, in-ill  a 
drew  :i  long  breath  of  gratitude 
a.s  she  thought  how  fortunate  she 
had  been  in  ;ill  these  particulars. 
To  lie  sure,  it  was  necessary  to 
have  a  trial  of  one  kind  or  other; 
and  the  modest  l>ut  intense  grati- 
fication of  having  stood  the  test 
diffused  itself  like  a  halm  through 
her  bosom.  No  doubt  she  would 
have  felt,  like  most  people,  a  cer- 
tain pleasure  in  snubbing  Barbara; 
but  then  there  is,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  sweetness  in  sacrificing 
such  impulses  to  the  sacred  sense 
of  duty  and  the  high  aims  of  genius 
which  is  still  more  attractive  to 
a  well  regulated  mind.  Miss  Mir 
joribanks  herself  put  out  the 
candles,  and  went  to  her  own  room 
with  that  feeling  of  having  ac- 
quitted herself  satisfactorily  which 
many  people  think  to  be  the  high- 
est gratification  of  which  the  mind 
is  capable.  After  all,  it  was  by  no 
means  certain  that  Mr  Cavendish 
would  be  M.I',  for  Carlinu'ford. 
Mr  Chiltern  might  live  for  twenty 
years,  or  he  even  might  get  better, 
which  was  more  unlikely  :  or  sup- 
posing him  to  be  comfortably  dis- 
posed of,  nobody  could  say  with 
any  certainty  that  some  man  un- 
known at  present  in  Carlingford 
might  not  start  up  all  of  a  sudden 
and  gain  the  most  sweet  voices  of 
the  shopkeepers,  who  were,  to  be 
sure,  the  majority  of  the  communi- 
ty, and  quite  outnumbered  (Jrange 
Lane.  It  was  thus  that  Lucilla 
consoled  herself  as  she  went  to  her 
maiden  retirement  :  and  it  will  be 
seen  that  in  all  this  she  made  very 
small  account  of  Barbara,  who  was 
at  that  moment  hoping  that  Miss 
Marjoribanks  hated  her,  and  mak- 
ing fancy  pictures  of  her  rival's 
despair.  But  then  there  could  not 
be  a  moment's  doubt  that  Barbara 
Lake  was  a  foeman  quite  unworthy 
of  Lucilla's  steel. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Dr 
Marjoribanks  remained  an  amused 
spectator,  and  chuckled  a  little 


quietly,  without  saying  anything 
to  any  body,  over  the  turn  affair-  had 
taken.  The  Doctor  knew  all  about 
everybody  in  Carlingford.  and  he 
hid  never  been  an  enthusiast  \\\ 
favour  of  Mrs  Woodburn's  brother, 
notwithstanding  that  the  young 
man  had  been  receive  1  so  warmly 
into  society  as  our  of  the  <  'aveii- 
dishcs.  Perhaps  1  )r  MarjoribankH 
being  Scotch,  and  having  a  turn 
for  genealogy,  found  the  descrip- 
tion a  little  vague  ;  but  at  all 
events  there  ran  lif  no  doubt  that 
he  laughed  to  himself  as  he  re- 
tired from  the  scene  of  his  daugh- 
ter's trial.  Perhaps  the  Doctor 
thought,  in  a  professional  point 
of  view,  that  a  little  discipline  of 
this  description  would  be  useful  to 
Lucilla.  Perhaps  he  thought  it 
would  be  good  for  her  to  find  out 
that  —  though  she  had  managed 
to  slip  the  reins  out  of  his  hands, 
and  get  the  control  of  a  Hairs  with 
a  kill  which  amused  the  Doc- 
tor, mid  made  him  a  little  proud 
of  her  abilities,  even  though  he 
was  himself  the  victim — she  could 
not  go  on  always  unchecked  in  her 
triumphant  career,  but  mu>t  endure 
like  other  people  an  occasional  de- 
feat. No  doubt,  had  Lucilla  been 
really  worsted,  paternal  feeling 
would  have  interposed,  and  Dr 
Marjoribanks  would  to  some  ex- 
tent have  suffered  in  her  suffering; 
but  then  the  case  was  different,  and 
nobody  required,  as  it  turned  out, 
to  sutler  for  Lucilla.  The  Doctor 
was  pleased  she  had  shown  so 
much  spirit,  and  pleaded  also  to  see 
how  entirely  she  had  discomfited 
her  antagonists,  and  turned  the 
tables  upon  the  "young  puppy,"  in 
whom  he  had  no  confidence  ;  and 
withal  Dr  Marjoribanks  chuckled 
a  little  in  his  secret  heart  over  the 
event  itself,  and  concluded  that  it 
would  do  Lucilla  good.  She  had 
vanquished  Nancy,  and  by  a  skil- 
ful jerk  taken  the  reins  out  of  his 
own  experienced  hands.  It  is  true 
that,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the 
Doctor  was  conscious  that  he  had 
been  on  the  whole  very  wisely  go- 


576 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


verned  since  his  abdication,  but 
yet  lie  was  not  sorry  that  the 
young  conqueror  should  feel  herself 
human ;  so  that  nobody  except 
Mrs  Chiley  felt  that  mingled  rage 
and  disappointment  with  which 
Barbara  Lake  had  hoped  to  inspire 
Lucilla's  bosom  ;  and  Mrs  Chiley, 
so  to  speak,  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  As  for  Barbara  herself,  she  re- 
turned home  in  a  state  of  mingled 
spite  and  exultation  and  disgust, 
which  filled  her  sister  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"  She  is  such  an  actor,  you 
know,"  Barbara  said ;  "  she  never 
will  give  in  to  let  you  know  how 
she  is  feeling — not  if  she  can  help 
it  ;  but  for  all  that  she  must  have 
felt  it.  Xobody  could  help  feeling 
it,  though  she  carried  it  off  so  well. 
I  knew  how  it  would  be,  as  soon  as 
I  had  on  a  dress  that  was  fit  to  be 
seen." 

"  What  is  it  that  she  could  not 
help  feeling  1"  said  Hose.  "I  sup- 
pose it  is  Lucilla  you  mean  1 " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what 
right  she  had  to  be  kind  to  me," 
cried  Barbara,  all  glowing  in  her 
sullen  but  excited  beauty  ;  "  and 
invite  me  there,  and  introduce  me 
in  her  grand  way,  as  if  she  was  any 
better  than  I  am  !  And  then  to 
look  at  all  her  India  muslins  ;  but 
I  knew  it  would  be  different  as  soon 
as  I  had  a  decent  dress,"  said  the 
contralto,  rising  up  to  contemplate 
herself  in  the  little  mirror  over  the 
mantelpiece. 

This  conversation  took  place  in 
Mr  Lake's  little  parlour,  where  Bose 
had  been  waiting  for  her  sister, 
and  where  Barbara's  white  dress 
made  an  unusual  radiance  in  the 
dim  and  partially-lighted  room. 
Rose  herself  was  all  shrouded  up  in 
her  morning  dress,  with  her  pretty 
round  arms  and  shoulders  lost  to 
the  common  view.  She  had  been 
amusing  herself  as  she  waited  by 
working  at  a  corner  of  that  great 
design  which  was  to  win  the  prize 
on  a  later  occasion.  Readers  of 
this  history  who  have  studied  the 
earlier  chapters  will  remember  that 


Rose's  tastes  in  ornamentation  were 
very  clearly  defined  for  so  young  a 
person.  Instead  of  losing  herself 
in  vague  garlands  of  impossible 
flowers,  the  young  artist  clung  with 
the  tenacity  of  first  love  to  the  thistle 
leaf,  which  had  been  the  foundation 
of  her  early  triumphs.  Her  mind 
was  full  of  it  even  while  she  receiv- 
ed and  listened  to  Barbara ;  whether 
to  treat  it  in  a  national  point  of 
view,  bringing  in  the  rose  and 
shamrock,  which  was  a  perfectly 
allowable  proceeding,  though  per- 
haps not  original — or  whether  she 
should  yield  to  the  "sweet  feeling" 
which  had  been  so  conspicuous  in 
her  flounce,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
Marlborough  -  House  gentlemen  — 
or  whether,  on  the  contrary,  she 
should  handle  the  subject  in  a 
boldly  naturalistic  way,  and  use  her 
spikes  with  freedom, —  was  a  ques- 
tion which  occupied  at  that  mo- 
ment all  Rose's  faculties.  Even 
while  she  asked  Barbara  what  the 
subject  was  on  which  Lucilla  might 
be  supposed  to  be  excited,  she  was 
within  herself  thinking  out  this 
difficult  idea — all  the  more  difficult, 
perhaps,  considering  the  nature  of 
the  subject,  since  the  design  in  this 
case  was  not  for  a  flounce,  in  which 
broad  handling  is  practicable,  but 
for  a  veil. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  talk  in 
that  foolish  way,"  said  Rose  ;  "  no- 
body need  be  any  better  than  you, 
as  you  say.  To  be  sure,  we  don't 
live  in  Grange  Lane,  nor  keep  a 
carriage  ;  but  I  wish  you  would  re- 
collect that  these  are  only  acciden- 
tal circumstances.  As  for  dress,  I 
don't  see  that  you  require  it ;  our 
position  is  so  clearly  defined;  we 
are  a  family  of — 

"  Oh,  for  goodness  gracious  sake, 
do  be  quiet  with  your  family  of  ar- 
tists," cried  Barbara.  "  Speak  for 
yourself,  if  you  please.  I  am  not 
an  artist,  and  never  will  be,  I  can 
tell  you.  There  are  better  places 
to  live  in  than  Grange  Lane ;  and 
as  for  keeping  a  carriage,  I  would 
never  call  a  little  bit  of  a  brougham 
a  carriage,  if  it  was  me.  Lucilla 


1865.] 


Mian  Murjorihankf. — J'art  1  V. 


made  believe  to  take  no  notice,  hut 
she  did  not  deceive  me  with  that. 
She  was  as  disappointed  as  ever 
she  could  be — L  daresay  now  she's 
sitting  crying  over  it.  I  never 
would  have  cared  one  straw  it  1 
had  not  wanted  to  serve  Lucilla 
out!"  cried  the  contralto,  witli  en- 
ergy. She  was  still  standing  before 
tin-  glass  pulling  her  Mack  hair 
about  into  new  combinations,  and 
studying  the  effect  ;  and  as  for 
luise,  she  too  looked  up,  and, 
seeing  her  sister's  face  reflected  in 
the  glass,  made  the  discovery  that 
there  was  something  like  grimace 
in  the  countenance,  and  paused  in 
the  midst  of  her  meditations  with 
her  pencil  in  her  hand. 

"  Don't  put  yourself  out  of  draw- 
ing, '  said  Hose;  "  1  wish  you  would 
not  do  that  so  often.  When  the 
facial  angle  is  disturbed  to  that  ex- 
tent—  -  But  about  Lucilla.  I  think 
you  arc  exces.-ively  ungrateful, 
(iratitude  is  not  a  servile  senti- 
ment," said  the  little  1'reraphael- 
ite,  with  a  rising  colour.  "  It  is  a 
slavish  sort  of  idea  to  think  any 
one  has  done  you  an  injury  by  be- 
ing kind  to  you.  If  that  is  the  sort 
of  tiling  you  are  going  to  talk  of,  1 
think  you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

"  Then  1  will,  and  1  sha'n't  tell 
you  anything,''  said  JJarbara,  an- 
grily— "you  are  so  poor-spirited. 
For  my  part,  do  you  think  I'd  ever 
have  gone  to  help  Lucilla  and  sing 
for  her,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
if  it  had  not  been  to  better  myself/ 
Nor  1  wouldn't  have  thought  of 
him  just  at  lirst,  if  it  hadn't  been 
to  spite  /n't:  And  I've  done  it  too. 
I'd  just  like  to  look  in  at  her  room 
window  ami  see  what  she's  about. 
I  daresay  she  is  crying  her  eyes  out, 
for  all  her  looking  as  if  she  took  no 
notice.  1  know  better  than  to  think 
she  doesn't  care.  And,  Hose,  he's 
such  a  dear,  '  said  Barbara,  with  a 
laugh  of  excitement.  To  be  sure, 
•what  she  wanted  was  to  be  Mrs  Ca- 
vendish, and  to  have  a  handsome 
house  and  a  great  many  nice  dresses  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  she  was  young, 
and  Mr  Cavendish  was  good-look- 


ing, and  she  was  a  little  in  love,  in 
her  way,  as  well. 

"  1  don't  want  to  hear  any  more 
about  it,"  said  Rose,  who  was  so 
much  moved  as  to  forget  even  her 
design.  "  1  can't  think  how  it  is 
you  have  no  sense  of  honour,  and 
you  one  of  the  Lakes.  1  would 
not  lie  a  traitor  for  a  do/en  Mr 
( 'aveiidishes !  "  cried  Hose,  in  the 
force  of  her  indignation.  "  He 
must  be  a  cheat,  >iin-e  you  are  a 
traitor.  If  he  was  a  true  man  he 
would  have  found  yi>u  out." 

^  oil  had  better  be  quiet,  liose,'' 
said  l.arbara;  "you  may  In- sure  I 
shall  never  do  anything  for  you 
after  we  are  married,  if  you  talk 
like  that  ;  and  then  you'll  be  sorry 
enough." 

"After  you  are  married.'  has  he 
a-ked  you  to  marry  him/''  cried 
Hose.  She  pushed  away  her  design 
with  both  her  hands  in  the  vehe- 
mence of  her  feeling.-,  and  regarded 
her  sister  with  eyes  i\hirh  hhued, 
but  which  were  totally  dill'erent  ill 
their  blaxing  from  tlm.-e  which 
burned  under  1  Barbaras  level  eye- 
brows. It  was  too  plain  a  ques- 
tion to  have  a  plain  answer,  Uar- 
bara  only  lighted  her  candle  in 
replv,  and  smiled  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  am  go- 
ing  to  answer  after  your  insulting 
ways."  she  said,  taking  up  her  can- 
dle ;  and  she  swept  out  of  the  room 
in  her  white  dre.-s  with  a  sense  of 
pleasure  in  leaving  this  grand  point 
unsettled.  To  be  sure,  Mr  Caven- 
dish had  not  yet  asked  that  im- 
portant question  ;  but  then  the  fu- 
ture was  all  before  them,  and  the 
way  clear.  As  for  Hose,  she  clenched 
her  little  lists  with  a  gesture  that 
would  have  been  too  forcible  for 
any  one  who  was  not  an  arti>t,  and 
a  member  of  a  family  of  artists. 
'•  To  think  she  should  be  one  of 
us,  and  not  to  know  what  honour 
means,"  said  Hose;  "and  as  for 
this  man,  he  must  be  a  cheat  him- 
self, or  he  would  lind  her  out." 

This  was  how  Mr  Cavendish's 
defection  from  Lucilla  took  place; 


573 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  1 V. 


(May, 


and  at  the  same  time  it  is  a  satis- 
faction to  know  that  the  event  was 
received  by  everybody  very  much 
as  little  Hose  Lake  received  it. 
And  as  for  Miss  Marjoribanks,  if 
Barbara  could  have  had  the  mali- 
cious satisfaction  of  looking  in  at 
the  window,  she  would  have  been 
mortified  to  find  that  right-minded 


young  woman  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
the  just  and  innocent,  and  enjoy- 
ing repose  as  profound  and  agree- 
able as  if  there  had  been  no  Mr 
Cavendish  in  the  world,  not  to 
speak  of  Carlingford ; — which,  to  be 
sure,  was  a  result  to  be  greatly  at- 
tributed to  Lucilla's  perfect  health, 
and  entire  satisfaction  with  herself. 


CHAPTER  xv. 


This  event  was  of  far  too  much 
importance  in  the  limited  world  of 
Grange  Lane  to  pass  over  without 
some  of  the  many  commentaries 
Avhich  were  going  on  upon  the  sub- 
ject coming  to  the  ears  of  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  who  was  the  person 
principally  concerned.  As  for  the 
Doctor,  as  we  have  already  said,  he 
was  so  far  lost  to  a  sense  of  his 
paternal  duties  as  to  chuckle  a 
little  within  himself  over  the  acci- 
dent that  had  happened  to  Lucilla. 
It  had  done  her  no  harm,  and  Dr 
Marjoribanks  permitted  himself  to 
regard  the  occurrence  in  a  profes- 
sional point  of  view,  as  supplying 
a  little  alterative  which  he  could 
scarcely  administer  himself  ;  for  it 
is  well  known  that  physicians  are 
seldom  successful  in  the  treatment 
of  their  own  families.  He  was 
more  jocose  than  usual  at  breakfast 
for  some  days  following,  and,  on 
the  morning  of  the  next  Thursday, 
asked  if  everybody  was  to  come  as 
usual,  with  a  significance  which  did 
not  escape  the  young  mistress  of 
the  house. 

"  You  know  best,  papa,"  she  said, 
cheerfully,  as  she  poured  him  out  his 
coffee  :  "  if  there  is  anybody  who  is 
ill  and  can't  come,  it  must  be  your 
fault — but  I  did  not  hear  that  any 
one  was  ill." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  Doctor,  with 
a  quiet  laugh ;  and  he  could  not 
help  thinking  it  would  be  good 
sport  to  see  Cavendish  come  into 
the  drawing-room  all  by  himself 
without  any  support,  and  make  his 
appearance  before  Miss  Marjori- 
banks, and  do  his  best  to  be  agree- 


able, with  an  awful  consciousness 
of  his  bad  behaviour,  and  nobody 
sufficiently  benevolent  to  help  him 
out.  The  Doctor  thought  it  would 
serve  him  right,  but  yet  he  was 
not  sufficiently  irritated  nor  suffi- 
ciently sympathetic  to  lose  any  of 
the  humour  of  the  situation ;  and  it 
was  with  a  little  zest,  as  for  some- 
thing especially  piquant,  that  he 
looked  forward  to  the  evening.  As 
for  Miss  Marjoribanks,  she  too  re- 
cognised the  importance  of  the  occa- 
sion. She  resolved  to  produce  that 
evening  a  new  plat,  which  had  oc- 
cupied a  corner  of  her  busy  mind 
for  some  time  past.  It  was  an  era 
which  called  for  a  new  step  in  ad- 
vance. She  sat  down  by  the  win- 
dow to  wait  the  appearance  of 
Nancy,  with  various  novel  com- 
binations floating  in  her  creative 
brain.  Her  first  chapter  seemed  to 
Lucilla's  eyes  to  be  achieved  and 
concluded.  She  had  had  much 
success,  in  which  a  mind  of  correct 
sentiments  could  not  but  find  cause 
of  satisfaction ;  and  now  was  the 
time  to  enter  upon  a  second  and 
still  more  important  stage.  While 
she  was  revolving  these  ideas  in 
her  mind,  Nancy  came  in  with 
more  than  her  usual  briskness.  It 
is  true  that  Lucilla  had  her  house- 
hold well  in  hand,  and  possessed 
the  faculty  of  government  to  a  re- 
markable extent ;  but  still,  under 
the  best  of  circumstances,  it  was  a 
serious  business  to  propose  a  new 
dish  to  Nancy.  Dr  Marjoribanks's 
factotum  was  a  woman  of  genius 
in  her  way,  and  by  no  means  un- 
enlightened or  an  enemy  of  pro- 


1SG5.] 


Miss  Marjurilankt. — /'art  I  V. 


press  ;  but  then  she  had  a  weakness 
common  to  many  persons  of  supe- 
rior intelligence  and  decided  char- 
acter. When  tliere  was  anything 
new  to  lie  introduced,  Nancy  liked 
to  lie  herself  the  godmother  of 
the.  interesting  novelty  ;  for,  to  be 
sure,  it  was  her  place,  and  Miss 
Lucilla,  though  she  was  very  clever, 
was  not  to  be  expected  to  under- 
stand what  came  in  best  with  the 
other  dishes  for  a  dinner.  "  1  ain't 
one  as  goes  just  upon  fish  and  flesh 
and  fowl,  like  some  as  call  them- 
selves cooks,''  Nancy  said.  "  If  I 
have  a  failing,  it's  for  things  as 
suits.  When  it's  brown,  make  it 
brown,  and  don't  be  mean  about 
the  gravy-beef  —  that's  my  prin- 
ciple; and  when  it  ain't  brown, 
mind  what  you're  a-doing  of — and 
don't  go  and  throw  a  heap  of  en- 
trys  and  things  at  a  gentleman's 
head  without  no  'armony.  1  always 
says  to  Miss  Lucilla  as  'armony  s 
the  thing  ;  and  when  I've  set  it  all 
straight  in  my  mind,  I  ain't  one  as 
likes  to  be  put  out,"  Nancy  would 
add,  with  a  gleam  of  her  eye  which 
betokened  mischief.  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  was  much  too  sensible  not 
to  be  aware  of  this  peculiarity; 
and  accordingly  she  cleared  her 
throat  with  something  as  near 
nervousness  as  was  possible  to  Lu- 
cilla before  she  opened  her  lips  to 
propose  the  innovation.  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks,  as  a  general  rule,  did  not 
show  much  nervousness  in  her  deal- 
ings with  her  "Vrime  minister,  any 
more  than  in  her  demeanour  to- 
wards the  less  important  members 
of  society;  and  consequently  Nancy 
remarked  the  momentary  timidity, 
and  a  flash  of  sympathy  and  indig- 
nation took  the  place  of  the  usual 
impulse  of  defiance. 

"  I  heard  as  master  said,  there 
was  some  gentleman  as  wasn't  a- 
coming,"  said  Nancy.  "  Not  as  one 
makes  no  difference  in  a  dinner  ; 
but  I  allays  likes  to  know.  I  don't 
like  no  waste,  for  my  part.  lain'tone 
as  calk'lates  too  close,  but  if  there's 
one  thing  as  I  hates  like  poison, 
it's  waste.  1  said  as  1  would  a.uk, 


for  Thomas  ain't  as  correct  as  could 
be  wished.  Is  it  one  less  than  usual, 
Miss  Lucilla  ('  said  Nancy;  and  it 
was  Lucilla's  fault  if  she  did  not 
understand  the  profound  and  indig- 
nant sympathy  in  Nancy's  voice. 

"  ( Mi,  no ;  it  is  ju.it  the  usual 
number,"  said  Miss  Marjoribanks. 
"  It  was  i. nly  a  joke  of  papa's — 
they  are  all  just  as  usual —  '  Ajid 
here  Lncilla  pau.-ed.  Sh«-  was 
thinking  of  the  dish  she  wanted, 
but  Nancy  thought  she  w;is  thinking 
of  Mr  Cavendish,  who  had  treated 
her  so  badly.  She  studied  the. 
countenance  of  her  young  mistress 
with  the  interest  of  a  woman  who 
has  had  her  experiences,  and  knows 
how  little  Tltrii  are  to  be  depended 
upon.  Nancy  murmured  "  Poor 
dear!"  under  her  breath,  almost 
without  knowing  it,  and  then  a 
brilliant  inspiration  came  to  her 
mind.  Few  people  have  the  gift 
of  interfering  successfully  in  such 
roes,  but  then  to  oiler  consolation 
is  a  Christian  duty,  especially  when 
one  has  the  confidence  that  to  give 
consolation  is  in  one's  power. 

"  Miss  Lucilla,  I  would  say,  as 
you've  been  doing  too  much, if  any- 
body was  to  ask  me,"  sa;d  Nancy, 
moved  by  this  generous  impulse, 
"  all  them  practisings  and  things. 
They're  well  enough  foryoung  ladies 
as  ain't  got  nothing  el>c  to  do  ;  but 
you  as  has  such  a  deal  in  your  hands 
—  If  there  was  any  little  thing 
as  you  could  fancy  for  dinner,"  said 
Nancy,  in  her  most  bland  accents; 
"I've  set  it  all  down  as  I  thought 
woidd  be  nicest,  allays  if  you  ap- 
proves. Miss  Lucilla  ;  but  if  there 
was  any  little  thing  as  you  could 
fancy —  "  Poor  dear,  it's  all  as 

we  can  do,"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self. The  faithless  could  not  be 
brought  back  again  :  but  Ariadne 
might  at  least  have  any  little  thing 
she  could  fancy  for  dinner,  which, 
indeed,  is  a  very  general  treatment 
of  such  a  case  on  the  part  of  per- 
plexed sympathisers  who  do  not 
know  what  to  say. 

Lucilla  was    so   excited   for  the 
moment  by  this  unusual  evidence 


580 


Miss  Marjorihanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


of  her  own  good  fortune,  that  she 
had  almost  spoiled  all  by  sitting 
straight  up  and  entering  with  her 
usual  energy  into  the  discussion — 
but  instinct  saved  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  from  this  mistake.  She  lost 
no  time  in  taking  advantage  of  the 
opportunity,  and  instead  of  having 
a  fight  with  Nancy,  and  getting  a 
reluctant  consent,  and  still  more 
reluctant  execution  of  the  novelty, 
Lucilla  felt  that  she  was  doing  that 
excellent  woman  a  favour  by  nam- 
ing her  new  dish.  Nancy  approved 
so  thoroughly  as  to  be  enthusiastic. 
"  I  always  said  as  she  had  a  deal  of 
sense,"  she  said  afterwards,  trium- 
phantly. "  There  ain't  one  young 
lady  in  a  hundred  as  knows  what's 
good  for  her,  like  Miss  Lucilla."  But 
notwithstanding  this  fervent  decla- 
ration of  approval,  Nancy,  softened 
as  she  was,  could  not  but  linger, 
when  all  was  concluded,  to  give  a 
little  advice. 

"  I  wouldn't  worrit  myself  with  all 
them  practisings,  Miss  Lucilla,  if  I 
was  you/'  said  her  faithful  retainer. 
"  They're  a  deal  too  much  for  you. 
I've  took  the  liberty,  when  all  was 
cleaned  up,  to  go  on  the  stair  and 
listen  a  bit,  and  there  ain't  nothing 
to  equal  it  when  you're  a-singing 
by  yourself.  I  don't  think  nothing 
of  them  duets — and  as  for  that  bold- 
faced brazen  thing " 

_  "  Oh,  Nancy,  hash  ! "  said  Lu- 
cilla ;  "  Miss  Lake  has  a  beautiful 
voice.  If  she  does  not  look  quite 
like  a  lady,  it  is  not  her  fault,  poor 
thing.  She  has  no  mamma  to  set 
her  right,  you  know.  She  is  the 
best  assistant  I  have — she  and  Mr 
Cavendish,"  said  Lucilla,  sweetly; 
and  she  gave  Nancy  a  look  which 
moved  the  faithful  servant  almost 
to  tears,  though  she  was  not  ad- 
dicted to  that  weakness.  Nancy 
retired  with  the  most  enthusiastic 
determination  to  exert  herself  to 
the  utmost  for  the  preparation  of 
the  little  dish  which  Lucilla  fan- 
cied. "  But  I  wouldn't  worrit 
about  them  duets,"  she  said  again, 
as  she  left  the  room.  "  I  wouldn't, 
not  if  I  was  you,  Miss  Lucilla, 


asking  pardon  for  the  liberty:  as  for 
having  no  mamma,  you  have  no 
mamma  yourself,  and  you  the  young 
lady  as  is  most  thought  upon  in 
Carlingford,  and  as  different  from 
that  brazen-faced  tiling,  with  her 

red  cheeks " 

"  Hush,  oh  hush,  Nancy,"  Lucilla 
said,  as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  ; 
but  Miss  Marjoribanks,  after  all,  was 
only  human,  and  she  was  not  so  dis- 
tressed by  these  unpolished  epithets 
applied  to  her  col  Labor  ateur  as  she 
might  or  perhaps  ought  to  have 
been.  "  Poor  Barbara  !  I  wisli  she 
could  only  look  a  little  bit  like  a 
lady."  she  said  to  herself;  and  so 
proceeded  with  her  preparations  for 
the  evening.  She  had  all  her  plans 
matured,  and  she  felt  quite  com- 
fortable about  that  Thursday  which 
all  her  friends  were  thinking  would 
be  rather  trying  to  Lucilla.  To  tell 
the  truth,  when  a  thing  became 
rather  trying,  Lucilla's  spirits  rose. 
Mr  Cavendish's  desertion  was  per- 
haps, on  the  whole,  more  than  com- 
pensated for  by  the  exhilaration  of 
a  difficulty  to  be  encountered.  She 
too  began  to  forecast,  like  her  father, 
the  possibilities  of  the  evening,  and 
to  think  of  Mr  Cavendish  coming 
in  to  dinner  when  there  was  nobody 
to  support  him,  and  not  even  a 
crowd  of  people  to  retire  among. 
Would  he  run  the  risk  of  coming, 
under  the  circumstances  ]  or,  if  he 
came,  would  he  prostrate  himself 
as  he  had  done  on  a  previous  occa- 
sion, and  return  to  his  allegiance  1 
This  question  roused  Lucilla  to  a 
degree  of  energy  unusual  even  to 
her  who  was  always  energetic.  It 
was  then  that  the  brilliant  idea 
struck  her  of  adjourning  to  the  gar- 
den in  the  evening — a  practice  which 
was  received  with  such  enthusiasm 
in  Carlingford,  Avhere  the  gardens 
were  so  pretty.  She  put  on  her  hat 
directly  and  went  down-stairs,  and 
called  the  gardener  to  consult  him 
about  it ;  and  it  was  thus  that  she 
was  employed  when  Mrs  Chiley 
rang  the  bell  at  the  garden -gate. 
If  it  had  been  anybody  else  in  Car- 
lingford, Lucilla  would  have  led  her 


1865. 


J/i.<.<  .\f(itj»rif><iiiH's. — /'art  1  I'. 


JIM 


back  again  to  the  house,  and  said 
nothing  about  the  subject  of  her 
conference  with  the  gardener;  lor  it 
is  always  best,  as  all  judicious  JUT- 
SOUS  are  aware,  not  to  forestall  these 
little  arrangements  which  make  so 
agreeable  a  surprise  at  the  moment; 
but  then  Mrs  Chiley  was  Mi>s  Mar- 
juribiinks'a  special  eonfidant.  The 
old  lady  had  her  face  full  of  bii>i- 
ness  that  bright  morning.  She  li>t- 
ened  to  what  her  young  friend  pro- 
posed, but  without  hearing  it.  and 
said,  "  (  >h  \ vs.  my  dear,  I  am  sure 
it  will  lie  charming,"  without  the 
very  least  notion  what  it  was  she 
applauded.  "  Let  us  go  in  and  sit 
down  a  moment,  for  1  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you.  Lueilla,"  -Mrs 
Chiley  said  ;  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  drawing-room  and  shut 
the  door,  the  < 'oloiiel's  wife  gave 
her  favourite  a  kiss,  and  looked 
anxiously  in  her  lace.  "  You  have 
not  been  to  see  me  since  Monday." 
said  .Mrs  Chiley.  "  1  am  .-lire  you 
are  not  well,  or  you  could  not  have 
.stayed  away  so  long  ;  but  it  you  did 
not  feel  equal  to  j,'oin_r  out,  why  did 
not  you  send  for  me,  Lueilla,  my 
poor  dear  /  "  Though  .Miss  Marjoii- 
banks's  thoughts  at  that  moment 
were  full  of  the  garden,  and  not  in 
the  least  occupied  with  those  more 
troublesome  matters  which  procured 
for  her  Mrs  Chiley  s  sympathy,  she 
placed  the  kind  old  lady  in  the 
most  easy  chair,  and  sat  down 
by  her,  as  .Mrs  Chiley  liked  to  .see 
a  young  creature  do.  Lucilla'.s  af- 
fairs were  too  important  to  be 
trusted  to  a  young  f-mjii/nnf''  of  her 
own  age  ;  but  even  a  person  of 
acknowledged  genius  like  .Miss  Mar- 
jorihanks  is  the  better  of  some  one 
to  whom  she  can  open  up  her  breast. 

''  I  >ear  .Mrs  Chiley  1"  said  Lueilla, 
"  I  am  quite  well,  and  I  meant  to 
have  come  to  see  you  to-day. 

".My  poor  dear!  "  said  .Mrs  ( 'hiley 
again.  "  You  say  you  are  quite 
well,  for  you  have  such  a  spirit  ; 
but  I  can  see  what  you  have  been 
going  through.  1  don't  understand 
how  you  can  keep  on,  and  do  so 
much.  Hut  it  was  not  t/i>i(  that 


brought  me  here.  Tin-re  i-,  M.HH- 
one  coming  to  ( ' arlingford  th.it  I 
want  you  to  meet,  Lucill.i.  II,-  i-.  a 
relation  of  .Mary  Chiley'.-  husband, 
and  as  she  does  not  get  on  very  wvll 
with  them,  you  know,  |  think  it  i-, 
our  duty  to  be  civil.  And  they 
say  he  is  a  very  nice  man  :  and 
young — enough,"  .--aid  .Mr*  <  'iiih-y, 
with  a  look  of  some  anxii-ty.  paus- 
ing to  see  the  etlei-t  produced  upon 
Lueilla  by  her  word*. 

.Miss  Marjoribanks  had  Hot,  as 
>he  once  eonfe>»i-d.  a  very  vivid 
sense  ot  humour,  but  .-he  laughed  a 
little,  in  >pite  of  hi-r.-elt.  at  the  old 
lady's  anxious  look.  "hoii't  be 
sorry  for  me,"  she  -aid  :  "  I  told  you 
that  fortunately  my  atb-i-tions  were 
not  engaged.  1  don't  want  any 
new  gentleman  introduced  to  me. 
If  (li'il  was  what  1  was  thinking  of, 
I  never  need  have  come  home," 
Lueilla  said,  with  a  little  dignity  ; 
and  yet.  to  be  sure,  she  was  natur- 
ally curious  to  know  who  the  new 
man,  who  was  very  nice  and  young 
- — enough,  could  be;  for  -iich  ap- 
parition* wt  iv  not  too  plentiful  in 
(  'arlingford;  and  it  did  not  >et-m 
in  reason  that  an  individual  of  this 
interest  i  i!  u'  dc.-cript  ion,  could  come 

OUt   of   (  'olollel   (  'lliley's   holl.-e. 

"  My  dear,  he  is  a  clergyman," 
said  Mrs  Chiley.  putting  her  hand 
on  Miss  Marjoribank-'.-  arm,  and 
speaking  in  a  half  whisper  ;  "and 
you  know  a  nice  clergyman  is  al- 
ways nice,  and  you  need  not  think 
of  him  as  a  young  man  unless  you 
like.  He  has  a  nice  property,  and 
he  is  Rector  of  llasing,  which  is  a 
very  good  living,  and  Archdeacon 
of  Stanmore.  He  has  come  here  to 
hold  a  visitation,  you  know  :  and 
they  say  that  if  Carlingford  was 
made  into  a  bishopric,  he  is  almost 
sure  to  be  the  first  bishop  ;  and  you 
know  a  bishop,  or  even  an  arch- 
deacon, has  a  very  nice  position. 
I  want  to  be  civil  to  him  for  Mary 
Chiley's  sake,  who  is  not  on  such 
terms  as  we  could  wi.-h  with  her 
husband's  friends  ;  and  then  1  sup- 
pose he  will  have  to  be  a  great  deal 
in  Carlingford,  and  1  .should  like  him 


582 


Jfiss  Marjoribanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


to  form  a  good  impression.  I  want 
you  and  your  dear  good  papa  to 
come  and  meet  him  ;  and  then  after 
that — but  one  thing  is  enough  at  a 
time,"  the  old  lady  said,  breaking 
off  with  a  nod  and  a  smile.  She 
too  had  brought  her  bit  of  consola- 
tion to  Lucilla  ;  and  it  was  a  kind 
of  consolation  which,  when  ad- 
ministered at  the  right  moment,  is 
sometimes  of  sovereign  efficacy,  as 
Mrs  Chiley  was  aware. 

"  I  am  sure  papa  will  be  very 
happy,"  said  Lucilla  ;  "and  indeed, 
if  you  like,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to 
ask  him  here.  If  he  is  a  friend  of 
yours,  that  is  quite  enough  for  me. 
It  is  very  nice  to  know  a  nice  cler- 
gyman ;  but  as  for  being  a  young 
man,  I  can't  see  how  that  matters. 
If  I  had  been  thinking  of  that,  I 
need  never — but  I  should  think 
papa  would  like  to  meet  him ; 
and  you  know  it  is  the  object  of 
my  life  to  please  papa." 

"  Yes,  my  poor  dear,"  said  the 
Colonel's  wife,  "  and  he  would  be 
hard-hearted  indeed  if  he  was  not 
pleased  ;  but  still  we  must  consider 
you  too  a  little,  Lucilla.  You  do 
everything  for  other  people,  and 
you  never  think  of  yourself.  But 
I  like  to  see  you  with  nice  people 
round  you,  for  my  part,"  Mrs  Chiley 
added  —  "really  nice  people,  and 
not  these  poor-spirited,  ungrate- 
ful  " 

"  Hush,  hush  !"  said  Lucilla ;  "  I 
don't  know  such  nice  people  any- 
where as  there  are  in  Carlingford. 
Some  people  are  never  pleased  with 
their  neighbours,  but  I  always  get 
on  so  well  with  everybody.  It  is 
my  good  luck,  you  know  ;  and  so 
long  as  I  have  you,  dear  Mrs 
Chiley " 

"  Ah,  Lucilla  ! "  said  the  old  lady, 
"  that  is  very  kind  of  you — and  you 
could  not  have  anybody  that  is 
fonder  of  you  than  I  am  ;  but  still 
I  am  an  old  woman,  old  enough  to 
be  your  grandmother,  my  dear — 
and  we  have  your  future  interests 
to  think  of.  As  for  all  the  vexa- 
tions you  have  had,  I  think  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  turn 


that  ungrateful  creature  to  the 
door.  Don't  let  her  come  here  any 
more.  I  like  your  voice  a  great 
deal  better  when  you  are  singing 
by  yourself — and  I  am  sure  the 
Archdeacon  would  be  of  my  opin- 
ion," said  Mrs  Chiley,  with  a  con- 
fidence which,  was  beautiful  to  be- 
hold. It  was  true  she  had  not  seen 
her  new  hero  as  yet,  but  that  only 
left  her  so  much  more  free  to  take 
the  good  of  him  and  his  probable 
sentiments ;  for  to  persons  of  frank 
and  simple  imagination  a  very  little 
foundation  of  fact  is  enough  to 
build  upon.  No  doubt  the  Arch- 
deacon would  be  of  her  opinion 
Avhen  he  knew  all  the  features  of 
the  case. 

"  Dear  Mrs  Chiley,  it  is  so  nice 
of  you  to  be  vexed,"  said  Lucilla, 
who  thought  it  as  well  not  to  enter 
into  any  farther  argument.  "  Papa 
will  be  delighted,  I  am  sure,  and 
I  can  come  in  the  evening.  The 
Colonel  likes  to  have  only  six 
people,  and  you  will  be  three  to 
start  with,  so  there  can't  be  any 
room  for  me  at  dinner;  and  you 
know  I  don't  mind  about  dinner. 
I  shall  come  in  the  evening  and 
make  tea  for  you — and  if  you  think 
he  would  like  to  come  next  Thurs- 
day— "said  Lucilla,  graciously.  This 
was  how  it  was  eventually  settled. 
Mrs  Chiley  went  home  again 
through  Grange  Lane  in  the  sun- 
shine, with  that  little  old-womanish 
hobble  which  Mrs  Woodburn  exe- 
cuted with  such  precision,  perfectly 
satisfied  with  her  success,  and  in- 
dulging herself  in  some  pleasant 
visions.  To  be  sure,  a  nice  clergy- 
man is  always  nice  to  know,  even 
though  nothing  more  was  to  come 
of  it ;  and  a  new  man  in  the  field 
of  such  distinguished  pretensions, 
would  be  Lucilla's  best  defence 
against  any  sort  of  mortification. 
As  for  Miss  Marjoribanks  herself, 
she  was  thinking  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  new  details  for  the  approach- 
ing evening  than  of  anything  else 
more  distant,  and  consequently 
less  important ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
she  was  by  no  means  displeased  to 


M.S  Marjiiribanl-t.—Part  IV. 


, 


hear  of  tlu%  Archdeacon.  In  such 
a  work  as  hers,  a  skilful  leader  is 
always  on  the  outlook  for  auxiliar- 
ies ;  and  there  are  circumstances  in 
which  a  nice  clergyman  is  almost 
as  useful  to  the  lady  of  tin-  house 
as  a  man  who  can  tlirt.  To  be  sure, 
now  and  then  then-  occurs  a  rare 
example  in  which  lioth  these  quali- 
ties are  united  in  one  person  ;  but 
even  in  the  most  modest  point  of 
view,  if  he  was  not  stupid  or  ol>- 
.stinately  Low  Church,  there  was 
nothing  to  despise  in  the  apparition 
of  the  Archdeacon  thus  .suddenly 
Mown  to  her  very  door.  While 
she  had  the  seats  placed  in  the 
garden  (not  too  visibly,  but  shroud- 
ed among  the  shrubs  and  round  the 
trunks  of  the  trees),  and  chose  the 
spot  for  a  little  illumination,  which 
was  not  to  l>e  universal,  like  a  tea- 
garden,  1'iit  concentrated  in  one 
spot  under  the  big  lime -tree, 
Lucilla  permitted  herself  to  specu- 


late a  littlu  altoiit  this  unknown 
hero.  She  did  not  so  much  a.-k 
herself  if  he  would  lie  ilalk  or  fair, 
according  to  the  usau'e  of  young 
1. ulies,  as  whether  he  Would  Ki- 
ll igh  or  Uroad.  Hut,  however, 
that  question,  like  various  others, 
was  still  hidden  in  the  surround- 
ing darkness. 

This  was  how  Mrs  Chiley  did 
her  best  to  cheer  up  Lucilla  in 
the  discouragement  from  which 
she  supposed  her  young  friend  to 
l>c  sutlering.  It  was  perhaps  a 
loftier  expedient  in  one  way  than 
Nancy's  desire  that  she  should 
have  something  she  would  fancy 
for  dinner  ;  l.ut  then  there  could 
not  l>e  any  doulit  as  to  the  kindness 
which  prompted  both  suggestions  ; 
and,  after  all,  it  is  not  what  people 
do  for  you,  luit  the  spirit  in  which 
they  do  it,  which  should  l.e  taken 
into  consideration,  as  Lucilla  most 
justly  observed. 


That  Thursday  evening  was  one 
which  all  the  people  in  (Jrange 
Lane  had  unanimously  concluded 
would  be  rather  hard  upon  Miss 
Marjoribanks.  To  be  sure,  when  a 
crisis  arrives  there  is  always  a  cer- 
tain excitement  which  keeps  one 
up  ;  but  afterwards,  when  the  ex- 
citement is  over,  then  is  the  time 
when  it  becomes  really  trying. 
There  was  naturally,  under  these 
circumstances,  a  larger  assemblage 
than  usual  to  watch  the  progress  of 
the  little  drama,  and  how  Lucilla 
would  behave  ;  for,  after  all,  society 
would  be  excessivley  tame  if  it  were 
not  for  these  personal  complications, 
which  are  always  arising,  and  which 
are  so  much  better  than  a  play. 
As  for  the  Doctor  himself,  the  por- 
tion of  the  evening  s  entertainment 
which  particularly  amused  him  was 
that  which  preceded  all  the  rest — 
the  reception  given  by  Lucilla  to 
her  guests  at  dinner,  and  especially 
to  the  culprit,  who  came  in  quite 
alone,  and  found  nobody  to  stand 


up  for  him.  Mr  CavciidMi.  who 
|.-It  to  the  full  the  difficulty  of  his 
position,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  was 
a  little  ashamed  of  himself,  came 
late,  in  order  to  abridge  his  trial 
as  much  as  possible  ;  but  Lucilla's 
habitual  good-fortune  was  not  con- 
fined only  to  her  own  necessities, 
but  seemed  to  involve  everybody 
opposed  to  her  in  a  ceaseless  ill- 
luck,  which  was  very  edifying  to 
the  spectators.  Mr  Cavendish  was 
so  late  that  the  other  guests  had 
formed  into  groups  round  the  room, 
leaving  a  great  open  space  and 
avenue  of  approach  to  the  lady  of 
the  house  in  the  middle  ;  and  the 
audience,  thus  arranged,  was  very 
impatient  and  unfavourable  to  the 
lingerer  who  kept  them  waiting  for 
their  dinner.  When  lie  came  in  at 
last,  instead  of  doing  anything  to 
help  him,  everybody  ceased  talking 
ami  looked  on  in  stern  silence  as 
the  wretched  culprit  walked  all  the 
length  of  the  room  up  to  Lucilla 
through  the  unoccupied  space  which 


534 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


exposed  him  so  unmercifully  on 
every  side.  They  all  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  what  they  were  say- 
ing, and  fixed  stony  eyes  on  him, 
as  the  dead  sailors  did  on  the 
Ancient  Mariner.  He  had  a  very 
good  spirit,  but  still  there  are  cir- 
cumstances which  take  the  courage 
out  of  a  man.  To  be  sure,  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  when  he  reached  her 
at  last,  received  Mr  Cavendish  with 
the  utmost  grace  and  cordiality ; 
but  it  is  easy  to  imagine  what  must 
have  been  the  feelings  of  the  unfor- 
tunate young  man.  The  Balaclava 
charge  itself,  in  the  face  of  all  the 
guns,  could  have  been  nothing  to 
the  sensation  of  walking  through 
that  horrible  naked  space,  through 
a  crowd  of  reproachful  men  who 
were  waiting  for  dinner ;  and  it 
was  only  after  it  was  all  over,  and 
Mr  Cavendish  had  safely  arrived 
at  Miss  Marjoribanks's  side,  and 
was  being  set  at  his  ease,  poor 
wretch,  by  her  incomparable  sweet- 
ness, that  the  Doctor,  with  a  cer- 
tain grim  smile  on  his  counten- 
ance, came  and  shook  hands  with 
his  unfortunate  guest.  "  You  are 
late,"  Dr  Marjoribanks  said,  tak- 
ing out  the  great  watch  by  which 
all  the  pulses  of  Grange  Lane 
considered  it  their  duty  to  keep 
time,  and  which  marked  five  min- 
utes after  seven,  as  everybody  could 
see.  It  was  ten  minutes  after  seven 
by  the  pretty  French  clock  on  the 
mantelpiece,  and  at  least  twenty  by 
the  lowering  countenances  of  Dr 
Marjoribanks's  guests.  Mr  Caven- 
dish made  the  best  of  his  unhappy 
position,  and  threw  himself  upon 
Lucilla's  charity,  who  was  the  only 
one  who  had  any  compassion  upon 
him ;  for  to  see  Mrs  Chiley's  for- 
bidding countenance  no  one  could 
have  believed  that  she  had  ever 
called  him  "  my  dear."  "  Dinner 
is  on  the  table,  papa,"  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks said,  with  a  little  reassuring 
nod  to  the  culprit  who  had  made 
her  his  refuge ;  and  she  got  up  and 
shook  out  her  white  draperies  with 
a  charitable  commotion  for  which 
her  faithless  admirer  blessed  her  in 


his  heart.  But  the  place  at  her  left 
hand  was  not  left  vacant  for  Mr 
Cavendish  ;  he  had  not  the  spirit  to 
claim  it,  even  had  he  had  the  time ; 
and  the  consequence  was  that  he 
found  himself  next  to  his  brother- 
in-law  at  table,  which  was  indeed  a 
hard  fate.  As  for  Lucilla,  nobody 
had  ever  seen  her  in  better  spirits 
or  looks  ;  she  was  quite  radiant 
when  the  famous  dish  made  its  ap- 
pearance which  Xancy  had  elaborat- 
ed to  please  her,  and  told  the  story 
of  its  introduction  to  her  two  next 
neighbours,  in  a  half  whisper,  to 
their  immense  amusement.  "  When 
the  servants  are  gone  I  will  tell  you 
what  we  are  laughing  at,"  she  breath- 
ed across  the  table  to  Mrs  Chiley, 
who  was  "  more  than  delighted," 
as  she  said,  to  see  her  dear  Lucilla 
keeping  up  so  well ;  and  when  the 
dessert  was  put  upon  the  table,  and 
Thomas  had  finally  disappeared, 
Miss  Marjoribanks  kept  her  pro- 
mise. "  I  could  not  think  how  I 
was  to  get  her  to  consent,"  Lucilla 
said,  "  but  you  know  she  thought 
I  was  in  low  spirits,  the  dear  old 
soul,  and  that  it  would  be  a  comfort 
to  me."  Though  there  was  often  a 
great  deal  of  fun  at  Dr  Marjori- 
banks's table,  nothing  was  overheard 
there  to  compare  with  the  laughter 
that  greeted  Lucilla's  narrative. 
Everybody  was  so  entirely  aware  of 
the  supposed  cause  of  the  low  spi- 
rits, and  indeed  was  so  conscious  of 
having  speculated,  like  Nancy,  upon 
Miss  Marjoribanks's  probable  de- 
meanour at  this  trying  moment, 
that  the  laughter  was  not  mere 
laughter,  but  conveyed,  at  the  same 
time,  a  confession  of  guilt  and  a 
storm  of  applause  and  admiration. 
As  for  Mr  Cavendish,  it  was  alarm- 
ing to  look  at  him  in  the  terrible 
paroxysm  of  confusion  and  shame 
which  he  tried  to  shield  under  the 
universal  amusement.  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks left  the  dining-room  that 
evening  with  the  soothing  convic- 
tion that  she  had  administered 
punishment  of  the  most  annihilat- 
ing kind,  without  for  a  moment 
diverging  from  the  perfect  sweet- 


18G5.1 


J/ »'.«.«  .Wiiijoribanh, — /'art  1 1'. 


ness  and  amiability  with  which  it 
was  IKT  duty  to  treat  all  her  fathrr's 
guests.  It  was  so  complete  and 
perfect  that  then-  was  not  another 
word  to  be  said  cither  on  one  side 
or  tin:  other;  and  yet  Lucilla  had 
not  in  the  least  roinmittcd  herself, 
or  condescended  from  her  maiden 
dignity.  As  for  l>r  Marjorihanks, 
if  he  had  chuckled  over  it  before, 
in  anticipation,  it  may  lie  suppo>ed 
how  he  enjoyed  How  this  perfect 
vindication  of  his  daughter's  capa- 
city for  taking  care  of  her>clf.  The 
sound  of  the  victory  was  even  heard 
up-stairs,  where  the  young  ladies  at 
the  open  windows  were  a.-km.u  each 
other,  with  a  little  envy,  what  the 
men  could  be  laughing  at.  There 
was,  as  we  have  said,  a  larger  as- 
scmlily  than  usual  that  night.  I''<>r 
one  tiling,  it  was  moonlight,  and  all 
the  people  from  the  country  were 
there  ;  and  then  public  curiosity 
was  profoundly  concerned  as  to  how 
Lucilla  was  to  conduct  herself  on  so 
trying  an  occasion.  The  laughter 
even  jarred  on  the  sensitive  feelings 
of  some  people  who  thought,  where 
a  young  girl's  happiness  was  con- 
cerned, that  it  was  too  serious  a 
matter  to  be  laughed  at:  but  then 
Miss  Marjorihanks  was  not  a  person 
who  could  be  classed  with  ordinary 
young  girls,  in  the  general  accepta- 
tion of  the  word. 

It  was  when  things  were  at  this 
crisis,  and  all  eyes  were  directed  to 
Lucilla.  and  a  certain  expectation 
was  diffused  through  the  company, 
that  Miss  Marjoribanks  made  that 
proposal  of  adjourning  to  the  gar- 
den, which  was  received  with  so 
much  applause.  •Lueillu's  instinct, 
or  rather  her  genius,  had  warned 
her  that  something  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  proceedings  would  be 
expected  from  her  on  that  special 
occasion.  She  could  not  get  up 
and  make  a  speech  to  her  excited 
and  curious  audience,  neither  could 
she,  ajirofHix  of  nothing,  tell  over 
again  the  story  which  had  been  re- 
ceived with  such  npplau.se  down- 
stairs ;  and  yet  something  was 
wanting.  The  ordinary  routine  did 


not  satisfy  Lucilla'.s  c<.n-titu. n<  y, 
who  had  conie  with  the  laudable 
intention  of  observing  IMTI-H  a  try 
ing  occasion,  and  watching  how  she 
got  through  it.  "  The  ;iir  is  .so  deli- 
cious to-night  that  I  li  id  some  seats 
placed  in  the  garden."  Miss  Mar 
joribanks  said,  "and  if  you  all  like 
we  will  sing  to  you  up  hen-,  and 
give  you  as  much  IIIUMC  as  ever  you 
please.  You  know  I  never  would 

consent  to  be  too  Iiill-ic.il  when 
everybody  was  in  one  r< » >m.  1 1  docs 
not  matter  >o  much  when  there  are 
:i  auifr' :  but  then  papa,  you  know, 
is  only  a  professional  man,  and  1 
have  but  one  drawing-room,"  saiil 
Lucilla,  with  >weet  humility.  It 
was  Lady  Richmond  to  \\hc.m  >he 
was  addressing  herself  at  the  mo- 
ment, who  was  a  lady  \\lio  liked 
to  be  the  great  lady  of  the  party. 
"  It  is  only  in  summer  that  we  can 
be  a  little  like  you  fine  people, 
who  have  as  many  rooms  as  you 
please.  When  you  are  at  a  little 
distance  we  will  sing  t»  you  all  the 
evenin.i:,  it'  you  like." 

"  Hut.  my  dear,  are  you  sure 
you  feel  able  for  MI  much  exer- 
tion?" said  Lady  Richmond,  who 
was  one  of  tho.se  people  \\lio  did 
not  think  a  yonn.i,'  girl's  happiness 
a  thing  to  be  trilled  with  :  and  she 
looked  with  what  .-lie  described 
afterwards  as  a  very  searching  ex- 
pression in  Miss  Marjoribanks  s 
face. 

"Dear  Lady  Richmond.  I  hope 
I  am  always  able  for  my  duty,'' 
said  that  gentle  martyr.  "  Papa 
would  be  wretched  if  he  did  not 
think  we  were  all  enjoying  our- 
selves; and  you  know  it  is  the  ob- 
ject of  my  life  to  be  a  comfort  to 
papa/' 

This  was  what  the  searching  ex- 
pression in  Lady  Richmond  s  eyes 
elicited  from  Lucilla.  The  senti- 
ment wa.s  perhaps  a  little  different 
from  that  which  she  had  conveyed 
to  her  delighted  auditors  in  the 
dining-room,  but  at  the  same  time 
it  wjis  equally  true  ;  for  everybody 
in  Carlingford  was  aware  of  the 
grand  object  of  Miss  Marjoribank.s's 


Miss  Maryoribanks. — Part  1 V. 


[May, 


existence.  Lady  Richmond  went 
down  to  the  garden  at  the  head  of 
a  bevy  of  ladies,  and  seated  herself 
under  the  drawing-room  windows, 
and  placed  a  chair  beside  her  own 
for  Mrs  Chiley.  "  I  am  afraid  that 
dear  girl  is  keeping  up  too  well," 
Lady  Richmond  said ;  "  I  never 
saw  such  fortitude.  All  the  young 
people  say  she  does  not  feel  it;  but 
as  soon  as  I  fixed  my  eyes  on  her  I 
saw  the  difference.  You  can  always 
find  out  what  a  girl's  feelings  are 
when  you  look  into  her  eyes." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs  Chiley,  with  a 
little  doubt,  for  she  had  been  shaken 
in  her  convictions  by  the  universal 
laughter,  though  she  was  a  little 
mystified  herself  by  Lucilla's  anec- 
dote ;  and  then  she  had  never  been 
gifted  with  eyes  like  Lady  Rich- 
mond, which  looked  people  through 
and  through.  "  She  goes  through 
a  great  deal,  and  it  never  seems  to 
do  her  any  harm,"  the  old  lady 
said,  with  a  little  hesitation.  "  It  is 
such  a  comfort  that  she  has  a  good 
constitution,  especially  as  her  mo- 
ther was  so  delicate;  and  then  Lu- 
cilla  has  such  a  spirit " 

"  But  one  may  try  a  good  consti- 
tution too  far,"  said  Lady  Rich- 
mond ;  "and  I  am  certain  she  is  full 
of  feeling.  It  is  sure  to  come  out 
when  she  sings,  and  that  is  why  I 
came  to  this  seat.  I  should  not 
like  to  lose  a  note.  And  do  tell 
me  who  is  that  horrid  flirting  dis- 
agreeable girl]"  added  the  county 
lady,  drawing  her  chair  a  little 
closer.  By  this  time  the  garden 
was  full  of  pretty  figures  and  pleas- 
ant voices,  and  under  the  lime-tree 
there  was  a  glimmer  of  yellow  light 
from  the  lamps,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  moon  was  coming  up  steady 
like  a  ball  of  silver  over  the  dark 
outlines  of  Carlingford;  and  even 
the  two  voices  which  swelled  forth 
up-stairs  in  the  fullest  accord,  be- 
traying nothing  of  the  personal 
sentiments  of  their  owners,  were 
not  more  agreeable  to  hear  than 
the  rustle  and  murmur  of  sound 
which  rose  all  over  Dr  Marjori- 
banks's  smooth  lawn  and  pretty 


shrubbery.  Here  and  there  a  group 
of  the  older  people  sat,  like  Lady 
Richmond  and  Mrs  Chiley,  listen- 
ing with  all  their  might;  and  all 
about  them  were  clusters  of  girls 
and  their  natural  attendants,  ar- 
rested in  their  progress,  and  stand- 
ing still  breathless,  "just  for  this 
bar,"  as  young  people  pause  in 
their  walks  and  talks  to  listen  to 
a  chance  nightingale.  And,  to  be 
sure,  whenever  anybody  was  tired 
of  the  music,  there  were  quantities 
of  corners  to  retire  into,  not  to 
speak  of  that  bright  spot  full  of 
yellow  light  under  the  lime-tree. 
"  Nobody  but  Lucilla  ever  could 
have  thought  of  anything  so  delici- 
ous," somebody  said,  with  an  en- 
thusiasm of  enjoyment.  Most  like- 
ly the  speaker  was  very  young,  or 
else  very  happy,  and  had  no  temp- 
tation to  be  moderate  in  her  words ; 
but  anyhow  the  sentiment  circu- 
lated through  the  assembly,  and 
gained  everywhere  a  certain  acqui- 
escence. And  then  the  two  singers 
up-stairs  gave  so  much  scope  to 
curiosity.  "  Do  you  think  they  arc 
all  by  themselves?"  Lydia  Brown 
was  heard  to  ask,  with  a  little  natu- 
ral anxiety;  and  then  the  livelier 
imaginations  among  the  party  set 
to  work  to  invent  impossible  tor- 
tures which  the  soprano  might  inflict 
on  the  contralto.  But,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  two  singers  were  by  no 
means  alone.  Half  the  gentlemen 
of  the  dinner-party,  who  were  past 
the  sentimental  age,  and  did  not 
care  about  moonlight,  had  gone  up- 
stairs according  to  their  use  and 
wont,  and  remained  there,  finding, 
to  their  great  satisfaction,  room 
to  move  about,  and  comfortable 
chairs  to  sit  down  in.  They  sat 
and  chatted  in  the  corners  in  great 
content  and  good-humour,  while 
Lucilla  and  Barbara  executed  the 
most  charming  duets.  Now  and 
then  old  Colonel  Chiley  paused  to 
put  his  two  hands  softly  together 
and  cry  "Brava ! "  but  on  the  whole 
the  gentlemen  were  not  much  dis- 
turbed by  the  music.  And  then 
there  were  a  few  ladies,  who  were 


1865.] 


i'w  Marjoribanlcs. — /'art  /  !'. 


subject  to  neuralgia,  or  apt  to  take 
bad  colds  in  the  head,  who  pre- 
ferred being  up  stairs.  So  that  if 
Lucilla  liad  meant  to  pinch  or  mil 
tre.it  her  rival, circumstances  would 
have  made  it  impossible.  Miss 
Marjoribnnka  did  nothing  to  Bar- 
bara, except  incite  her  to  sing  her 
very -best ;  but  no  doubt  she  was 
the  means  of  inflicting  considerable 
pain  on  Mr  Cavendish,  who  stood 
at  a  little  distance,  and  looked  and 
listened  to  both,  and  perhaps  had 
inward  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
his  choice.  Such  was  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  personages  of  the  social 
drama,  and  it  wan  in  this  way  that 
everybody  wa.s  occupied,  when  the 
event  occurred  which  at  a  later 
period  awoke  so  much  excitement 
in  Carlingford,  and  had  so  much  in- 
fluence upon  the  future  fate  of  some 
of  the  individuals  whose  history  is 
here  recorded.  Everything  was  as 
calm  and  cheerful  and  agreeable  a.s 
if  Carlingford  had  been  asocial  para- 
dise, and  Miss  Marjoribanks's  draw- 
ing-room the  seventh  heaven  of 
terrestrial  harmony.  The  sky  itself 
was  not  more  peaceful,  nor  gave 
less  indication  of  any  tempest  than 
did  the  tranquil  atmosphere  below, 
where  all  the  people  knew  each 
other,  and  everybody  was  friendly. 
Lucilla  had  just  risen  from  the 
piano,  and  there  was  a  little  pause, 
in  which  cheers  were  audible  from 
the  garden,  and  Colonel  Chiley,  in 
the  midst  of  his  conversation,  pat- 
ted his  two  hands  together;  and  it 
was  just  at  that  moment  that  the 
drawing-room  door  opened,  and 
Thomas  came  in,  followed  by  a 
gentleman.  The  gentleman  was  a 
stranger,  whom  Miss  Marjoribanks 
had  never  seen  before,  and  she 
made  a  step  forward,  as  was  her 
duty  as  mistress  of  the  house.  Hut 
when  she  had  made  that  one  step, 
Lucilla  suddenly  stood  still, arrested 
by  something  more  urgent  than  the 
arrival  of  a  stranger.  Mr  Caven- 
dish, too,  had  been  standing  with 
his  face  to  the  door,  and  had  seen 
the  new  arrival.  He  w;us  directly 
in  front  of  Lucilla,  so  near  her  that 

VOL.  XCV1I. — NO.  DXCV. 


he  could  not  move  without  attract- 
ing her  attention.  When  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  took  that  step  in  advance, 
Mr  Cavendish,  as  if  by  the  saint- 
impulse,  suddenly,  and  without 
saying  a  word,  turned  right  round 
like  a  man  who  had  >een  something 
terrible,  at  which  he  dared  not 
take  a  second  look.  He  was  too 
mu<-h  absorbed  at  that  moment 
in  his  own  feelings  to  know  that 
lie  was  betraying  himself  to  Lucilla, 
or  even  to  be  conscious  that  she 
was  near  him.  His  face  was  more 
than  pale,  it  had  a  green  ghastly 
look,  as  of  a  face  from  which  all 
the  blood  had  suddenly  been  with- 
drawn to  reinforce  the  vital  centre 
in  some  failing  of  nature.  His 
under  lip  hung  down,  and  two  hol- 
lows which  had  never  been  seen 
there  before  appeared  in  his  cheeks. 
Miss  Marjoribanks  was  so  taken  by 
surprise  that  she  stood  still,  think- 
ing no  more  of  her  duties,  but  regard- 
ing in  utter  dismay  and  amazement 
the  look  of  dead  stupefied  terror 
which  thus  appeared  so  unexpected- 
ly before  ht-r.  Mr  Cavendish  had 
turned  right  round,  turning  his  back 
upon  a  lady  to  whom  he  had  been 
talking  the  minute  before.  Hut  he 
was  as  unconscious  of  that  as  of 
the  fact  that  he  had  presented  the 
spectacle  of  his  miserable  surprise 
and  alarm  in  the  most  striking  way 
to  the  one  woman  present  who 
had  a  right  to  entertain  a  certain 
grudge  against  him.  He  even 
looked  in  her  face  with  his  hollow 
and  haggard  eyes,  in  the  intensity 
of  his  amazement  and  panic.  Dur- 
ing this  moment  of  unusual  itnc- 
tion  on  Lucilla's  part,  the  stranger 
had  been  led  up  to  Colonel  Chi!i-y, 
and  had  shaken  hands  with  him, 
and  was  entering  into  some  ex- 
planations which  Miss  Marjori- 
banks divined  with  her  usual  quick 
intelligence  ;  and  then  the  old  Col- 
onel roused  himself  up  from  his 
easy-chair,  and  leaned  over  to  speak 
to  Dr  Marjoribanks,  and  showed 
symptoms  of  approaching  the  lady 
of  the  house.  All  these  movements 
Lucilla  followed  breathlessly,  with 
2  K 


588 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  IV. 


[May, 


a  strange  consciousness  that  only 
her  presence  of  mind  stood  between 
her  faithless  suitor  and  a  real 
stranger.  To  be  sure,  Barbara 
Lake  chose  that  moment  of  all 
others  to  show  her  power,  and  made 
an  appeal  to  Mr  Cavendish  and 
his  taste  in  music,  to  which  the 
unhappy  man  made  no  response. 
Miss  Marjoribanks  saw  there  was 
no  time  to  lose.  With  a  fearless 
hand  she  threw  down  a  great  port- 
folio of  music  which  happened  to 
be  close  to  her,  just  at  his  feet, 
making  a  merciful  disturbance.  And 
then  she  turned  and  made  her 
curtsy,  and  received  the  homage  of 
Mr  Archdeacon  Beverley,  who  had 
arrived  a  day  before  he  was  ex- 
pected, and  had  come  to  look  after 
his  host,  since  his  host  had  not  been 
at  home  to  receive  him. 

"  But  you  have  broken  your 
music-stand  or  something,  Lucilla," 
said  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  it  is  only  a  portfolio. 
I  can't  think  what  could  make  me 
so  awkward,"  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks; "I  suppose  it  was  seeing 
some  one  come  in  whom  I  didn't 
know."  And  then  the  old  gentle- 
man, as  was  his  duty,  paid  the 
Archdeacon  a  compliment  on  hav- 
ing made  such  a  commotion.  "  We 


used  to  have  the  best  of  it  in  our 
day,"  said  the  old  soldier;  "but 
now  you  churchmen  are  the  men." 
Miss  Marjoribanks  heard  the  door 
open  again  before  this  little  speech 
was  finished.  It  was  Mr  Caven- 
dish, who  was  going  out  with  a 
long  step,  as  if  he  with  difficulty 
kept  himself  from  running  ;  and  he 
never  came  back  again  to  say  good- 
night, or  made  any  further  appear- 
ance either  out  of  doors  or  indoors. 
To  be  sure,  the  Archdeacon  made 
himself  very  agreeable,  but  then 
one  man  never  quite  makes  up  for 
another.  Miss  Marjoribanks  said 
nothing  about  it,  not  even  when 
Mrs  Woodburn  came  up  to  her 
with  a  scared  face,  and  in  full  pos- 
session of  her  own  identity,  which 
of  itself  was  an  extraordinary  fact, 
and  proved  that  something  had 
happened  ;  but  it  would  be  vain  to 
say  that  Lucilla  was  not  much  ex- 
cited by  this  sudden  gleam  of  mys- 
tery. It  gave  the  Archdeacon  an 
extraordinary  and  altogether  unex- 
pected attraction  ;  and  as  for  Mr 
Cavendish,  it  was  utterly  incon- 
ceivable that  a  man  in  society, 
whom  everybody  knew  about, 
should  give  way  to  such  a  panic. 
The  question  was,  What  did  it 
mean  ] 


1865.1 


Jhttc 


TICK     KATK     OK     INTKKKST. 


AMONC  the  tiles  of  Oriental  des- 
potism, numerous  as  those  of  the 
Thousand  and  One  Nights,  there  is 
one — there  are  many  —  of  a  good 
King  who  had  a  had  Vi/ier.  The 
King  had  sincerely  at  heart  the  wel- 
fare of  his  people;  Imt  the  Royal 
grace  was  harrowed  in  its  How  by 
having  to  pass  through  the  Yi/.ier 
as  an  outlet.  The  covetous  Prime- 
Minister  levied  from  the  recipients 
a  tax  upon  the  Royal  favours.  So 
he  grew  very  rich  ;  while  the  coun- 
try suffered,  and  the  people  became 
poor. 

Among  other  measures  of  Royal 
care  for  the  wants  of  the  people, 
the  King  had  constructed  a  vast 
P>und,  or  reservoir  of  water, — in 
order  that,  in  seasons  of  drought, 
there  might  always  he  a  .supply  of 
water  for  irrigating  the  fields,  by 
the  produce  of  which  the  people 
lived.  In  the  Hast,  nine-tenths  of 
the  population  are  dependent  upon 
the  soil  for  their  subsistence  ;  and 
the  great  desideratum  at  all  times 
is,  an  adequate  supply  of  water. 
Give  but  water,  and  the  produce  of 
seed-time  and  harvest  never  fails. 
Water  is  the  one  thing  needful. 
But  the  Yi/.ier  would  have  his  pro- 
fit on  this  also,  regardless  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  people  confided  to 
his  care. 

Now  a  year  of  great  drought 
came,  and  the  people  clamoured 
for  water  to  irrigate  their  parched 
fields.  It  is  not  said  whether  the 
royal  reservoir  wits  as  large  as  the 
artificial  lakes  in  Ceylon — the  ruins 
of  which,  thirty  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence, are  still  to  be  seen.  But  any- 
how, the  King  had  constructed  it 
of  such  large  size  that  it  contained 
water  enough  and  to  spare  for  the 
whole  surrounding  country,  even 
in  seasons  of  the  greatest  drought. 
All  that  was  needed  was,  that  the 
sluices  should  be  fully  opened,  and 
the  precious  streams  would  have 
fertilised  the  arid  plains.  But  the 


Yi/.ier  resolved  to  make  a  large  pro- 
fit out  of  the  wants  of  the  people. 
So  he  opened  tin-  sluices  only  a 
little,  pretending  that  he  could  do 
no  more,  and  charged  an  exorbitant 
price  for  the  supply  of  water.  All 
classes  suffered,  but  not  alike.  The 
rich  men  of  the  country  were  able 
to  get  all  they  wanted,  by  paying 
the  greedy  Yi/irr  the  high  terms 
which  he  exacted  :  and  they  reim- 
bursed themselves  for  this  by  charg- 
ing exorbitant  prices  for  the  grain 
and  rice  which  they  sold  to  the  .starv- 
ing people.  But  the  poorer  classes, 
who  had  not  money  enough  to  pay 
so  much,  beheld  their  fields,  the 
support  of  their  homes,  parched  and 
barren  :  and  a  great  famine  over- 
spread the  land.  The  people,  in  con- 
>ei[iience.  could  ii"t  pay  the  usual 
taxes — which  in  the  Kast  are  raised 
almost  entirely  in  the  form  of  a 
land-tax;  and  the  King's  tax- 
gatherers  came  back  reporting  that 
they  could  not  get  the  yearly  tri- 
bute. Moreover,  starving  crowds 
began  to  gather  about  the  gates  of 
the  lloyal  palace;  and  the  King 
never  went  out  without  being  be- 
sieged by  crowds  of  his  starving  and 
angry  people. 

At  last,  when  no  taxes  came  in, 
and  tumults  Wgan  to  arise,  the 
King  resolved  to  see  for  himself 
what  was  the  matter.  So  he  went 
forth,  and  found  the  fields  lying 
brown  and  barren,  and  the  rice- 
crops  withered  and  yellow,  and 
burnt  up. — and  the  poor  starving  ; 
while  the  rich  repaid  themselves 
for  the  Yi/.ier' s  greed  by  throwing 
the  burden  upon  the  rest  of  the  peo- 
ple :  and  the  Yizier  fleecing  them 
all.  And  the  King  said,  "  Why  is 
this  ]  In  the  reservoir  there  is 
water  enough  and  to  spare.  NMiy 
do  you  not  get  from  it  water  for  the 
fields,  that  so  you  may  live  and  pay 
taxes  I  "  And  they  said,  "  The 
Yi/.ier  will  not  give  us  the  water 
unless  we  pay  so  much, — and  we 


590 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


have  given  our  all,  yet  cannot  get 
enough  of  water."  So  the  King 
was  angry,  and  ordered  the  sluices 
to  be  opened  to  the  full ;  and  the 
fertilising  streams  ran  in  plenty 
over  the  plain, — and  their  running 
was  like  joyous  music  in  the  ears 
of  the  people ;  and  the  famine  be- 
gan to  cease.  And  the  Vizier  was 
seized  by  the  people,  and  thrown  in- 
to the  Bund,  where  he  was  drowned 
by  the  water  of  which  he  had  been 
so  greedy.  And  the  King's  taxes 
were  paid  as  before,  and  the  angry 
discontent  of  the  people  passed 
away. 

Now,  what  Water  is  to  the  popu- 
lation of  Eastern  countries,  Money 
is  to  ours.  In  the  East  men  live 
by  the  soil;  in  this  country,  our 
prosperity  depends  mainly  upon 
Trade.  And  for  carrying  on  that 
Trade,  an  adequate  supply  of  money 
is  indispensable.  In  the  East,  pay- 
ments in  kind  to  a  great  degree 
still  suffice  for  the  settlement  of 
accounts :  the  ryot,  for  example, 
who  borrows  a  quantity  of  rice 
for  seed  or  for  food,  repays  in 
rice  both  the  principal  and  the  in- 
terest of  the  debt.  But  in  Eng- 
land the  system  of  barter  is  ex- 
ploded, and  every  payment  must 
be  made,  either  directly  or  indirect- 
ly, in  money.  In  this  country, 
every  payment  must  be  made  in 
money,  or  in  forms  of  credit  which 
are  promises  to  pay  in  money. 
Therefore  a  wise  Government 
should  take  care  that  no  needless 
or  artificial  restrictions  be  placed 
upon  the  supply  of  this  indispen- 
sable commodity. 

Money,  or  currency,  is  simply  a 
form  of  capital,  into  which  all 
other  kinds  of  capital  may  be  con- 
verted.* And  no  artificial  restric- 
tions ought  to  be  imposed  upon 
such  conversion.  The  State  may, 
or  may  not,  take  into  its  own 
hands  the  supply  of  currency  for 
the  community;  but  if  this  sup- 
ply be  left  to  private  parties,  the 
State  ought  to  take  care,  above 


all  things,  that  there  is  not  a 
monopoly,  —  and  that,  whatever 
regulations  it  may  think  fit  to 
place  upOii  the  supply  of  currency, 
all  parties  alike  should  be  free  to 
carry  on  that  business.  The  State 
should  either  take  the  supply  of 
currency  into  its  own  hands, — or 
else  it  should  leave  the  community 
at  full  liberty  to  supply  its  own 
wants,  and  to  get  these  wants  sup- 
plied in  the  manner  which  it  finds 
most  advantageous.  A  supply  of 
currency,  we  repeat,  is  as  necessary 
to  the  prosperity  of  this  and  other 
countries  of  the  West,  as  a  supply 
of  water  is  to  the  lands  of  the  East. 
And  for  our  Government  to  make 
the  supply  of  currency  a  private 
monopoly,  is  really  as  unwise  and 
despotic  a  proceeding  as  it  would 
be  for  an  Eastern  Sultan  to  confer 
a  monopoly  of  the  supply  of  water 
upon  his  Vizier  or  other  favourite. 
Government  may,  if  it  please,  re- 
quire that  every  reservoir  for  the 
supply  of  the  indispensable  wants 
of  the  community  be  constructed 
upon  certain  principles,  which  have 
been  found  to  be  the  most  advan- 
tageous ;  but,  subject  to  these  con- 
ditions, the  business  of  supply 
ought  to  be  free  to  all  parties  alike. 
Whether  it  is  better  for  a  Govern- 
ment to  take  the  supply  of  currency 
into  its  own  hands,  or  to  leave  that 
business  to  private  establishments, 
is  a  debatable  question ;  but  there 
can  be  no  question  that  for  a  Gov- 
ernment to  hand  over  the  supply 
of  currency  as  a  monopoly  to  pri- 
vate parties — as  is  the  present  sys- 
tem in  this  country — is  a  procedure 
of  all  others  the  most  vicious  in 
principle  and  the  most  mischievous 
in  practice.  It  places  the  commun- 
ity, as  regards  the  supply  of  cur- 
rency, as  much  at  the  mercy  of 
these  private  monopolists,  as  the 
subjects  of  the  Eastern  King  were 
at  the  mercy  of  the  greedy  Vizier 
for  a  supply  of  water. 

For  all  countries,  and  especially 
for  a  great  trading   country  like 


*  Or  it  may  be  (as  in  the  form  of  bank-notes)  only  a  means  of  representing 
capital. 


L865.] 


Tlit  Hate,  o 


ours,  this  question  of  the  supply 
of  Money  is  before  all  others  in 
importance.  It  affects  the  rich, 
but  it  still  more  affects  the  poor. 
Whenever  there  is  a  scarcity  of 
the  circulating  medium — a  "  tight 
money-market,"  as  the  phrase  is — 
Trade  languishes, — the  merchants 
and  manufacturers,  the  great  t-'"1- 
ployers  of  labour,  sutler  heavy 
losses, — and  thousands  of  the  lower 
classes  are  thrown  out  of  employ- 
ment. Free  trade  has  emancipated 
the  raw  materials  of  commerce  and 
manufacture  from  legislative  im- 
posts, in  order  that  the  national 
industry  may  have  free  scope.  Hut 
another  branch  of  our  legislation 
(the  Bank  Act)  imposes  tetters  upon 
all  that  industry,  by  occasioning 
artificial  fluctuations  in  the  value 
alike  of  the  raw  material  and  of  the 
articles  into  which  it  is  manufac- 
tured; and  ever  and  anon  enor- 
mously depreciates  their  value — not 
from  any  natural  diminution  in  the 
demand  for  these  productions,  but 
simply  by  causing  an  artificial  scar- 
city of  the  currency,  by  means  of 
which  all  buying  and  selling  is  car- 
ried on. 

.Recent  events  have  brought  this 
subject  anew  into  prominent  notice. 
Nearly  all  classes  feel  that  somehow 
or  other  there  is  a  great  burden,  a 
cruel  hardship,  laid  upon  the  na- 
tional industry  by  the  present 
monetary  laws.  They  feel  it  in 
their  own  losses,  and  in  diminished 
business;  and  they  see  it  in  the 
thousands  of  working  men  lately 
thrown  out  of  employment,  and  no 
longer  able  to  maintain  themselves 
and  their  families.  The  working 
chisses  sutler  without  seeing  the 
cause,  and,  through  such  suffering, 
are  apt  to  become  discontented  and 
clamorous  for  changes  of  some  kind 
in  the  Government  of  the  country. 
This  is  always,  and  in  all  countries, 
the  natural  result  of  popular  sutler- 
ing.  It  is  the  parent  of  dangerous 
commotions  and  angry  revolutions. 
Thank  (iod,  England  is  not  so 
threatened  at  present.  But  a  time 
may  come  when  the  case  may  be 
different. 


The  mercantile  classes,  on  the 
other  hand,  feel  the  hardship  of 
the  monetary  laws,  yet  do  not  s«  c 
clearly  the  exact  form  of  the  evil. 
For  the  most  part,  they  grope  in 
the  dark  for  the  means  of  extricating 
themselves  from  a  dilemma  which 
they  feel  mo-,t  keenly,  but  the  pre- 
cise nature  of  which  they  cannot 
yet  discern.  The  great  form  in 
which  the  hardship  presents  itself 
to  them — and  which  they  t\'>  see — 
is  the  high  Kate  of  Interest  to  which 
ever  and  anon  they  are  subjected. 
The  Kate  of  Interest — tli.it  is  the 
point  for  them.  "  Why  should  the 
Kate  fluctuate  so  iminen-ely  !  " 
they  ask;  "and  why,  ever  and 
anon,  is  it  so  exorbitantly  high  {" 
The  tluctu.itions  in  the  Kate  dis- 
turb all  their  calculations.  —  they 
arise  from  circumstances  unfore- 
seeable even  by  the  authorities  of 
the  Hank  parlour.  And  th'-  occa- 
sional extreme  Kates  not  only 
swallow  up  all  the  profits  which 
traders  derive  from  the  employment 
of  money  on  loan, — but  also,  by  de- 
pressing the  markets,  inflict  a  loss 
of  -<i  or  :'.<•  per  cent  upon  the  sales 
which  our  merchants  make  in  the 
ordinary  course  of  business. 

The  Kate  of  Interest— this,  we 
repeat,  is  the  practical  point  in  the 
wide  question  of  monetary  princi- 
ples and  legislation.  It  is  the  ob- 
ject of  this  article,  and  a  subsequent 
one,  to  consider  that  point,  —  to 
show  the  principles  which  ought  to 
regulate  the  rate  of  interest  ;  the 
violation  of  those  principles  under 
the  existing  monetary  laws;  and  the 
practical  means  by  which  the  free- 
action  of  those  principles  may  be 
insured. 

But  first,  we  mu>t  say  a  word 
about  an  idea,  or  doctrine,  which 
has  come  into  vogue  an  a  means 
of  explaining  the  high  charges  for 
money  on  loan  which  recently  pre- 
vailed. It  is  a  current  phrase  that 
the  recent  and  long  continued  high 
rate  of  interest  was  occasioned  by 
an  unusual  and  excessive  amount 
of  ''floating  capital"  being  con- 
verted into  "  fixed  capital."  Float- 
ing capital,  or  loanable  capital,  is 


592 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


that  portion  of  a  country's  wealth 
which  is  deposited — in  the  form,  or 
by  means,  of  money — in  the  banks. 
It  consists  partly  of  money,  but  to 
a  still  larger  extent  of  the  ledger- 
debts  by  which  the  capital  confided 
to  banks  is  represented.  No  one 
denies  that  the  capital,  or  realised 
wealth,  of  this  country,  and  of  most 
others,  is  yearly  increasing  :  but,  it 
is  said,  too  great  a  proportion  of 
this  wealth  has  lately  been  con- 
verted into  "  fixed  capital,"  and 
thereby  withdrawn  from  the  loan- 
market.  Though  our  capital  is  in- 
creasing, there  is  less  of  it  (it  is 
said)  which  can  be  had  on  loan  than 
formerly,  in  consequence  of  so  much 
of  it  becoming  "fixed."  There  is 
a  false  idea  here, — or  at  least  the 
idea  is  incorrectly  and  fallaciously 
expressed.  What  is  this  so-called 
"  fixed  capital "  into  which  the  con- 
version is  made  ? 

The  theorists  who  maintain  this 
doctrine  talk  as  if  the  capital  with- 
drawn from  the  banks  in  order  to 
be  employed  in  the  construction  of 
railways,  factories,  &c.,  became  per- 
manently fixed,  and  withdrawn  from 
further  use  as  loanable  capital. 
They  speak  as  if  the  notes  or  gold 
employed  in  the  construction  of 
such  works  were  actually  converted 
into  them — as  the  stones  withdrawn 
from  a  quarry  are  permanently 
locked  up  in  the  edifices  for  the 
construction  of  which  they  are  em- 
ployed. They  speak  as  if  the  sove- 
reigns or  bank-notes  were  actually 
built  up  in  factories  or  railway 
bridges,  —  permanently  solidified 
into  embankments,  engines,  car- 
riages, stokers,  and  railway  por- 
ters. This,  of  course,  is  a  total 
mistake.  The  capital  withdrawn 
from  banks  for  the  construction 
of  a  railway  is  immediately  trans- 
ferred to  the  engineers,  contrac- 
tors, workmen,  and  others  em- 
ployed in  making  the  line,  in  the 
form  of  payments  and  wages  ;  and, 
either  directly  or  indirectly,  this 
money  is  by  its  recipients  returned 
to  the  banks  in  the  shape  of  new 
deposits.  It  is  merely  a  transfer- 
ence of  banking  deposits  from  the 


shareholders  of  the  company  to  the 
constructors  of  the  railway.  What 
is  withdrawn  by  the  former  is  re- 
turned by  the  latter.  On  the  part 
of  the  engineers,  contractors,  and 
other  employes  belonging  to  the 
middle  class,  the  capital  so  received 
is  re -deposited  in  banks  instan- 
taneously. The  cheques  which  they 
receive  are  immediately  paid  in — it 
may  be  to  the  same  bank  which 
issued  them,  or,  at  all  events,  to 
some  bank,  with  which  the  issuing 
bank  settles  accounts  in  the  Clear- 
ing-House.  The  other  portion  of 
the  expended  capital,  that  paid  to 
the  working  classes  in  wages,  does 
not  return  into  bank  so  quickly. 
But  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  a 
fortnight,  it  is  all  paid  to  shop- 
keepers, who  soon  afterwards  pay 
it  into  bank.  Accordingly,  in 
about  a  month's  time,  the  entire 
amount  of  the  "floating  capital" 
withdrawn  from  banks  for  the  con- 
struction of  a  railway,  or  suchlike 
work,  is  returned  to  the  banks,  and 
reappears  in  its  old  form  as  deposits, 
or  "  floating  capital." 

The  phrase  ""fixed  capital,"  there- 
fore, is  fallacious.  What  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  meant  by  the  phrase 
is  simply — capital  (in  the  form 
of  cheques  or  notes)  during  its 
transition  from  hand  to  hand  pre- 
vious to  its  being  re-deposited  with 
the  banks.  The  conversion  of  float- 
ing into  fixed  capital  means  simply, 
an  increase  of  business.  The  con- 
struction of  a  railway  is,  as  regards 
the  community  at  large,  no  more  a 
conversion  of  capital  into  a  "fixed" 
form  than  any  increase  of  buying 
and  selling  is.  The  whole  capital 
remains  in  the  country,  and  imme- 
diately finds  its  way  back  to  the 
banks :  so  that  the  case  simply 
involves  a  temporary  increase  in 
the  requirement  for  currency,  such 
as  is  produced  by  an  increase  of 
any  kind  of  business. 

Moreover,  a  temporary  augmenta- 
tion of  the  monetary  requirements  of 
a  community  may  be  occasioned  irre- 
spective of  any  increase  of  trade  or 
industry.  For  example,  at  Quarter- 
day,  when  the  Dividends  on  the  Debt 


1SG5.1 


The  Katt  nf  Interest. 


are  paid,  about  a  million  .sterling  is 
required  to  make  those  payments, 
in  excess  of  the  ordinary  monetary 
requirements  of  the  country.  The 
1'i.mk  must  pay  out  this  sum — and 
a  week  or  so  elapses  before  tin: 
money  finds  its  way  hark  to  the 
Rink.  This  is  as  much  a  conver- 
sion of  "floating"  into  "fixed" 
capital,  as  the  construction  of  a 
railway  is.  Hut  the  alisurdity  is 
at  once  apparent  when  the  phrase 
is  applied  to  a  case  of  this  kind. 
To  call  this  a  conversion  of  float- 
ing into  fixed  capital  is  to  mis- 
lead. It  is  simply,  we  repeat,  a 
temporary  increase  in  the  mone- 
tary requirements  of  the  com- 
munity,— which  ought  to  he  met, 
and,  but  for  our  monetary  laws, 
would  naturally  be  met,  by  a  tem- 
porary increase  in  the  issue  of  bank- 
notes. No  gold  is  needed.  None 
is  desired  in  such  transactions. 
"Why,  then,  in  such  cases,  should 
legislation  interfere  to  forbid  a 
temporary  increase  in  the  issues  of 
bank-notes,  and  thereby  occasion  a 
rise  in  the  rate  of  interest,  —  not 
owing  to  any  diminution  of  capital, 
but  simply  from  an  artificial  scarcity 
of  the  means  of  transferring  it  I 

The  rate  of  interest,  as  is  admit- 
ted on  all  hands,  ought  to  be  regu- 
lated by  the  amount  of  capital  ready 
to  be  loaned,  and  by  the  extent  of 
the  demand  for  such  capital.  And 
such  would  be  the  case  but  for  the 
ill  judged  interference  of  Acts  of 
Parliament.  Our  monetary  laws 
entirely  upset  the  natural  order  of 
things.  It  is  their  artificial  restric- 
tions, not  the  natural  principle  of 
supply  and  demand,  which  regulate 
in  the  main  the  rate  of  interest. 
For  they  place  arbitrary  and  inju- 
rious fetters  upon  the  supply  of 
currency,  by  means  of  which  alone 
capital  can  be  lent  to  those  who 
desire  to  have  it.  What  matters 
the  supply  of  loanable  capital — in 
other  words,  the  amount  of  the 
deposits  in  banks  —  if  the  banks 
have  not  an  adequate  means  of 
lending  it  out  ? 

Money  is  the  representative  of 
wealth — the  medium  by  which  capi- 


tal is  lent,  and  by  which  it  is  transfer 
red  from  une  man  to  another.    If  this 
medium  be  made  artificially  scarce, 
it  matters  little  how  much  capital 
is  waiting  to  be  lent.     Though  capi- 
tal  be   ever  so  abundant,  the  rate 
of   interest    mu>t    be   high    if    this 
means    of    transferring    capital    be 
made  scarce.     A  scarcity  of  money 
affects    the    rate    of    interest  —  the 
price  of  capital  on  loan — just  as  a 
deficiency  of   the   means  of  trans- 
port  affects  the   price  of  goods   to 
the  purchaser.      If   all   the  corn   in 
Mngland  were  in  store  at  York,  and 
if  there  were  no  adequate  means  of 
conveying  it  to  London,  the  price 
of  corn  in    London  would   be  com- 
mensurately  enhanced.    In  the  ca.se 
of  coal,   this  actually  occurs  when- 
ever a  hard  frost  lessens  the  means 
of    transport,    by    sealing    up    the 
canals.      In   a   most   striking  man- 
ner, the  same  thing  is  exemplified 
in   India.      India  at  all   times  pro- 
duces  food   enough    for    its  entire 
population  :    and    if  the  means  of 
transport  were  a.s  abundant  there 
as   here,   there    never   would   be   a 
famine     in     India.        Nevertheless 
tens  of  thousands  frequently  perish 
in  India,  in  seasons  of  local  drought, 
simply  owing  to  the  difficulties  of 
transport,   and   the   want    of   good 
country  roads,  by  which   food  can 
be   conveyed   to    the    suffering   lo- 
cality.   The  price  of  rice,  which,  if 
it  could  be  handed  from  the  pro- 
ducer to  the  consumer,  would  be 
less    than    a    halfpenny    a- pound. 
occasionally  becomes  twopence   a- 
potind,  owing  to  the  want  of  the 
means  of  transferring  it  from  the 
man  who  has  it   to  the   man  who 
wants  it.     In  like  manner  does  a 
deficiency  of  money,  occasioned  by 
the  legislative  restrictions  on  bank- 
issues,  raise  the  rate  of  interest  in 
this  country.     It  is,  in  fact,  a.s  if 
an  immense  reservoir  of  water  were 
only  let  out,  for  public  use,  through 
a  small  aperture.     Not  the  abund- 
ance of  the  water,  but  the  size  of 
the  orifice,  would  regulate  the  price. 
However  much  water  might  be  in 
the  reservoir,  the  supply  would  be 
limited  by  the  means  of  exit, — by 


594 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


the  means  of  transferring  the  pre- 
cious fluid  to  those  who  wanted  it. 
The  scarcity  would  be  artificial  : 
by  simply  enlarging  the  outlet, 
the  supply  would  be  ample. 
But  as  long  as  the  restriction  on 
the  issue  remains,  the  supply 
must  be  inadequate, — and  a  fam- 
ine-price has  to  be  paid  for  the 
contents  of  the  reservoir,  though 
its  contents  be  really  ample  for  all 
the  wants  of  the  community. 

This  is  precisely  what  happens 
in  this  country  in  monetary  mat- 
ters. There  is  more  capital  in 
England  in  proportion  to  the  re- 
quirements of  the  community  — 
more  capital  ready  to  be  loaned — 
than  in  any  other  country  of  the 
world.  There  is  not  only  enough 
for  our  own  wants,  but  we  lend 
abundantly  to  other  countries.  In 
such  a  country  loanable  capital 
ought  to  be  cheap,  or  at  least  it 
ought  to  be  had  on  moderate  terms. 
Nevertheless,  the  rate  of  discount 
ever  and  anon  rises  to  an  exorbitant 
amount,  owing  to  the  artificial  re- 
strictions imposed  upon  the  means 
of  lending  capital.  The  reservoir 
of  capital  is  abundant,  but  legisla- 
tion— like  the  bad  Vizier  in  the  tale 
— has  narrowed  the  outlet.  How- 
ever much  capital  there  may  be, 
and  whatever  be  the  demand  for 
it,  an  Act  of  Parliament — passed 
in  mistake — enacts  that  the  means 
of  lending  that  capital  shall  at  all 
times  be  restricted  and  regulated 
by  entirely  different  considerations. 
Hence  the  rate  of  discount — the 
value  of  capital  on  loan — often  rises 
to  an  exorbitant  point,  (inflicting 
great  hardships  upon  the  country), 
not  from  any  deficiency  of  capital, 
but  simply  from  an  artificially 
produced  scarcity  of  the  medium 
(money)  by  which  capital  can  be 
lent. 

A  single  illustration  will  suffice  to 
show  the  artificial  difficulties  placed 
upon  the  loaning  of  capital  by  our  pre- 
sent monetary  laws.  No  one  doubts 
that  if  the  Government  wanted  a  loan 
of  ten  or  twenty  millions  sterling,  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  could 
get  it  easily  and  upon  easy  terms. 


It  would  be  subscribed  in  the  City 
in  the  course  of  a  few  hours.  But 
if  it  were  required  that  the  loan 
should  be  paid  on  a  certain  day, 
at  Somerset  House,  in  the  form  of 
Money,  whether  gold  or  bank-notes, 
the  loan  could  not  be  got.  The  de- 
posits, or  loanable  capital,  at  the 
disposal  of  the  Bank  of  England 
and  the  London  joint-stock  banks 
amount  to  ^100,000,000;  and  the 
amount  in  the  London  private 
banks,  and  in  the  other  banks 
throughout  the  country,  is  proba- 
bly three  times  as  much.  Here, 
then,  is  loanable  capital  enough. 
But  how  is  it  to  be  loaned  ? — how 
is  it  to  be  advanced  to  the  Govern- 
ment ?  Twenty  millions  in  gold  or 
notes,  in  excess  of  the  ordinary 
requirements  of  the  community, 
would  be  required  on  a  single  day, 
between  the  hours  of  10  and  4,  for 
the  one  purpose  of  paying  the  sub- 
scriptions to  the  loan.  And  as 
none  of  the  metropolitan  banks, 
except  the  Bank  of  England,  are 
allowed  to  issue  notes,— and  as  the 
other  English  banks  are  prohibited 
from  extending  their  issues  even  for 
a  single  day  or  hour,  however  great 
may  be  the  demand  for  notes  on 
the  part  of  the  public, — it  is  obvi- 
ous that  the  twenty  millions  in 
notes  or  gold,  needed  for  the  ex- 
ceptional and  momentary  purpose 
of  subscribing  to  the  loan,  would 
require  to  be  furnished  by  the  Bank 
of  England.  But  the  Bank,  under 
the  present  system,  could  not  do 
this,  or  anything  like  it.  All  that 
is  wanted  in  such  a  case  is  a  mo- 
mentary supply  of  bank-notes.  The 
banks  hold  immense  deposits,  but 
they  have  not  the  means  of  paying 
one-tenth  part  of  these  deposits  in 
money  of  any  kind.  They  are  not 
allowed  to  issue  notes  of  their  own 
in  payment  of  their  deposits,  how- 
ever willing  their  customers  ftay 
be  to  take  them.  Hence,  in  this 
supposed  case  of  the  Government 
loan,  however  ample  the  deposits 
in  the  banks,  however  abundant 
the  amount  of  capital  ready  to  be 
loaned,  the  Government  could  not 
get  the  loan  taken  up — simply  from 


1HG5.1 


Tht  liatf  <•/  Interfit. 


n  want  of  the  medium  by  which 
the  required  amount  of  capital 
must  be  transferred.  Capitalists 
are  ready  to  lend — the  Government 
is  ready  to  receive  :  yet  the  loan 
could  not  he  made.  The  extra 
amount  of  bank-notes  would  he 
needed  only  for  a  few  hours  :  by 
•1  r.M.  they  would  all  be  returned 
to  the  Hank  of  Kngland.  and  can- 
celled. This  would  be  the  natu- 
ral way  of  settling  such  a  trans- 
action,—and  it  is  the  way  in  whicli 
Mich  transactions  used  to  he  set- 
tled. But.  under  <>ur  present  mon- 
etary laws,  such  an  increase  of 
bank-issues,  however  momentary, 
is  impossible.  If  the  banks  had  a 
means  of  representing  the  capital 
deposited  with  them,— if  they  were 
allowed  (as  used  to  be  the  case)  to 
issue  notes,  subject,  of  course,  to 
the  willingness  of  the  public  to 
receive  them, — no  such  dilemmas 
could  occur.  The  notes  would  be 
returned  to  the  banks  when  the 
public  demand  for  them  ceased  ; 
and  the  currency  could  never  be- 
come redundant,  seeing  that  it 
would  be  entirely  regulated  by  the 
requirements  of  the  community. 
If  the  public  did  not  need  the 
notes,  it  would  not  take  them. 
Hut,  under  the  present  law,  we  re- 
peat, every  suchlike  increase  in 
the  monetary  requirements  of  the 
country — every  increase  in  the  de- 
mand, not  for  capital,  hut  for  the 
means  of  transferring  it — however 
momentary,  produces  a  serious  di- 
lemma, and  artificially  enhances  the 
rate  of  interest  to  an  exorbitant  de- 
gree. The  rate  of  interest,  in  fact, 
is  no  longer  regulated  by  the  law 
of  supply  and  demand — \i/..,  by  the 
amount  of  capital  ready  to  be  loan- 
ed and  by  the  extent  of  the  demand 
for  it, — but,  to  a  great  extent,  by 
the  dilliculty  of  obtaining  the  means 
by  which  capital  may  be  lent.  To 
resume  our  simile,  the  value  of  the 
commodity  is  regulated  not  by  the 
quantity  in  the  reservoir,  but  by 
the  smallness  of  the  orifice  through 
which  the  precious  fluid  is  sup- 
plied. 

An  increase  of  the  monetary  re- 


quirements of  the  country  is  by  no 
meanssj  iioiiymous  withan  increased 
demand  for  capital.  <  )n  the  con- 
trary, such  an  increase  of  monetary 
requirements  may,  and  often  does, 
coexist  with  a  decrease  in  the  de- 
mand for  capital.  This  is  notably 
the  case  during  every  commercial 
panic.  Whenever,  from  any  cause, 
any  large  failures  or  suspensions 
take  pi. ice,  the  demand  for  capital 
diminishes:. —  but  the  demand  for 
currency  augments.  K\ery  failure 
or  suspension  m  cessarily  diminishes 
the  amount  of  business,  and  con- 
sequently the  demand  for  the  use 
o!  capital  on  loan.  The  .-impend- 
ed firms,  of  course,  entirely  cease 
business;  and  the  panic  or  distrust 
occasioned  by  the  suspension  of 
these  linns  induces  other  linns  to 
contract  their  operations.  Hence 
the  demand  for  capital  is  lessened. 
Kut  the  monetary  requirements  of 
the  commercial  classes  increase.  Hills 
—  by  means  of  which  our  whole  trade 
is  carried  on  —  become  temporarily 
distrusted.  Thebill>ol  all  merchants 
connected  in  business  with  the  sus- 
pended firms,  or  in  the  same  line  of 
business  with  them. are  looked  upon 
with  distrust,  both  by  the  hank* 
and  by  the  public.  The  parties 
dealing  with  such  firms  refuse  to 
accept  bills  from  them,  and  require 
payment  in  bank-notes.  Hence 
an  increased  supply  of  bank-notes 
is  required,  although  the  ordinary 
amount  of  business  is  diminished. 
Hut  how  is  the  supply  of  bank  notes 
to  be  obtained  I  Owing  to  the  restric- 
tions placed  upon  bank-issues  by  the 
Act  of  1M-4,  the  only  establishment 
from  which  an  additional  amount 
of  notes  can  be  procured  is  the 
Hank  of  England.  Hut  whenever 
there  is  an  increased  demand  for 
its  notes,  the  Hank  raises  its  rate 
of  discount.  It  is  only  permitted 
to  issue  a  certain  amount  of  notes, 
and  whenever,  and  from  whatever 
cause,  its  reserve  of  notes  is  dimin- 
ished, the  Hank-rate  is  raised.  The 
Hank  does  not  say,  "  We  cannot 
afford  to  lend  so  much  capital  :  "  it 
says,  "  We  have  not  enough  of  notes 
wherewith  to  transfer  the  capital — 


596 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


to  make  the  loans."  Thus  the  rate 
of  discount  is  raised  contemporane- 
ously with  a  diminished  demand 
for  capital  throughout  the  country. 
What  follows  ]  Simply  this,  that  the 
prevailing  panic  or  distrust  is  aug- 
mented, and  the  demand  for  notes 
is  increased.  Every  rise  in  the  rate 
of  discount  depresses  the  markets, 
— at  once  depreciating  the  value  of 
goods  of  all  kinds,  and  still  further 
contracting  credit.  Hence  the  fail- 
ures and  suspensions  multiply ;  and 
with  every  new  failure,  bills  become 
more  distrusted,  and  bank-notes  are 
more  called  for  in  payment.  An- 
other diminution  accordingly  takes 
place  in  the  Bank's  reserve  of  notes; 
and  up  again  goes  the  rate  of  dis- 
count. And  so  a  momentary  com- 
mercial difficulty  is  aggravated  into 
a  serious  crisis, — during  which  mer- 
cantile firms  go  down  in  scores,  the 
trade  of  the  country  is  immensely 
diminished,  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  the  working  classes  are  thrown 
out  of  employment. 

Such  is  the  Fact :  and  facts  are 
the  best  of  teachers.  It  is  a  very 
startling  fact,  truly.  It  shows 
plainly  the  weak  point  of  our  pre- 
sent monetary  laws.  It  shows  to 
demonstration  that  the  raising  of 
the  Bank-rate,  so  far  from  being 
occasioned  by  an  increased  demand 
for  capital,  frequently  takes  place 
when  the  demand  fo.  capital  is  re- 
markably diminished.  It  shows 
plainly  that  the  restriction  placed 
upon  bank-issues  has  totally  upset 
the  natural  course  of  things,  and 
has  made  the  rate  of  interest  de- 
pend, not  so  much — in  many  cases 
not  at  all — upon  the  supply  of 
capital  and  the  demand  for  it,  but 
upon  the  artificially-made  fluctua- 
tions in  the  amount  of  the  medium 
(bank-notes)  by  which  capital  is 
transferred. 

If  our  limits  permitted,  we  should 
show  what  a  pernicious  effect  this 
legislative  enactment  has  had  in 
aggravating  every  commercial  crisis 
during  the  last  twenty  years.  But 
as  the  newest — and  therefore  pro- 
bably the  most  interesting — illus- 
tration, let  us  take  the  commercial 


crisis  of  last  autumn  :  the  disastrous 
facts  of  which  are  still  fresh  in  me- 
mory, and  whose  evil  consequences 
are  not  yet  effaced  from  the  condi- 
tion of  our  trade  and  industry. 

The  first  fact  to  be  noted  in  re- 
gard to  the  recent  crisis  is,  that  for 
nearly  twelve  months  previous,  the 
rate  of  discount  had  been  unusual- 
ly and  inordinately  high.  For 
nearly  a  year  the  rate  had  aver- 
aged 7  per  cent — nearly  3  per  cent 
above  the  ordinary  charge.  Now 
it  is  obvious  that  the  Trade  carried 
on  under  such  conditions  must  have 
been  a  thoroughly  sound  and  profit- 
able trade.  If  it  had  not  been  a 
sound  and  profitable  trade,  it  could 
not  have  been  carried  on  at  all.  It 
must  have  broken  down  under  the 
continued  pressure  of  such  a  high 
rate  of  discount.  Never  before,  in 
fact,  in  the  history  of  British  com- 
merce, had  industry  been  subjected 
to  so  long  and  so  severe  a  pressure. 
For  nearly  a  whole  year  previous  to 
the  initial  stage  of  the  late  crisis — 
in  August  last — the  commercial  and 
manufacturing  classes  had  to  pay 
nearly  one-half  more  than  usual  for 
the  capital  with  which  they  carried 
on  their  operations.  And  even 
after  paying  this  heavy  tax  upon 
their  gains,  there  was  no  sign  that 
their  business  was  not  profitable  to 
themselves.  In  fact,  it  is  manifest 
that  if  their  trade  was  not  remu- 
nerative, even  after  paying  this 
extra  rate  for  the  discount  of  bills, 
they  would  have  discontinued,  or 
at  least  greatly  contracted,  their 
operations  long  before  the  expiry  of 
these  twelve  months  of  an  excep- 
tionally high  Bank-rate. 

What,  then,  occasioned  the  crisis  ? 
Since  trade  had  proved  itself  to  be 
so  sound  and  so  prosperous  during 
the  twelve  months  previous  to  the 
end  of  August,  what  brought  it  to  the 
ground  in  the  months  of  September, 
October,  and  November  ]  The  ini- 
tial cause  of  the  crisis  was  of  so 
transient  and  trifling  a  character  as 
to  appear  totally  inadequate  to  pro- 
duce the  disastrous  results  which 
quickly  followed, — and  which  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  led  to  such 


1805-1 


The  Ii<it<' 


r,:*; 


consequences  but  for  the  pernicious 
absurdity  of  our  monetary  laws. 
The  initial  step  of  the  calamity  was 
this:— 

Towards  the  end  of  Augu>t,  the 
news  received  from  America  was 
thought,  in  some  quarters,  to  in- 
dicate an  approaching  cessation 
of  the  Civil  War.  This  was  the 
prevalent  impression  in  Liverpool 
and  among  the  merchants  and 
manufacturers  engaged  in  the  cotton 
trade.  The  North  seemed  to  have 
grown  weary  of  the  war,  and  it  was 
thought  (upon  ino.^t  inadequate 
grounds)  that  the  1'eace  party 
would  triumph  at  the  next  Presi- 
dential election,  and  if  the  North 
desired  peace,  the  South,  it  was  well 
known,  wasstill  more  willing  to  con- 
clude it.  P»ut  the  re-establishment 
of  peace  meant  a  fall  in  the  price 
of  cotton.  Cotton  was  about  four 
times  dearer  than  it  had  been  be- 
fore the  war,  and  much  higher  than 
it  will  be  as  soon  as  peace  is  re- 
stored. Accordingly,  the  prospect 
of  peace  created  a  temporary  panic 
in  the  cotton  trade — by  far  the  most 
important  branch  of  our  manufac- 
turing industry.  The  cotton  mer- 
chants, apprehensive  of  a  fall  in  the 
price  of  their  goods,  were  anxious 
to  sell  largely  at  once,  before  their 
property  became  depreciated.  On 
the  other  hand,  their  customers 
were  unwilling  to  make  their  usual 
purchases  of  an  article  which  seem- 
ed likely  soon  to  experience  a  great 
fall  in  price.  In  consequence,  the 
cotton-market  became  depressed — 
very  slightly,  it  is  true,  compared 
with  its  subsequent  condition,  but 
still  sullicient  to  produce  embarrass- 
ment to  the  holders  of  large  stocks. 
In  the  beginning  of  September  some 
failures  took  place.  What  was  worse, 
rumours,  born  of  panic — and  some 
of  them  set  atloat  by  unscrupulous 
speculators  merely  for  stock-jobbing 


purposes — began  to  circulate  of  the 
impending  failure  of  many  large 
linns  ;  indeed,  the  actual  suspension 
of  several  linns  was  n-portcd  on 
Change,  for  which  tin-re  was  no 
foundation.  So  great  was  the  pre- 
valent apprehension,  and  so  reckless 
the  reports  circulated,  that  on  one 
day  in  the  lirst  week  of  Septem- 
ber, there  was  an  aetual  panic 
on  '( 'hange  in  London. 

While  Trade  wa>  tlm*  disquieted 
and  palpitating,  the  Hank,  on  the 
Mh  September,  raided  its  minimum 
rate  of  discount  to  !»  per  rent.  What 
followed  (  I'p  to  that  time,  the 
failures  had  been  only  half-a  do/.en 
in  excess  of  the  average  of  the  pre- 
vious months  of  the  year  ;  but  from 
that  hour  they  multiplied  enor- 
mously. In  September  the  number 
of  suspensions  nearly  equalled  the 
total  of  the  previous  eight  months; 
and  in  October  the  average 
monthly  rate  of  suspcn.»ion.s  was 
augmented  twenty-fold  !*  This  was 
purely  the  result  of  the  high  Hank- 
rate.  By  the  middle  of  September 
the  imaginary  prospect  of  peace  in 
America  was  at  an  end  (even  the 
nominee  of  the  Peace  party,  ( Jeiieral 
M'Clellan,  declared  himself  in  fav- 
our of  prosecuting  the  war) ;  and  the 
disquiet  in  the  cotton-market  would 
have  passed  away  also, — and,  so  far 
as  the  original  cause  of  it  was  con- 
cerned, did  actually  pass  away.  But 
a  new  evil  had  by  this  time  over- 
taken the  commercial  classes.  When 
the  best  bills  could  not  be  dis- 
counted under  !»  per  cent,  other 
bills  had  to  pay  a  still  higher  rate  : 
and  many  linns,  especially  those 
connected  with  the  cotton  trade, 
could  not  get  their  bills  discounted 
at  all.  Trade  could  not  stand  the 
prolonged  pressure.  The  firms 
which  could  not  get  their  bills  dis- 
counted had  to  force  sales  of  their 
goods,  in  order  to  get  money  to 


*  A  li*t  of  the  principal  failures  during  the  past  yo.ir,  given  in  the  '  Standard,' 
and  rcpublishod  in  thf  '  Kconoinist,'  ahuwH  the  nninlx.T  <>f  failures  jvr  month  to 
have  IK-CII  as  follows  :— 

.Tan 41  May 2)  St-j-t 23) 

.hint- '_'(    Average,       Oct <i.'{( 


Fel> 

March.. 
April  ... 


!'     Average, 


.'{( 
l) 


•Inly :<( 

August....?  ) 


Oct. 
N..v. 
Dec.. 


...i:,i 
....11') 


A  vornpo, 
'J84. 


593 


The  Hate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


carry  on  their  business  ;  and  at  the 
same  time  their  usual  customers 
were  not  in  a  position  to  purchase. 
Hence  the  markets  became  im- 
mensely depressed.  Cotton  goods, 
both  raw  and  manufactured,  were 
depreciated  to  the  extent  of  one-third 
of  their  value.  The  merchant  who 
at  the  end  of  August  had  a  stock 
of  cotton  worth  £  100,000,  in  Octo- 
ber found  these  goods  worth  barely 
£70,000  :  a  loss  to  him  of  ,£30,000. 
No  wonder  that  such  firms  could 
not  stand  the  pressure.  The  pro- 
duce-markets generally,  owing  to 
the  high  Bank-rate  and  the  con- 
traction of  credit  which  always  ac- 
companies it,  underwent  a  corre- 
sponding, though  lesser,  depression. 
In  fact,  every  branch  of  trade  was 
more  or  less  damaged  by  the  exor- 
bitant terms  exacted  for  the  dis- 
counts by  means  of  which  all  our 
trade  is  carried  on.  No  one  doubts 
that  such  was  the  case,  but  the  fact 
is  demonstrated  by  the  sudden  fall- 
ing-off  in  the  Board  of  Trade  Re- 
turns, which  are  the  official  register 
of  the  condition  of  our  commercial 
industry. 

Whenever  a  monetary  or  com- 
mercial crisis  takes  place,  there  are 
always  writers  ready  with  theories 
or  opinions  to  account  for  its  oc- 
currence. The  two  most  prominent 
theories  in  explanation  of  the  late 
crisis  are  as  follows  : — Firstly,  the 
crisis  is  said  to  have  been  caused 
by  an  undue  amount  of  "  floating 
capital"  having  been' converted  into 
"fixed  capital."  Secondly,  the  crisis 
has  been  attributed  to  "over- trad- 
ing," and  especially  to  an  artificial 
and  unnatural  rise  in  the  price  of 
cotton.  Unfortunately,  the  pro- 
pounders  of  these  opinions  do  not 
appeal  to  facts — they  furnish  no 
testimony  of  facts  by  which  the 
correctness  of  their  theories  can  be 
judged.  Whether  they  be  right  or 
wrong,  it  is  the  fact  that  all  that 
they  present  to  the  public  is  an 
opinion.  This  is  the  grand  defect 
of  all  discussions  upon  monetary 
and  commercial  questions,  as  at 
present  conducted.  In  one  of  the 
most  practical  of  all  the  sciences, 


the  inductive  method  of  inquiry  has 
hitherto  been  ignored.  Opinions 
are  given  in  abundance,  and  pass 
current  simply  out  of  deference  to 
the  authorities  who  propound  them. 
There  has  .been  enough  of  this.  On 
an  important  and  most  practical 
question  like  this,  there  must  be 
an  appeal  to  facts  ;  and  the  facts 
are  not  only  plentiful,  but  patent 
and  accessible  to  all.  What  is 
wanted  is,  to  treat  this  science  as, 
by  common  consent,  all  the  other 
sciences  are  treated.  Let  the  in- 
ductive, or  Baconian,  system  of  in- 
vestigation be  applied  to  it.  Let 
us  remove  it  from  the  vague  and 
unreliable  sphere  of  Opinion,  and 
transfer  it  into  the  sphere  of  de- 
monstration. On  a  former  occa- 
sion we  adopted  this  method  with 
respect  to  the  great  crisis  of  1857. 
We  shall  proceed  in  the  same  man- 
ner with  respect  to  the  crisis  of  1 864. 
We  have  collected  the  facts  of  the 
case  with  the  greatest  care,  and  the 
facts  are  open  to  all.  Our  only 
desire  is  to  ascertain  the  truth ;  and 
if  any  one  find  or  think  that  we 
have  stated  the  facts  incorrectly,  no 
one  will  welcome  his  criticism  more 
than  ourselves. 

As  the  first  stage  of  the  crisis,  or 
rather  the  first  step  towards  it,  was 
the  disquietude  in  the  cotton-mar- 
ket, and  as  the  cotton-trade  suffered 
more  severely  than  the  others  from 
the  calamity,  we  must  show,  in  the 
first  place,  what  was  the  condition 
of  the  cotton-market  previous  to 
and  during  the  months  of  crisis. 
This  must  be  considered  under  two 
heads :  (I.)  the  condition  of  the 
cotton-trade  itself;  and  (II.)  the 
effect  produced  upon  it  by  external 
circumstances.  I.  Were  the  im- 
ports of  cotton  unusually  or  unex- 
pectedly large,  so  as  of  themselves 
to  occasion  the  tremendous  fall  of 
prices?  Were  the  prices  of  cotton 
in  the  month  of  August  unnatur- 
ally high  —  was  there,  in  fact,  a 
great  inflation  of  prices,  occasioned 
by  wild  speculation  ]  The  first  of 
these  questions  involves  a  matter 
of  fact,  readily  ascertainable  by  the 
amount  of  cotton  in  stock  in  August 


1865.1 


Thf  li'itt  of  Intfirtt. 


and  the   following  months.     The 
answer  to  the  second   is  Riven  by 
the    prices   current   in    December, 
after  the  crisis  was  over—  making 
allowance  for  the  fact  that  the  nu- 
merous failures  and  losses  caused 
by  the  crisis  produced  a  prostration 
of  industry  from  which  the  country 
has  not   even   yet   recovered, 
much    as    regards  the  cotton-trade 
itself.     11.  The  other  point   to   bo 
kept  in  view,  is  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  cotton  trade  by  external 
circumstances,  namely,— ( 1 ),  by  the 
disquietude  arising  from  the  peace- 
rumours   from   America:  and,  (-2), 
by    the     monetary    pressure     and 
embarrassment   occasioned    by  the 
high     Hunk-rate,    and    the    accom- 
panying  contraction    of   credit   on 

the"part  °f  tne  ^KU1^S- 

Let  the  reader  keep  these  points 
in   view,  us   we    lay  before  him   a 
simple  narrative  of  the  facts,  drawn 
from  trade-circulars  of  acknowledg- 
ed repute,  and  one  of  which  is  en- 
dorsed with  the  high  authority  ..t 
the  /;.-,,Mi,MiiW.     The  first  winch  we 
shall  quote  (that  of  Neill   Hrothers 
of   London   and   Manchester)  coi 
mences  by  remarking  on  the  great 
fluctuations  in  the  price  of  cotton 
lust  year,  and   on   the  remarkable 
fact    that,   after    all    these    fluctua- 
tions, the  price  of  cotton  was  the 
same  at  the  end  of  the  year  as  at 
the  beginning  :— 


"Middling  N-'w  Orleans  has  ranged 
between  'MA.  and  '2'2A.  per  11.  ,  fair 
K"V1'tiaii  In-twecn  :m«l  ami  21d.,  fair 
Dhollerah  l.etwecn  :!4d.  an.l  I4d.,  and 
fair  IVngal  Letween  18^1.  ami  S.  . 
\n,l  vt  how  does  it  all  end?  Mid- 
dling Orleans  closed  ,.M  :wh  Doci-mlnT 
ot'JT.l.,  against  -'7  !«1.  at  the  limning 
of  the  vc-ar;  fair  Egyptian  at  '2,\>\ 
against '-J7 1'l.:  an.l  fair  Dholli-rah  at 
'20d..  against '.'.'{.I. 

"To  eause  such  unprecwlcntctl 
tuations,  it  might  naturally  IM-  supped 
l.y  an  outside  <.l>servcr  that  sonic  extra- 
ordinary and  unlooked-for  oceurrcnci-H 
calculated  to  exert  the-  most  important 
Leariii"  UIH)H  tlu-  trade,  had  taken  place. 
Yet  nothing  unforeseen  has  really  •  •<•• 
currcd.  .  !  .  The  supplies  of  cotton 
were  not  larger  than  was  generally  an- 
ticipated at  the  beginning  <>f  the  year; 
indeed  the  result  (alls  80,000  to  400,000 


lial^s  [from  .'1  to  ir>  per  e<-nt]  nh..rt  "f 
most  of  thcestimat-H  th.-n  put  forward. 
N.ir  Were  the  eoinmereial  rrlatioim  "f 
thin  country  involved  in  a  msis  l.y  any 
such  cvrnt  aa  a  faniin.-,  a  n-vohitii.n,  -r 
a  ^r.-at  war.  N.-itht-r  did  any  r.  al 
rhan-.'  tak.-  plae,-  in  the  prompts  ,,1 
tin-  American  struggle.  .  .  .  H«»«. 
then,  is  tli.-  i«inie  to  1-e  explained 

They  then   proceed  to  state  that 
in  July,  when  the  highest  price  was 
reached,   the    stock    <>f    rot  ton    was 
nearly  one  fourth  less  than  at  the 
bi-Miinini:    "t'   the   year;  and    that, 
thou.'h    til--   Hank  rat.-  l»e-'an  to  rise 
in  the  last  week  of  the  month,  the 
price  was  maintained,  owing  to  the 
Blocks  of  the   manufacturers  being 
reduced    to    a    minimum.     Of    the 
condition  of   the  trade  in  August, 
they  say,  that  "the  stock  of  cotton, 
and  of  every  thing  made  from  it. 
was    short  :'"     and     that    "cotton, 
taken   by   itself,   occupied  a  strong 
position."    So  much  so,  that  though, 
on  the  Mh  August,  the  Hank-rate 
was   atcain    raised,   and   though,  in 
the    third    week,    there    came    the 
rumours  of  peace   in  America,  the 
month  closed  with  prices  only    ;d. 
(;!.'.  per  cent)  less  than  the  top  price 
in'.Iuly.     The  etl'ccts  of  the  peucc- 
rumours (baseless though  they  were) 
were  so  great  that  "at  Manchester 
business  almost  collapsed;"  never- 
theless, as  the  manufacturers'  stocks 
had  run  low.  holders  of  cotton  at 
first    resisted    any    greater    decline 
than    J.il.    per  pound.      I'p   to  this 
point.'then,  the  fall  of  prices   was 
hardly  perceptible.     Coming  to  Sep- 
tember, they  then  say  :— 


"  I1,, it    confidence,    the     foundation- 
st- ne  of  the  whole  edifice,  was  sapl*-!. 
Hankers     f,-ared     t..     make    advances; 
spinners  feared  to  Imy  ;  manufacturers 
l,Uau    to    fail.      The    pr.-sun-    was   in- 
creased  l.y  the  rise  of  tin-  Bank-rate  on 
Sth  SentonilKT.     The  new  l.anks    to  a 
Ureat  extent,  withdrew  their  iwual  ai- 
comtn<Mlatinii  fr-m  Trade,  so  that  mer- 
chants had  to  n-ly  to  an  unusual  exU-iit 
on    th.-:r    own    resoiin-.-s        1  ne.-s     - 
ranidlv.  till  they  r,-ached  a  level  of  ftl. 
to  KM.  l-erll..  '.'to  IKT  cent]  In-low  tl 
prices  which  r,.U-l   in  August.     Many 
kilun-s    of  course.   n-Milt«-d  ;    and   the 
only    suq-rise    is    that    th«-y    were   not 
more  numerous. 


600 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


"At  last  there  were  indications  of  a 
partial  relaxation  in  the  money-market. 
Early  in  November  the  money-market 
assumed  a  much  easier  appearance,  and 
the  opinion  became  pretty  general  that 
the  crisis  was  over.  On  the  10th,  the 
bank-rate  was  reduced  to  8  per  cent, 
and  on  the  24th  to  7  per  cent,"  where- 
upon ' '  prices  showed  an  advance  from 
the  lowest  point  of  5.kl.  in  American, 
7d.  in  Egyptian,  and  5d.  to  6d.  in  East 
Indian  qualities."  And  the  year  finally 
closed,  as  above  mentioned,  with  prices 
at  the  same  level  as  at  the  beginning. 

The  circular  of  Ellison  and  Hay- 
wood,  of  Liverpool,  coincides  with 
that  of  Neill  Brothers  in  its  state- 
ment of  facts  for  the  first  eight 
months  of  the  year,  and  says  that 
at  the  end  of  August,  "  taking  all 
things  into  consideration,  the  cot- 
ton-market was  remarkably  firm  " : — 

"  "But  in  September  there  was  a  sud- 
den and  great  break-down,  owing  partly 
to  a  peace-letter  from  the  '  Times '  cor- 
respondent at  Niagara,  and  partly  to 
the  gloomy  state  of  the  money-market, 
and  the  advance  of  the  Bank-rate  fon 
8th  Sept.]  to  9  per  cent,  with  the 
threat  of  a  still  further  immediate  rise. 
...  A  species  of  panic  commenced  its 
reign  of  terror  in  the  cotton-market. 
Business  was  at  a  complete  stand-still 
both  in  Liverpool  and  Manchester. 
Holders  pressed  their  goods  for  sale. 
.  .  .  With  the  second  week  of  October 
came  a  rapid  succession  of  mercantile 
suspensions,  especially  in  the  manufac- 
turing districts.  This  reduced  the  de- 
mand for  cotton,  while  the  necessities 
of  many  holders  led  to  compulsory  sales, 
at  almost  nominal  pr 'ices.  Many  of  the 
forced  sales  were  of  cotton  tendered  in 
fulfilment  of  delivery-contracts,  made 
two  or  three  months  previously,  and 
which  the  buyers,  being  unable  to  get 
their  bills  discounted  as  usual,  were 
unable  to  pay  for.  In  the  third  week 
came  the  disheartening  news  from  Man- 
chester, where  the  daily  reports  of  fresh 
failures  in  some  parts  of  the  cotton  dis- 
tricts almost  put  an  end  to  business. 
During  this  week  prices  touched  their 
minimum  point.  .  .  .  Nearly  the  whole 
of  the  decline  which  occurred  between 
the  close  of  July  and  the  third  week  of 
October,  took  place  in  the  latter  half  of 


the  period  [i.e.,  subsequent  to  8th  Sep- 
tember]. The  average  fall  in  long  staples 
was  about  30  per  cent,  in  Smyrna  47 
per  cent,  in  LJhollerah  and  China  43 
per  cent,  and  in  Bengal  50  per  cent. 
.  .  .  The  fall  in  the  prices  of  yarns  and 
piece-goods  was  quite  as  extensive  as 
the  average  decline  in  the  raw  material. 
Printers  gave  way  nearly  30  per  cent, 
shirtings  rather  over  30  per  cent,  do- 
mestics 30  to  32,  and  yarns  33  to  35. 
But  in  these  there  has  been  a  more 
marked  recovery  from  the  lowest  point 
than  in  cotton." 

These  simple  statements  of  facts 
furnish  the  data  for  answering  the 
first  of  the  two  leading  questions 
in  the  inquiry  as  to  the  causes  of 
the  recent  crisis, — namely,  as  to  the 
condition  of  the  cotton-trade,  taken 
by  itself.  Let  us  summarise  these 
facts. 

Firstly,  as  regards  the  extent  of 
the  depreciation,  or  fall  in  prices, 
of  cotton  goods.  This,  as  we  have 
seen,  ranged  from  30  to  50  per 
cent.  Next,  as  regards  the  time 
when  this  great  depreciation  took 
place.  Nearly  the  whole  of  this 
fall  of  prices,  we  are  told — and  as  is 
evidenced  by  the  prices-current  of 
the  day — took  place  subsequent  to 
the  8th  September,  when  the  Bank- 
rate  was  raised  to  the  exorbitant 
height  of  9  per  cent.*  On  the  2d 
of  September,  though  the  peace- 
rumours  from  America  had  been 
received  a  fortnight  previous,  the 
prices  of  Middling  Orleans  (the 
standard  of  the  cotton-market)  was 
3 Id.  per  pound,  or  only  |d.  below 
the  maximum  price  of  the  year. 
And  at  the  close  of  the  third  week 
of  September,  by  which  time  the 
peace-rumours  were  at  an  end,  the 
price  was  28d.  per  pound, — al- 
though the  Bank-rate  had  stood  at 
9  per  cent  during  the  previous 
fortnight.  The  statement  of  the 
trade-circulars  above  quoted,  as  to 
the  thoroughly  good  condition  of 
the  cotton  -  trade  at  the  end  of 
August,  is  thus  proved  to  be  cor- 


*  The  following  statement,    compiled  from  the  prices  -  current  given  in  the 
'  Economist,'  shows  the  fall  of  prices  in  September  and  October  :— 


Aug.  2.  Sept.  2. 

Mid.  Orleans,          31  ?d.         31  d. 
Fair  Bengal,  17(1.  Kid. 

Bank-rate,  7  per  cent.     8 


Sept.  9. 


Sept.  16. 

2S5d. 
12.1. 
9 


Sept,  23. 

27Jd. 

IHd. 


Sept.  30. 

27d. 
lljd. 
9 


Oct.  7. 

26d. 
10|d. 
9 


Oct.  14. 
24d. 
9Jd. 
9 


Oct.  51. 

23d. 

0:1. 

9 


1865.] 


Tin-  Half  <>f  Interttt. 


Col 


root.  And  it  seem*  manifest  that 
if  tlie  I?  ink  rate  had  not  been  raised 
in  the  beginning  of  September — if 
it  had  remained  even  at  the  pre- 
vious high  rate  of  M  ]>er  cent  —  the 
price  of  cotton  (Middling  Orleans), 
despite  the  transient  and  wholly 
baseless  peaee-rnnioiirs,  would  not 
have  fallen  below  iii)d.  or  21)  M.  per 
pound.  This  would  have  l>een  a 
fall  of  only  >  per  eent  :  instead  of 
which,  the  aetual  depreciation  at 
the  end  of  October  was  nearly  four 
times  as  much. 

This  soundness  of  the  cotton- 
trade  in  July  and  August,  when 
prices  were  highest,  may  also  be 
shown  in  another  way,  —  namely, 
by  the  relation  of  prices  to  the  stock 
of  cotton  on  hand.  Not  only,  as 
\ve  have  seen,  was  the  year's  sup- 
ply of  the  raw  material  rather  less 
than  had  been  anticipated,  but  in 
July,  when  prices  reached  their 
maximum,  the  cotton  in  port  was 
at  its  lowest  point  for  the  year, 
while  simultaneously  the  stocks  of 
the  manufacturers  were  "at  a  mini- 
mum." Hence  a  rise  of  price  was 
a  natural  occurrence.  And  as  re- 
gards the  extent  of  that  rise  of  price, 
it  appears  that  so  far  from  being 
"  forced,''  /.  <'.,  in  excess  of  the  na- 
tural demand,  it  was  even  less  than 
might  have  been  justified  by  the 
diminution  of  the  stock  on  hand. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  year,  the 
stock  of  cotton  was  28  per  cent 
larger  than  in  July,  while  the  price 
in  July  w;us  barely  14  per  cent 
higher  than  in  January.  Again, 
as  regards  the  issue  of  the  matter 
we  find  that,  despite  the  depres- 
sion of  trade,  and  diminution  of 
business  occasioned  by  the  numer- 
ous failures  during  the  Crisis,  the 
price  of  cotton  at  the  end  of  the 
year  was  almost  identical  with  what 
it  was  at  the  beginning — although 
the  stock  of  cotton  in  hand  at  the 
latter  period  was  nearly  (/<>ul>/c 
what  it  w;us  at  the  former.*  More- 


over, it  appears  that,  despite  the 
in  my  failures  which  hid  taken 
place,  the  price  of  cotton  at  the  end 
ol  the  year  was  only  1  .r>  per  cent 
less  than  tin-  maximum  price  in 
July,  although  the  stock  <>f  cotton 
in  December  was  more  I/tan  i/oii/ife 
what  it  was  in  July. 

The  only  legitimate  deduction 
which  can  be  drawn  from  these 
facts  is,  that  tin-  price  >,\  cotton 
was  not  "forced"  in  July  and 
Augu -I  la>t  :  and  al>o  that  the 
transient  peace-rumours  of  them- 
selves would  not  have  -nttieed  to 
depreciate  cotton  (Middling  Or- 
leans) beyond  s  per  cent  at  mo-t. 
The  extra  fall  of  about  2-1  per  cent 
in  .Middling  <)rlean>(in  Mime  other 
kinds  the  fall  was  much  greater) 
was  plainly  occasioned  by  the  high 
Bank-rate  and  the  contraction  of 
credit  on  the  part  of  the  banks. 

The  merchants  and  the  manufac- 
turers connected  with  the  c«'tton- 
trade— alike  the  holders  of  the  raw 
material  and  the  producers  of  cot- 
ton fabrics— in  many  cases  could 
not  get  their  bills  discounted  at  the 
banks  ;  and  in  consequence,  in  order 
to  obtain  money  to  carry  on  their 
business,  they  had  to  make  forced 
sales  of  their  goods,  sometimes  (as 
stated  above)  "at  nominal  prices.*' 
And  the  more  fortunate  members 
of  the  trade,  who  did  get  their  bills 
discounted,  had  to  pay  so  much  to 
the  banks  for  the  usual  accommoda- 
tion, that  they  found  it  necessary 
to  contract  their  operations.  An 
immense  change,  in  fact,  had  taken 
place  in  the  measure  of  value.  The 
merchants  and  manufacturers  who 
in  July  and  August  had  given  or- 
ders for  cotton,  found  when  the 
goods  were  delivered  to  them,  in 
September  or  October,  that  the 
goods  which  had  been  worth  (say) 
.£ll>o,OUO  a  few  weeks  previous, 
would  barely  sell  for  I'To.mm.  A 
loss  of  l'3o,ooo  !  Yet  sell  they 
must,  when  they  could  not  get 


*  Neill  Ill-others  state  that  on  1st  January-  ISlV*  the  stick  of  c,-tt..u  in  ports 
was  327, 000  hales;  <m  ±-M  July.  IM'.UNM) ;  mi  Hint  I  >ecenil>er,  576.000.  At  the 
cml  of  July  the  price  of  cottuu  (Mid.  Orleans)  was 31 4 J.  ;  at  the  end  of  Dcci-mWr 
it  was  27*1. 


602 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


their  bills  discounted.  In  such  cir- 
cumstances failures  and  suspensions 
were  inevitable.  Commenting  on 
the  list  of  suspensions  for  last  year, 
the  'Economist'  justly  observes  that 
"  it  comprises  a  number  of  respect- 
able houses,  several  of  which  were 
brought  down  through  the  severity 
of  the  pressure  in  September  and 
October."  And  we  must  say,  with 
Neill  Brothers,  that  the  only  wonder 
is  that  the  suspensions  were  not 
still  more  numerous. 

The  effects  of  the  crisis  were  not 
confined  to  the  cotton-trade.  The 
high  Bank-rate,  and  the  contraction 
of  credit  on  the  part  of  the  banks, 
extended  the  pressure  to  nearly  all 
the  leading  branches  of  the  na- 
tional industry.  The  produce-mar- 
kets in  general  became  greatly  de- 
pressed. Besides  cotton,  "  sugar, 
rice,  jute,  and  fruit  were  the  articles 
which  most  seriously  compromised 
holders — the  depreciation  in  these 
articles  having  been  very  exten- 
sive."* In  this  way  a  temporary 
disquietude  in  the  cotton-market 
was  aggravated  into  a  terrible  dis- 
aster, not  only  to  that  trade,  but  to 
the  industry  of  the  country  at  large, 
owing  to  the  monetary  pressure  oc- 
casioned by  the  action  of  the  banks. 

This  brings  us  to  the  last  section 
of  the  inquiry.  What  reason  was 
there  for  this  action  on  the  part  of 
the  banks  1  What  cause  was  there 
for  the  raising  of  the  rate  of  dis- 
count, and  contraction  of  credit, 
which  magnified  a  temporary  and 
baseless  disquietude  in  one  branch 
of  trade,  into  a  severe  crisis  affect- 


ing the  general  trade  and  commerce 
of  the  country  ? 

As  the  Bank  of  England  is  the 
centre  of  our  banking  system,  and 
as  it  possesses  a  virtual  monopoly 
of  the  currency,  or  note-circulation, 
of  the  country,  its  condition  during 
the  crisis  is  the  main  point  to  be 
considered.  How,  then,  was  the 
position  of  the  Bank  of  England 
jeopardised  by  the  events  of  the 
crisis  1  Its  position  may  be  con- 
sidered from  three  separate  points 
of  view.  Firstly,  as  an  ordinary 
financial  concern.  Secondly,  as  a 
bank  which  has  to  meet  its  liabili- 
ties to  the  public  by  payments  in 
specie.  Thirdly,  as  a  bank  which, 
owing  to  existing  legislation,  is 
arbitrarily  limited  in  its  power  of 
issuing  notes. 

I.  Its  position  as  an  ordinary 
financial  establishment  is  (like  ail 
other  businesses)  regulated  by  the 
excess  of  its  assets  over  its  liabili- 
ties. Its  liabilities  to  the  public 
consist  of  its  deposits,  and  also  of 
the  amount  of  its  notes  in  circula- 
tion. Its  assets  consist  of  its  Gov- 
ernment securities  (Consols),  private 
securities  (chiefly  commercial  bills), 
and  its  stock  of  coin  and  bullion. 
Its  banking  surplus  consists  of  the 
excess  of  these  assets  over  these 
liabilities.  The  following  table 
shows  the  weekly  average  of  its 
liabilities,  assets,  and  banking  sur- 
plus, during  the  separate  periods 
previous  to  and  during  the  crisis, 
when  the  minimum  Bank-rtlte  stood 
respectively  at  6,  7,  8,  and  9  per 
cent : — 


LIABILITIES. 

ASSETS. 

Banking 

°    " 

| 

Surplus. 

Notes  in 

Coin  and 

Government 

Private 

&% 

Circulation. 

Bullion. 

Securities. 

Securities. 

fi 

June  15  ) 
July  27  ) 

21,550,000 

20,840,000 

13,790,000 

11,130,000 

20,760,000 

3,290,000 

6 

July  27  ) 
Aug.  B; 

22,310,000 

18,670,000 

12,930,000 

11,050,000 

20,470,000 

3,470,000 

7 

Aug.  3) 
Sept.  7  f 

21,000,000 

18,980,000 

12,820,000 

10,900,000 

20,480,000 

3,620,000 

8 

Sept.  7  ) 
Nov.  9  \ 

21,300,000 

18,700,000 

13,050,000 

10,220,000 

20,250,000 

3,520,000 

9 

*  See  the  '  Commercial  History  of  18G4,'  p.  53,  in  the 
11,  18G5. 


:  Economist '  of  March 


1865.] 


The  Jtale  of  Inttwf. 


From  these  statistics  it  appears 
that  in  the  two  weeks  (ending  July 
27  and  August  '.})  when  the  rate  of 
discount  was  7  per  cent,  the  sur- 
plus, or  balance  in  favour  of  the 
Hank,  was  5i  per  cent  larger  than 
in  the  previous  six  weeks,  when  its 
rate  of  discount  was  <>  per  cent. 
In  the  subsequent  five  weeks  (Aug. 
3 — Sept.  7),  when  the  Hank-rate 
was  placed  at  s  per  cent,  the  Hank's 
surplus  was  10  per  cent  larger  than 
during  the  period  when  its  rate  of 
discount  stood  at  (5  per  cent.  And 
during  the  nine  weeks  of  the  crisis 
(Sept.  7 — Nov.  lo),  when  the  rate 
w;is  !)  per  cent,  the  Hank's  surplus 
of  assets  over  liabilities  was  fully  7 
per  cent  larger  than  in  June  and 
July,  when  its  minimum  rate  was 
only  (5  per  cent.  These  statistics 
certainly  furnish  no  explanation  of 
the  high  rate  of  discount  during 
the  crisis.  On  the  contrary,  judg- 
ing simply  by  the  relation  of  assets 
to  liabilities,  the  Hank's  rate  for 

1850.  1SOO.  isrtl. 

£  £  £ 

+  4,21(5,000        —3,040,000     +925.OX) 

— giving  an  average  yearly  addition 
to  our  stock  of  gold  of  «£:>,24O,000. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  in  1  MH>,  in- 
stead of  there  being  a  balance  in 
favour  of  this  country,  there  was 
an  excess  of  gold  exports  over  im- 
ports to  the  amount  of  upwards  of 
three  millions  sterling  (chiefly  to 
pay  for  the  large  cotton  imports  in 
that  and  the  following  year), — with- 
out producing  any  crisis.  Last 
year,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was 
not  only  no  deficit,  but  a  larger 
addition  to  our  stock  of  gold  than 
usual  —  namely,  «£'3,(>l8,ooo,  or 
more  than  a  half  greater  than  the 
average  for  the  la-st  six  years.  And 

March.  April 

-451,7 


money  on  loan  should  have  been 
lower  in  August,  September,  Octo- 
ber, and  November,  than  it  wa.s  in 
June  and  July. 

11.  Hut  banking  is  a  peculiar 
business.  In  it,  there  must  in  it 
only  be,  as  in  ordinary  business,  a 
surplus  of  assets  over  liabilities, 
but  there  must  be  the  means  to 
meet  the  special  engagements  of 
banking,  which  demand  that  a 
bank  shall  be  able  at  all  times  to 
pay  its  depositors  or  note  holders 
in  gold,  so  fir  as  it  may  lie  required 
to  do  so.  In  this  point  of  view,  the 
position  of  the  Hank  is  to  be  deter- 
mined by  the  amount  of  its  stock  of 
coin  and  bullion,  and  also  by  the 
extent  of  the  demand  for  it. 

Hefore  exhibiting  the  position  of 
the  Hank  in  this  respect,  we  may 
say  a  word  as  to  the  imports  and 
exports  of  gold.  The  balance  of  the 
imports  and  exports  of  gold  into  the 
country  during  the  Lust  six  years  was 
as  follows  :  — 


J8«3. 
£ 


+  3,'3is,000 


if,  examining  last  year  minutely, 
we  look  at  the  gold  balances  for 
each  month  of  the  period,  we  still 
find  nothing  to  account  for  the  re- 
cent monetary  embarrassment.  On 
the  contrary,  —  so  far  from  there 
having  been  a  drain  of  gold  in 
August,  September,  October,  and 
November,  when  the  Hank  put  the 
screw  upon  Trade  —  we  find  that 
more  than  two-thirds  of  the  whole 
year's  addition  to  our  stock  of  gold 
took  place  during  these  four  months. 
The  following  are  the  gold-balances 
(marked  plus  or  minus)  for  each 
month  of  la-st  year:  — 


Jan.  Feb. 

£  £  £ 

— 13ti,449      -25,449     +458.932 


May. 

£ 
47  +1,115,938 


June. 
£. 


• 


=  +1,500,000 


July.  Aug.  Sept.  Oct.  Nov.  Itec.  llalmnc*. 

£  £  £  £  £  £  £ 

—  474,641     +557,703     +545,457     +1,12<>,140      +  3S<>,947    -108,789     :=  +2,000,817 


Thus,  then,  we  see  (1)  that  the 
addition  to  the  stock  of  gold  in  the 
country  last  year  was  one -third 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCV. 


larger  than  in  ordinary  years.     (2), 
That  the  excess  of  imports  over  ex- 
ports of  gold  during  the  last  half 
2  s 


604 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


of  the  year,  when  the  crisis  occurred, 
was  one-third  greater  than  in  the 
previous  six  months.  And  (3),  that 
so  far  from  there  having  been 
a  drain  of  gold  during  the  months 
of  August,  September,  and  October, 
when  the  Bank-rate  was  raised  from 
7  to  9  per  cent,  these  months  were 
as  regards  our  stock  of  gold,  with 
the  single  exception  of  May,  the 
three  best  in  the  year. 

These  facts  must  appear  startling 
to  every  one  who  remembers  the 
opinions  current  during  the  late 
crisis.  Throughout  September  and 
October  the  leading  monetary  au- 
thorities justified  the  conduct  of 
the  Bank  in  raising  the  rate  of  dis- 
count, on  the  ground  that  such  a 
measure  was  necessary  to  stop  the 
"  drain  of  gold "  —  the  unusual 
amount  of  gold  which  (they  said) 
was  being  exported  in  order  to  pay 
for  cotton.  On  the  face  of  it,  this 
was  a  most  improbable  supposition. 
When  the  cotton-market  was  para- 
lysed, why  should  our  merchants 
give  unusually  large  orders  for  cot- 
ton 1  All  our  cotton  imports  are 
paid  for  in  advance.  The  money 
goes  out  when  the  order  is  given — 
or,  at  all  events,  long  before  the 
cotton  arrives  in  our  ports.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  amount  of  money 
sent  abroad  is  regulated  at  any 
particular  time,  not  by  the  amount 
of  imports  which  are  arriving,  but 
by  the  extent  of  the  orders  which 
are  being  given.  It  is  obvious, 
therefore,  that  a  drain  of  gold  in 
payment  for  cotton  was  a  most  un- 
likely thing  to  happen  at  a  time 
when  the  whole  cotton-trade  was 
in  a  condition  of  unusual  depression. 
Nevertheless,  nothing  was  heard 
at  the  time  in  monetary  circles, 
and  in  the  newspapers  which  rank 
highest  as  monetary  authorities,  but 
this  cuckoo  cry  of  "  the  drain  of  gold," 
which  was  said  to  be  taking  place 
in  connection  with  the  cotton-trade. 
The  facts  which  have  since  come  to 
light,  and  which  we  have  quoted 
from  the  official  returns  of  the 
Board  of  Trade,  directly  contradict 
these  statements — or  rather  suppos- 
itions, although  they  were  an- 


nounced with  all  the  authority  of 
ascertained  facts, — and  show  that, 
so  far  from  there  having  been  any 
drain  of  gold  during  the  months  of 
crisis,  the  export  of  gold  was  then 
reduced  to  a  minimum — far  below 
the  monthly  average  of  the  previous 
six  years.  So  far,  then,  as  regards 
our  stock  of  gold — either  in  the 
country  or  in  the  Bank  of  England — 
one  is  utterly  at  a  loss  to  find  any 
explanation  of  the  conduct  of  the 
Bank  in  raising  the  rate  of  discount 
to,  and  so  long  maintaining  it  at, 
9  per  cent.  On  the  contrary,  j  udged 
from  this  point  of  view,  the  Bank- 
rate  ought  to  have  been  lower  in 
September  and  October  than  it  was 
in  the  previous  weeks,  when  it  stood 
at  7  and  8  per  cent. 

But  the  Bank  of  England  is  not 
in  a  natural  position.  It  is  tram- 
melled by  our  monetary  laws.  In 
ordinary  circumstances,  the  condi- 
tion of  a  bank  is  regulated  by  the 
amount  of  specie  which  it  holds, 
and  the  extent  of  the  demand  for 
that  specie.  But,  owing  to  the  Act 
of  1844,  the  Bank  of  England  is 
differently  circumstanced.  Its  po- 
sition is  regulated  not  by  its  stock 
of  gold,  but  by  the  amount  of  its 
reserve  of  notes.  Generally,  its 
amount  of  notes  in  the  Issue  De- 
partment (its  reserve  of  notes)  in- 
creases or  diminishes  with  its  stock 
of  gold — but  not  necessarily  or  al- 
ways. The  reserve  of  notes  may 
be  diminished  while  its  stock  of 
gold  remains  the  same.  For  ex- 
ample, at  Quarter-day  and  some 
other  periods,  when  Government 
salaries,  or  the  dividends  on  Gov- 
ernment stock,  have  to  be  paid,  the 
reserve  of  notes  is  always  dimin- 
ished, although  the  amount  of  bul- 
lion in  the  Bank  remains  unchanged. 
And  this  is  also  the  case  at  times 
when,  owing  to  a  break-down  of 
credit  or  other  causes,  the  monetary 
requirements  of  the  country  are 
temporarily  increased.  It  is  an 
absurd  and  pernicious  arrangement ; 
but  we  take  the  facts  as  they  stand. 
In  this  investigation  of  the  facts  of 
the  recent  crisis — to  put  the  case 
on  an  unquestionable  footing — we 


1865.] 


Tlif  Half  of  Interat. 


do  not  challenge  the  wisdom  of  the 
present  monetary  laws.  We  simply 
accept  these  laws  as  facts.  Yet 
even  with  this  large  admission, 
we  fail  to  see  any  Adequate  reason 
for  the  high  Rank-rate  which  so 
seriously  aggravated  the  late  crisis. 
Judging  the  position  of  the  Bank 
by  the  amount  of  its  reserve  of 
notes,  and  putting  aside  the  ab- 
surdity of  the  limitation  imposed 
upon  its  note  issues,  let  us  see 
how  the  c:ise  stood.  It  appears 
from  the  otticial  returns  of  the 
Bank,  that  its  reserve  of  notes  was 
nearly  one-fourth  (fully  2^  per  cent) 
larger  during  the  nine  weeks  when 
the  rate  was  raised  to  «>  per  cent 
than  at  the  period  when  the  rate 
was  only  7  per  cent  !  Here,  again, 
we  are  at  a  loss  to  find  any  adequate 
reason  for  the  high  Bank  rate  in 
the  months  of  September,  October, 
and  November. 


In  fact,  from  whatever  point  of 
view  we  regard  the  position  of  the 
Bank  of  Kngland — whether  as  re 
gards  its  liabilities,  its  stock  «>f 
specie,  or  its  reserve  of  notes— we 
can  find  no  justification  of  its  con- 
duct, and  of  the  disasters  which  it 
inflicted  upon  Trade,  during  last 
autumn.  The  following  table  will 
enable  the  reader  to  see  at  a  glance 
the  position  of  the  Bank  during  the 
crisis,  and  also  during  the  three 
months  previous.  I  nit  we  give  the 
weekly  average  of  the  Bank's  sur- 
plus of  assets  over  liabilities,  its 
stock  of  gold,  and  its  reserve  of 
notes,  during  each  of  the  periods 
when  the  Directors  placed  the  rate 
of  discount  respectively  at  C.  7,  8, 
and  II  per  cent.  In  the  Lust  column 
we  also  show  the  balance  (marked 
by  i>hin  or  m in n." )  of  the  imports  and 
exports  of  gold  during  each  month 
of  the  period  : — * 


IVri(..l. 

('"in  nii'l 

Hull;  ji 

K'-.rv.-of         K.-,t.-  "f 

N-.i.  -,            hi-..  ••.nut. 

Il.ilni..  i-  nf  Kx|«.rWs 
aii-1  lin|H>rt.s  of 
GoM 

£ 

'{"I10    .VH         3  290  (  MM  i 
July     2/  j 

13,700,0110 

f:,7(MMHHi         6     * 

Juno    +  r,:^,.r.9S 
,),,]y     —474.  «-.4l 

•luly    2i'-         3,470,000 
Aiitf.      *  \ 

l-M>30,0(-M-i 

5,100,(  7     •] 

Au^r.     >  5;>7,7'>3 
S-pt.     4^4.*>,47>) 

S-'tt       7  [          3,620,000 

1  2,  M2i  1,0011 

.rt,630,(MMi           8     I 

Oct.  -f  1.V20.  140 

N«Pv.'     9}         a'520-000 

13,0.r.0,000 

(:,2.'3.:ilo           9 

Nov.     +3S0.947 

This  table  condenses  the  facts  of 
the  late  crisis  so  far  as  regards  the 
position  and  action  of  the  Bank. 
What  does  it  .show  I  That  the 
banking  surplus  of  the  establish- 
ment was  larger  in  September, 
October,  and  November,  when  the 
rate  of  discount  was  9  per  cent, 
than  in  June  and  July  when  the 
rate  charged  was  only  (i  per  cent. 
Also,  that  both  the  Bank's  stock  of 
gold  and  its  reserve  of  notes  were 
greater  in  the  months  of  crisis  than 
in  the  previous  period,  when  the 
Bank-rate  stood  at  7  percent.  And 
if,  instead  of  averages,  we  go  still 
more  minutely  into  details,  and  ex- 
amine the  position  of  the  bank  for 

*  The  averages  in  this,  and  in  the  pre< 
tistics  of  the    Bank  of   Knglaml.  given 
Commercial  History  of  18G4,'  p.  44. 


each  separate  week,  we  find  the 
same  anomaly  presented.  We  find 
that  the  gold  in  the  Bank  had  been 
steadily  increasing  for  four  weeks 
previous  to  the  8th  September, 
when  the  rate  was  raised  to  I)  per 
cent,  and  that  the  reserve  of  notes 
had  been  similarly  increasing  for 
live  weeks  previous  to  that  date. 

Why,  then,  was  the  Bank-rate 
raised  t 

During  the  months  of  crisis,  and 
also  during  the  previous  month  of 
August,  there  wits  not  only  no 
drain  of  gold,  either  from  the  coun- 
try or  from  the  Bank,  but  the  ex- 
ports of  gold  were  at  a  minimum, 
and  a  larger  addition  to  the  stock 

eiling  talilc,  are  calculated  fr«>m  the  sta- 
in round  numhera  in  the  '  Economist's 


606 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


of  gold  in  the  country  took  place 
than  during  any  other  period  of 
the  year.  And  as  regards  the  in- 
ternal requirements  of  the  country, 
the  demand  for  capital  was  dimin- 
ished, owing  to  the  numerous  fail- 
ures and  general  contraction  of 
business.  Trade,  partially  during 
September,  and  still  more  in  Octo- 
ber, was  paralysed,  and  the  demand 
for  capital  to  carry  on  the  opera- 
tions of  trade  was  proportionately 

May.  June.  July.          August. 

£  &  &  & 

14,176,040    13,978,526    14,31)4,364    16,274,269 

Since,  then,  the  position  of  the 
Bank  of  England  was  stronger, 
alike  as  regards  assets,  bullion,  and 
reserve  of  notes,  in  September,  Oc- 
tober, and  November,  than  in  the 
previous  weeks  ;  since  there  was  no 
drain  of  gold  from  the  country ;  and 
since  the  demand  for  capital  was 
lessened  by  the  contraction  of  trade, 
— why,  we  repeat,  was  the  Bank- 
rate  raised  ] 

As  yet  we  have  found  not  a 
shadow  of  reason  for  such  a  step 
on  the  part  of  the  Bank.  On  the 
contrary,  all  the  facts  hitherto 
passed  in  review  would  lead  one  to 
expect  a  fall,  instead  of  a  rise,  in 
the  rate  of  discount.  The  only 
other  point  to  be  considered  is,  the 
disquietude  in  the  cotton-trade  at 
the  end  of  August  and  beginning 
of  September,  in  relation  to  its 
natural  effects  upon  the  banking 
establishments.  The  chief  conse- 
quence of  such  disquietude  was  to 
lessen  the  amount  of  business,  and 
the  demand  for  capital ;  and  also, 
by  the  diminution  of  orders,  to 
lessen  the  export  of  gold  to  pay  for 
cotton.  These  results  did  take 
place ;  and  obviously  their  ten- 
dency was  not  to  increase  the 
rate  of  discount,  but  to  lower  it. 
As  a  set-off  against  these  causes  for 
a  lowering  of  the  Bank-rate,  there 
was  one,  and  one  only,  of  a  different 
character — it  was  this  :  In  ordinary 
times,  when  the  markets  are  in 
their  usual  condition,  and  when 
sales  can  be  made  on  the  usual 
terms,  merchants  and  manufactur- 
ers generally  have  a  certain  portion 


diminished.  There  are  no  means 
of  accurately  testing  the  amount  of 
our  internal  trade,  but  as  regards 
the  other  portion  of  our  national 
industry  —  namely,  our  foreign 
trade — the  decline  which  took  place 
is  evidenced  by  the  official  returns 
of  the  Board  of  Trade.  Our  exports 
stood  thus, — showing  a  decline  of 
nearly  14  percent  (13.8)  in  the  three 
last  months  of  the  year,  compared 
with  the  five  months  previous : — 


Sept.      Oct. 

£        £ 
14,687,942  12,871,491 


Nov.  Dec. 

£  £ 

12,065,213    12,095,437 


of  their  bills  which  they  do  not  re- 
quire to  discount.  They  keep  these 
bills  (to  use  the  financial  phrase,) 
"in  their  portfolio."  But  when, 
from  any  cause,  the  markets  be- 
come depressed — when  buyers  are 
few,  and  sales  can  only  be  made  at 
a  loss — the  merchant  has  to  take 
his  reserve  of  bills  to  the  bank  to 
get  them  discounted.  As  he  can- 
not make  his  usual  sales,  he  has 
recourse  to  these  bills  in  order  to 
procure  the  means  of  carrying 
on  his  business.  Hence,  when 
the  cotton-market  became  depressed 
at  the  beginning  of  September — 
although  the  fall  in  price  at  that 
time  was  not  more  than  5  per  cent 
— doubtless  many  cotton-merchants 
and  manufacturers  brought  out 
their  reserve  of  bills  in  order  to  get 
them  discounted.  This  circum- 
stance, taken  by  itself,  would  in- 
crease the  demand  for  loanable 
capital ;  but  that  it  was  neutralised, 
and  more  than  neutralised,  by  the 
contraction  of  trading  business,  and 
the  other  circumstances  which  we 
have  passed  in  review,  is  shown  by 
the  statistics  which  we  have  given 
of  the  position  of  the  Bank.  It 
certainly  would  never  of  itself  have 
sufficed  to  produce  any  banking 
difficulties  ;  yet,  as  this  is  actually 
the  only  feature  of  the  case  which 
can  be  conceived  to  have  influenced 
the  Bank  of  England  in  raising  its 
rate  of  discount,  let  us  see  if  the 
case  was  bettered  by  the  course 
adopted  by  the  Bank. 

The  difficulty  to  be  met  was  the 
stagnation    of    the   cotton-market, 


1865-1 


Tht  Rait  of  Inttrtst. 


owing  to  a  temporary  and  wholly 
baseless  disquietude.  How  then 
did  the  liank  meet  it  ?  l.y  adopt- 
ing a  course  which  still  further, 
and  to  a  fearful  extent,  depressed 
the  cotton-market  —  converted  dis- 
quietude into  panic — aggravated  a 
passing  dilticulty  into  a  prolonged 
disaster  ;  and  moreover,  extended 
the  embarrassment  and  depression, 
from  a  single  branch  of  trade,  to 
the  general  trade  of  the  country. 
As  regards  the  cotton  trade  —  al- 
though the  original  disquietude, 
produced  by  the  peace-rumours, 
was  at  an  end  by  the  third  week  of 
September — the  effect  of  the  high 
liank  rate,  and  concomitant  contrac- 
tion of  credit,  sufficed  to  produce  a 
continued  and  steadily  increasing 
depression  of  the  markets  until  at 
the  end  of  October  the  average 
prices  of  cotton  and  cotton  goods 
were  about  30  per  cent  below  the 
prices  current  on  the  Mh  Septem- 
ber, when  the  Bank-rate  was  raised 
to  !)  per  cent. 

When  a  disquietude  arises  in  any 
branch  of  trade,  it  is  quite  reason- 
able that  banks  should  be  chary  of 
dealing  with  the  firms  connected 
with  that  line  of  business.  If  the 
cotton-merchants  became  disquieted 
as  to  their  position — however  base- 
less the  cause  of  their  disquietude, 
— the  banks  were  unquestionably 
justified  in  looking  askance  at  the 
bills  which  these  firms  brought  to 
them  to  be  discounted,  and  in  re- 
fusing to  discount  the  bills  of  any 
of  these  firms  whose  solvency  seem- 
ed to  be  imperilled  by  the  prevail- 
ing disquietude.  Hut  to  raise  the 
minimum  rate  of  discount  for  all 
bills,  to  exact  a  higher  rate  of  usage 
from  the  general  trade  of  the  coun- 
try, is  quite  a  different  thing.  The 
very  disquietude  in  the  cotton-trade 
tended  to  lessen,  and  actually  did 
lessen,  the  amount  of  business 
carried  on,  and  accordingly  dimi- 
nished to  an  equal  extent  the  de- 
mand for  capital  on  loan.  So  that, 
we  repeat,  a  fall  in  the  rate  of  dis- 
count would  have  been  more  natural 
than  a  rise, — especially  as,  as  we 
have  shown,  the  position  of  the 


liank  was  in  every  respect  stronger 
at  the  time  the  rate  w;us  raited  to  !) 
per  cent,  and  during  the  two  months 
when  it  was  kept  at  that  height, 
than  during  the  previous  period 
when  the  rate  stood  at  7  and  w  per 
cent. 

The  extent  of  the  calamity  which 
overtook  the  mercantile  and  manu- 
facturing classes  in  autumn  hist  is 
evidenced  by  the  increase  of  failures 
to  twenty  times  their  ordinary 
amount,  by  the  diminution  of  our 
export  trade,  and  by  the  tens  of 
thousands  of  the  working  classes 
thereby  thrown  out  of  employment. 
And  yet,  in  monetary  circles,  the 
country  is  congratulated  th.it  the 
evil  was  no  worse.  "  Thanks  to  the 
Act  of  1M-1,''  it  has  been  said,  "the 
crisis  did  not  culminate  in  a  dis- 
aster like  that  of  I*.rj7."  The  truth 
is  rather,  that  but  for  the  action  of 
the  Hank,  there  would  not  have 
been  any  crisis  at  all.  For  a  few 
weeks  there  would  have  been  a 
temporary  depression,  of  no  great 
magnitude,  in  a  single  branch  of 
trade.  That  would  have  been  all. 
I  lut  so  far  from  the  difficulty  having 
been  alleviated,  as  it  ought  to  have 
been,  the  action  of  the  Jiank  not 
only  aggravated  it  fourfold  as  re- 
gards the  cotton-trade,  but  extended 
the  calamity  to  the  whole  industry 
of  the  country. 

Owing  to  the  monopoly  of  the 
currency  established  by  the  Act  of 
1*44,  banks,  instead  of  being  the 
allies  of  trade,  have  become  its  mas- 
ters, and  occasionally  its  tyrants. 
As  the  whole  note-issues  of  England 
are  dependent  upon  "  the  Rink,'' 
and  as  all  the  other  large  banks 
have  to  carry  on  their  business  by 
means  of  its  notes,  it  can  play  the 
part  of  despot  at  its  pleasure.  It 
has  not  more  capital  to  lend  than 
the  other  banks — on  the  contrary, 
the  London  joint-stock  banks  of 
themselves  have  five  times  more 
capital  to  lend  than  the  liank  has. 
It  is  its  virtual  monopoly  of  the 
privilege  of  issuing  notes  that  gives 
the  liank  its  tremendous  power.  It 
is  not  its  amount  of  capital,  but  its 
monopoly  of  the  means  of  lending 


608 


The  Rate  of  Interest. 


[May, 


capital,  that  gave  to  it  its  despotic 
supremacy.  All  the  other  large 
banks  have  to  go  to  it  for  the  means 
of  lending  their  capital.  And  hence, 
however  great  may  be  the  amount 
of  deposits,  or  loanable  capital,  in 
the  banks  of  the  country,  they  are 
at  the  mercy  of  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land for  the  means  of  lending  that 
capital  ;  and  the  rate  of  discount  is 
made  dependent  mainly  upon  the 
terms  which  the  Bank  of  England 
chooses  to  demand  for  the  use  of 
its  notes. 

Under  this  monetary  monopoly 
our  banks  are  no  longer  free  agents. 
If  any  of  them  desires  to  adopt  a 
trusting  and  generous  policy  to- 
wards Trade,  it  is  unable  to  do  so. 
It  has  no  power  to  compete  on  fair 
terms  with  the  Bank  of  England. 
If  any  banks  desire  to  help  Trade 
to  tide  over  a  temporary  difficulty, 
while  the  Bank  of  England  adopts 
the  opposite  course  of  raising  the 
rate  of  discount,  these  banks  find 
that  their  customers,  whom  they 
have  been  trusting  and  helping,  are 
soon  ruined  by  the  depression  of 
the  markets  which  never  fails  to  fol- 
low the  raising  of  the  rate  of  dis- 
count by  the  Bank  of  England. 
Accordingly  they  soon  abandon  the 
attempt,  and  simply  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Bank,  which  they  are 
powerless  to  resist,  leaving  Trade  to 
its  fate. 

Banks  were  meant  to  be  the  allies 
of  Trade,  and  they  would  be  so, 
for  their  own  interest,  but  for  the 
artificial  state  of  matters  created  by 
our  monetary  laws.  A  recent  case 
exhibits,  on  a  small  scale,  the  wise 
and  timely  aid  which  banks  may — 
and,  if  under  natural  conditions, 
would — render  to  the  community 
in  times  of  temporary  difficulty.  We 
allude  to  the  failure  of  Attwood  and 
Spooner's  bank  at  Birminghan.  By 
that  failure  hundreds  of  traders  and 
farmers  were  suddenly  deprived  of 
their  whole  reserve  funds.  In  the 
end  they  will  lose  nearly  one-half 
of  their  money,  but  in  the  first  place 
the  loss  was  total.  Several  months 
must  elapse  before  a  dividend  would 
be  paid.  What  were  they  to  do  1 


They  had  bills  to  meet,  rents  to  pay, 
and  also  the  weekly  wages  to  their 
work-people.  In  this  emergency 
the  Birmingham  Joint-stock  Bank 
at  once  stepped  forward  to  assist  the 
sufferers.  Without  a  moment's  de- 
lay that  bank  allowed  many  of  the 
sufferers  to  open  accounts  with  it. 
It  gave  them  cash-credits,  in  short, 
and  allowed  them  to  draw  upon  it 
to  a  certain  amount.  By  this  means 
the  disaster  was  minimised ;  where- 
as an  opposite  policy  would  have 
aggravated  it,  and  paralysed  the 
whole  trade  of  Birmingham.  The 
joint-stock  bank  which  thus  acted, 
did  so  not  from  any  mere  feeling 
of  generosity,  but  simply  as  a  matter 
of  self-interest.  It  knew  that  many 
of  the  sufferers  from  the  failure  of 
Attwood's  bank,  although  tempora- 
rily short  of  funds,  were  perfectly 
solvent,  and,  with  timely  help,  would 
be  able  to  carry  on  business  success- 
fully as  before,  so  that  the  money 
advanced  to  them  was  safe.  And 
at  the  same  time  the  bank  knew 
that  henceforth  it  would  obtain 
these  men  as  new  customers.  There- 
fore, although  the  policy  of  the  Bir- 
mingham Joint-stock  Bank  in  this 
matter  may  rightly  be  called  gener- 
ous, it  was  not  less  wise  and  profit- 
able for  itself.  A  similar  policy 
would  be  adopted  on  a  larger  scale 
in  times  of  temporary  commercial 
embarrassment,  if  the  banks  could 
safely  adopt  such  a  course.  But  as 
long  as  the  Bank  of  England  acts 
on  the  opposite  principle,  and  makes 
in  the  difficulties  of  trade  only  an 
excuse  for  raising  its  rate,  it  is  im- 
possible for  other  banks,  who  of 
themselves  have  no  means  of  lend- 
ing their  capital,  to  alleviate  the 
embarrassment. 

In  what  way  this  pernicious  mo- 
nopoly of  the  Bank  of  England  may 
be  abolished,  and  the  rate  of  inte- 
rest be  made  dependent  solely  upon 
the  natural  causes  which  ought  to 
regulate  it — namely,  the  amount  of 
loanable  capital,  and  the  extent  of 
the  demand  for  that  capital — we 
shall  show  in  a  subsequent  article. 
But  we  think  we  have  already  de- 
monstrated two  points  of  import- 


1805.] 


Piccadilly.— Part  111. 


Co  9 


nnce — namely,  first,  that  then;  was 
nothing  in  the  position  of  the  Hank 
of  Kngland,  even  as  regulated  by 
the  Act  of  ls-14,  to  justify  the  con- 
duct of  the  Directors  in  raising  the 
rate  of  discount  so  exorbitantly  last 
autumn,  thereby  aggravating  a  tem- 
porary embarrassment  in  a  single 
branch  of  trade  into  a  widespread 
disaster  affecting  the  general  trade 
and  industry  of  the  country.  Se- 
condly, we  have  shown  that  the  rate 


of  interest  under  our  present  mone- 
tary laws,  is  not  regulated  by  nat- 
ural causes,  but  by  the  artificial 
fetters  imposed  by  a  legislative  mo- 
nopoly. And,  in  short,  that  the 
supply  of  Capital  does  not  depend 
upon  the  amount  of  it  existing  in 
the  national  reservoir  (the  banks), 
but  mainly,  and  sometimes  entirely, 
upon  the  mere  si/.e  of  the  orifice 
through  which  it  has  to  pass  before 
it  reach  the  trading  community. 


PICCADILLY  :    AX    EI'ISODH    OK    COVTKMI'OllANKi  >l'S    Al 


The  whining  "I  win-els, 
\VhatcMT  my  inmxl  is,  1 

MY  gentle  poet,  don't  imagine 
the  merit  lies  in  Piccadilly.  May 
you  never  know  the  mood  in  which 
you  hate  Piccadilly,  simply  because 
it  forms  part  of  a  universe  which 
has  become  detestable  to  you.  Put 
yourself  in  my  position.  I'll  just 
take  the  liberty  of  briefly  exposing 
what,  in  diplomatic  slang,  is  called 
"  the  situation."  I  am  telegraphed 
for  in  frantic  terms  by  an  old  lady 
who  is  under  the  firm  impression 
that  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to 
her  daughter.  1  am  violently  in 
love  with  that  daughter,  but  for 
certain  reasons  1  have  felt  it  my 
duty  to  account  for  my  extraordi- 
nary conduct  by  informing  her  con- 
fidentially that  I  have  occasional 
fits  of  temporary  insanity.  That 
daughter.  I  am  positively  assured 
by  her  mother,  is  no  less  violently 
attached  to  my  most  dear  and  inti- 
mate friend.  My  most  dear  and 
intimate  friend  returns  the  affec- 
tion. Mamma  threatens  that  if  I 
do  not  marry  her  daughter,  rather 
than  allow  my  most  dear  and  inti- 
mate friend  to  do  so.  she  will  ally 
the  young  lady  to  a  native  of  Horn- 
bay.  So  much  is  known.  On  the  fol- 
lowing points  I  am  still  in  the  dark  : 

First,  What  on  earth  does  Lady 
Broadbrim  mean  by  telling  me  to 
come  immediately,  as  delay  may  be 
fatal — to  whom  f  to  me  or  to  Lady 


'«,  l.-i.stl.-  :ni.l  IT. •./.-, 
:ui(|  tin-  ni-ti-  ,•(  In-,-*, 
it.  "r  n..i^y.  .ir  »iilly, 
l»vo  1'irc.i.lilly. •'—]..„  KI  K. 

UrMila,  or  herself  I  My  knowledge 
of  her  ladyship  induces  me  to  in- 
cline towards  the  latter  hypothesis  ; 
the  suspense  is,  however,  none  the 
less  trying. 

Second,  Does  Lady  Ursula  imag- 
ine that  I  know  how  she  and 
Grundon  feel  towards  each  other  I 

Third.  Is  (Jrandon  under  the 
impression  that  1  have  actually 
proposed  and  been  accepted  by 
Lady  Ursula  J 

Fourth,  Does  my  conduct  occa- 
sionally amount  to  something  more 
than  eccentricity  or  not  I 

Fifth — and  this  was  very  un- 
pleasant— Shall  1  find  Grandon  at 
our  joint  abode.  And,  if  so,  what 
shall  1  say  to  him  I 

Sixth,  Have  (Irandon  and  Lady 
Ursula-  met,  and  did  anything  pass 
between  them  I 

Now,  my  friend  Locker,  just 
fancy  yourself  tearing  along  Picca- 
dilly  at  1(»  r.M.  in  a  hansom  with 
11  string  of  questions  like  these 
chasing  each  other  through  your 
brain,  and  the  prosj»ect  of  two,  if 
not  three,  most  unpleasant  inter- 
views to  come  off  before  midnight, 
and  then  tell  me  whether  your 
mood  would  induce  you  still  to 
"  love  Piccadilly." 

Thank  goodness  (Jrandon  was  at 
the  House.  So,  after  a  hurried 
toilet,  1  went  on  to  CJrosvenor 


610 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


Square.  The  young  ladies  were 
both  out.  Lady  Bridget  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  chaperonage  of  a 
newly -married  rather  fast  female 
cousin,  to  go  to  a  ball.  Lady 
Ursula  had  gone  to  a  solitary  tea 
with  a  crabbed  old  aunt.  Lady 
Broadbrim  was  in  her  own  sit- 
ting-room, lying  on  a  couch  be- 
hind a  table  covered  with  papers. 
She  looked  wearily  up  when  I  en- 
tered, and  held  out  a  thin  hand 
for  me  to  do  what  I  liked  with. 
"  How  good  of  you  to  come,  dear 
Frank,"  she  said.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ever  called  me  Frank, 
and  I  knew  she  expected  me  to 
acknowledge  it  by  pressing  her 
fingers,  so  I  squeezed  them  affec- 
tionately. "  Broadbrim  said  if  I 
wanted  to  make  sure  of  you  I  ought 
to  have  brought  Ursula's  name  into 
the  telegraph,  but  I  told  him  her 
mother's  would  do  as  well." 

"  What  does  the — "  I  am  afraid 
I  mentally  said  '  old  girl ' — "  want, 
I  wonder.  It  must  be  really  serious, 
or  she  would  have  shammed  agita- 
tion. There  is  something  about 
this  oily  calm  which  is  rather  por- 
tentous. Then  she  has  taken  care 
to  have  every  member  of  the  family 
out  of  the  house.  What  is  she 
ringing  the  bell  for  now  ]" 

"  Tell  Lady  Ursula  when  she 
comes  home  that  I  am  engaged 
particularly,  and  will  come  up  and 
see  her  in  her  bedroom  before  she 
goes  to  bed,"  said  Lady  Broadbrim 
to  the  servant  who  answered  it. 

"  Does  not  Lady  Ursula  know  of 
my  having  come  to  town  in  answer 
to  your  summons  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No,  dear  child  !  why  should  I 
inflict  my  troubles  upon  her  ?  Even 
Broadbrim,  to  whom  I  was  obliged 
to  speak  more  openly,  only  suspects 
the  real  state  of  the  case.  I  have 
reserved  my  full  confidence  for  my 
future  son-in-law." 

I  lifted  up  my  eyes  with  a  rap- 
turous expression,  and  played  with 
a  paper-knife.  She  wanted  me  to 
help  her  on  Avith  an  obvious  remark, 
which  I  declined  to  make ;  so,  after  a 
pause,  she  went  on  with  a  deep  sigh  : 

"  What  sad  news  we  keep   on 


getting  of  those  poor  dear  Confede- 
rates, Frank." 

"  Let  us  hope  they  will  recover," 
said  I,  encouragingly. 

"  Oh,  but  they  do  keep  on  falling 
so,  it  is  quite  dreadful." 

"  There  was  no  great  number  of 
them  fell  at  Wilmington." 

"  How  stupid  I  am,"  she  said, 
"my  poor  mind  gets  quite  bewild- 
ered. I  was  thinking  of  stock, 
not  men ;  they  went  down  again 
three  more  yesterday,  and  my  bro- 
ker declines  altogether  to  carry 
them  on  from  one  account  to  an- 
other any  more.  I  bought  at  60, 
and  they  have  done  nothing  but  go 
down  ever  since.  I  generally  go 
by  Lord  Staggerton's  advice,  and 
he  recommended  me  to  sell  a  bear 
some  months  ago  ;  but  that  stupid 
little  Spiffy  Goldtip  insisted  that 
it  was  only  a  temporary  depression,- 
and  now  he  says  how  could  he  know 
that  President  Davis  would  replace 
Johnston  by  Hood." 

"  Very  tiresome  of  Davis  ;  but 
you  should  have  employed  more 
than  one  broker,"  I  remarked. 
"  Persons  of  limited  capital  and  spe- 
culative tendencies  should  operate 
mysteriously.  Your  right  hand 
should  not  know  what  your  left 
hand  is  doing." 

"  Hush,  Frank  !  you  can  surely 
be  business-like  without  being  pro- 
fane. I  was  completely  in  Spiffy's 
hands  ;  Lady  Mundane  told  me  she 
always  let  him  do  for  her,  and  " — 
here  Lady  Broadbrim  lowered  her 
voice — "  I  know  he  has  access  to 
the  best  sources  of  information.  I 
used  to  employ  Staggerton,  but  he 
is  so  selfish  that  he  never  told  me 
the  best  things  ;  besides  which,  of 
course,  I  was  obliged  to  have  him 
constantly  to  dinner ;  and  his  great 
delight  was  always  to  say  things 
which  were  calculated  to  shock  my 
religious  friends.  Moreover,  he  has 
lately  been  doing  more  as  a  pro- 
moter of  new  companies  than  in 
buying  and  selling.  Now  Spiffy  is 
so  very  useful  in  society,  and  has  so 
much  tact,  that  although  there  are 
all  kinds  of  stories  against  him, 
still  I  did  not  think  there  was  any 


1865.1 


Contfntj>oraneou»  Autobiography. — Part  ///. 


Gil 


sufficient  reason  to  shut  him  out  of 
tin1  house.  There  was  quite  a  set 
made  against  the  poor  little  man 
at  one  time — worldly  people  are  HO 
hard  and  uncharitable;  so,  partly 
for  the  sake  of  his  aunt,  I^uly  Spif- 
fington,  who  was  my  dear  friend, 
and  partly,  indeed,  because  Stag- 
gcrton  had  really  become  useless 
and  intolerable,  I  put  my  affairs 
entirely  into  Spitfy's  hands." 

"  And  the  result  is  I"  1  asked. 

''  That  1  must  pay  up  £^7,ooo 
to-morrow,"  said  Lady  Broadbrim, 
with  the  impenitent  sigh  of  a  har- 
dened criminal. 

"  You  should  have  kept  his  Lord- 
ship to  act  as  a  check  on  the 
Honourable  Spiflington,"  1  said  ; 
"  but  I  cannot  advise  now,  unless  1 
know  everything." 

A  faint  tinge  suffused  Lady 
Broadbrim's  cheek  as  she  said, 
"  What  more  do  you  want  to 
know  }" 

"  Exactly  what  money  you  pos- 
sess,and  exactly  how  it  is  invested." 

'•  1  don't  see  that  that  is  at  all 
necessary.  Here  is  Spiffington's 
letter,  from  which  you  will  see  how 
much  I  must  pay  to-morrow  ;  my 
assurance  that  1  cannot  produce  so 
large  a  sum  at  such  short  notice  is 
enough." 

"You  can  surely  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  some  one  who 
would  lend  you  the  money,  pro- 
vided you  were  prepared  to  pay  a 
sufficiently  high  rate  of  interest." 

The  tinge  which  had  not  left 
Lady  Broadbrim's  cheek  deepened 
as  she  answered  me,  "  Frank,  it 
was  on  no  hasty  impulse  that  I 
telegraphed  for  you.  I  do  not  feel 
bound  to  enter  into  all  the  details 
of  my  private  affairs,  but  I  do  feel 
that  if  there  is  one  man  in  the 
world  upon  whom,  at  such  a  crisis, 
I  have  a  right  to  rely,  it  is  he  to 
whom  I  have  promised  my  daugh- 
ter, and  who  professes  to  be  de- 
votedly attached  to  her." 

"  In  short,  Lady  Broadbrim," 
said  I,  rising  and  taking  up  my 
hat,  "  you  are  willing  to  part  with 
your  daughter  to  me  on  condition 
of  my  paying  a  first  instalment  of 


l'^7,(>0(>  down,  with  the  prospect  of 
'  calls  '  to  an  unlimited  extent  loom- 
ing in  the  background.  1  doubt 
whether  you  will  find  (.'hund.ingo 
prepared  to  go  into  such  a  very  ha- 
xardous  speculation,  but  I  should 
recommend  you  to  apply  to  him." 

At  that  moment  1  heard  Lady 
I'rsula's  voice  in  the  hall,  and  the 
rustle  of  her  dress  as  .she  went  up- 
stairs. I  was  on  my  way  to  the 
door,  but  I  stopped  abruptly,  and 
turned  upon  Lady  Broadbrim. 
She  was  saying  something  to  which 
1  wa.s  not  attending,  but  now  was 
suddenly  paralysed  and  .silenced  as 
1  looked  at  her  fixedly.  If  a  glance 
can  convey  meaning,  I  flatter  my- 
self my  eyes  were  not  devoid 
of  expression  at  that  moment. 
"  What !"  1  thought,  "  is  it  re- 
served for  the  mother  of  the  girl  I 
love  to  make  me  call  her  '  a  ha/ard- 
ous  speculation  I'"  It  is  impos- 
sible for  me  to  describe  the  inten- 
sity of  the  hatred  which  I  felt  at 
this  moment  for  the  woman  who 
had  caused  me  for  one  second  to 
think  of  I'rsula  as  a  marketable 
commodity,  who  should  be  offered 
for  purchase  to  an  Oriental  adven- 
turer. The  only  being  1  despised 
more  than  Lady  Broadbrim  was 
myself; — because  she  chose  to  take 
my  angel  off  the  pedestal  on  which 
I  had  placed  her  and  throw  her 
into  the  dirt,  was  I  calmly  to 
acquiesce  in  the  proceeding  t  The 
storm  raging  within  me  seemed 
gradually  to  blind  me  to  external 
objects  ;  my  great  love  was  battling 
with  remorse,  indignation,  and  de- 
spair ;  and  1  stood  wavering  and  dis- 
tracted, looking,  as  it  were,  within 
for  rest  and  without  for  comfort, 
till  the  light  seemed  to  leave  my 
eyes,  and  the  fire  which  had  (lashed 
from  them  for  a  moment  became 
suddenly  extinguished. 

I  was  recalled  to  consciousness  by 
an  exclamation  from  I>ady  Broad- 
brim. "  Heavens,  Frank,  don't 
stare  so  wildly,  you  quite  frighten 
me.  I  have  only  a>ked  for  your 
advice,  and  you  make  use  of  ex- 
pressions and  fly  off  in  a  manner 
which  nothing  but  the  excitability 


612 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


of  your  temperament  can  excuse. 
I  assure  you  I  am  worried  enough 
without  having  my  cares  added  to 
by  your  unkindness.  There,  if 
you  want  to  know  the  exact  state 
of  my  affairs,  look  through  my  pa- 
pers— you  will  find  I  am  a  woman 
of  business ;  and  I  have  got  an  accu- 
rate list  which  I  shall  be  able  to 
explain.  Of  course  all  the  more  im- 
portant original  documents  are  at 
my  solicitor's." 

I  sat  moodily  down  without  an- 
swering this  semi-conciliatory  semi- 
plaintive  speech.  I  did  not  even 
take  the  trouble  to  analyse  it.  I 
felt  morally  and  physically  exhaust- 
ed. The  long  journey,  the  sus- 
pense, and  this  denouement,  had 
prostrated  me.  I  took  up  the  papers 
Lady  Broadbrim  offered  me,  and 
turned  them  vacantly  over.  I  read 
the  list,  but  failed  to  attach  any 
meaning  to  the  items  over  which 
my  gaze  listlessly  wandered.  I  felt 
that  Lady  Broadbrim  was  watching 
me  curiously,  but  every  effort  I 
made  to  grasp  the  details  before 
me  failed  hopelessly.  At  last  I 
threw  the  packet  down  in  despair, 
and  leaning  over  the  table  clasped 
my  bursting  forehead  with  my  hands. 

"  Dear  Frank,"  said  Lady  Broad- 
brim, and  for  the  first  time  her 
voice  betrayed  signs  of  genuine 
emotion,  "  I  know  I  have  been 
very  imprudent,  but  I  did  it  all  for 
the  best.  You  can  understand  now 
why  I  hesitated  to  tell  you  every- 
thing at  first.  You  don't  know 
how  much  it  has  cost  me,  and  to 
what  means  I  am  obliged  to  resort 
to  keep  up  my  courage ;  besides,  I 
have  got  into  such  a  habit  of  con- 
cealment that  I  could  not  bear  that 
even  you  should  know  the  despe- 
rate state  of  our  affairs,  though  I 
had  no  idea  that  in  so  short  a  time 
you  could  have  unravelled  such 
complicated  accounts  and  arrived 
at  the  terrible  result.  Perhaps  you 
would  like  me  to  leave  you  for  a 
few  moments.  I  will  go  and  say 
good-night  to  Ursula,  whom  I  heard 
going  up-stairs  just  now." 

I  heard  Lady  Broadbrim  leave 
the  room,  but  did  not  raise  my  head, 


and  indeed  only  slowly  compre- 
hended the  purport  of  her  last 
speech.  As  it  dawned  upon  me, 
the  hopelessness  of  the  whole  sit- 
uation seemed  to  overwhelm  me. 
Chaos  and  ruin  like  gaunt  spectres 
stared  me  in  the  face  !  What  mat- 
tered it  if  the  Broadbrim  family 
were  bankrupt  in  estate,  if  I  was  to 
become  bankrupt  in  mind]  What 
matter  if  they  lost  all  their  worldly 
possessions'?  Had  I  not  lost  all 
hope  of  Ursula,  and  with  her  every 
generous  impulse  of  my  nature  ] 
Why  should  I  save  the  family,  even 
if  I  could  ]  Why  in  this  desert  of 
my  existence  spend  a  fortune  on  an 
oasis  I  was  forbidden  ever  to  enter 
or  enjoy?  Why  should  I  bring 
offerings  to  the  shrine  at  which  I 
might  never  worship  1  The  whole 
temple  that  enclosed  it  was  totter- 
ing. Instead  of  helping  to  prop  it 
up,  why  not,  like  Samson,  drag  it 
down  and  let  it  bury  me  in  its  ruin  ? 
I  threw  myself  on  the  couch  from 
which  Lady  Broadbrim  had  risen, 
and,  turning  my  face  to  the  wall, 
longed  with  an  intense  desire  for 
an  eternal  release.  At  that  moment 
my  hand,  which  I  had  thrust  under 
the  pillow,  came  in  contact  with 
something  hard  and  cold.  I  drew 
it  out  and  was  startled  to  find  that  it 
was  a  small  vial  labelled  "  POISON. " 
I  am  not  naturally  superstitious, 
but  this  immediate  response  to  my 
thoughts  seemed  an  indication  so  di- 
rect as  to  be  almost  supernatural.  I 
had  hardly  framed  in  definite  terms 
the  idea  of  a  suicide  which  should 
at  once  end  my  agony,  when  the 
means  thereto  were  actually  placed 
in  my  very  hand.  Even  had  I 
doubted,  the  inward  sense,  the  in- 
spiration to  which  I  trust,  and 
which  has  never  yet  failed  me,  said, 
Drink  !  It  even  whispered  aloud. 
Drink  !  From  every  corner  of  the 
room  came  soft  pleasant  murmurs 
of  the  same  word.  Angels  floating 
round  me  bade  me  drink.  Every 
thought  of  moral  evil  vanished  in 
connection  with  this  final  act.  I 
looked  forward  with  rapture  to  the 
long  sleep  before  me,  and  with  a 
smile  of  the  most  intense  and  fer- 


1865.1 


Cuntfmjwraneoui  Autobiography. — Part  III. 


C13 


vent  gratitude  I  raised  the  bottle 
to  my  lips.  1  rememlier  thinking 
ut  the  moment,  "  The  smile  is  very 
important — it  shall  play  upon  my 
lip.s  to  the  end.  Ursula,  I  die 
happy,  for  my  hist  thought  is,  that 
in  the  spirit  I  shall  soon  revisit 
thee,"  and  the  liquid  trickled  slowly 
down  my  throat.  It  was  not  un- 
til I  had  drained  the  last  drop  that 
I  suddenly  recognised  the  taste. 
It  WO.H  the  "  pick-me-up"  1  always 
Ret  at  Harris's,  the  apothecary  in 
St  James's  Street,  when  my  tits  of 
nervous  exhaustion  come  on,  but 
there  seemed  rather  more  of  the 
spirituous  ingredient  in  it  than 
usual.  The  life-stream  began  to 
tingle  back  through  all  my  fibres — 
mv  miseries  took  grotesque  forms. 
"  Ha  !  ha  !  Lady  Broadbrim  !  the 
means  you  take  to  keep  up  your 
courage,  which  you  so  delicately 
alluded  to  just  now,  have  come  in 
most  opportunely.  What  a  fool  I 
was  to  make  mountains  out  of  mole- 
hills, and  call  the  little  ills  of  life 
miseries.  We  will  soon  see  what 
these  little  imprudences  are  the  old 
lady  talks  of."  And  I  took  up  the 
papers  with  a  hand  rapidly  becom- 
ing steady,  and  glanced  over  them 
with  an  eye  no  longer  confused  and 
dim.  Oh  the  pleasure  of  the  sensa- 
tion of  this  gradual  recovery  of  vig- 
our of  mind  and  force  of  body ! 

I  wa.s  engaged  in  this  task,  and 
making  the  most  singular  and 
startling  discoveries,  the  nature  of 
which  1  shall  shortly  disclose, 
when  1  heard  Lady  Broadbrim 
coming  down-stairs.  I  felt  so  an- 
gry with  her  for  having  been  the 
means  of  tempting  me  to  commit  a 
great  sin,  and  for  the  trouble  she 
was  causing  me  generally,  that  I 
followed  the  first  impulse  which  my 
imagination  suggested  as  the  best 
means  of  revenging  myself  upon 
her.  Accordingly,  when  the  door 
opened,  she  found  me  stretched  at 
full  length  on  the  sofa,  my  form 
rigid,  my  face  fixed,  my  eyes  star- 
ing, my  hands  clenched,  and  my 
whole  attitude  as  nearly  that  of  a 
person  in  a  fit  as  1  had  time  to 
make  it. 


"(Jracious,  what  is  the  matter  I  ' 
said  she. 

My  lips  seemed  with  dilh'culty 
to  form  the  word  "poison." 

Frank,  speak  to  me  !"  and  sh«: 
seized  my  hand,  which  wa.s  not  so 
cold  as  1  could  have  wished  it,  but 
which  fell  helplessly  by  my  side  iw 
she  let  it  drop. 

"1'oison!"  I  this  time  uttered 
audibly. 

"Where  did  you  get  it  I"  said 
she,  snappishly.  r'or  it  l>egan  to 
dawn  upon  her  that  1  was  not 
poisoned  at  all,  but  had  discovered 
her  secret.  1  turned  my  thumb 
languidly  in  the  direction  of  under 
the  pillow.  She  hastily  thrust  in 
her  hand  and  pulled  out  the  empty 
bottle.  "You  fool'1 — she  actually 
used  this  expression  ;  1  have  heard 
other  ladies  do  the  same  —  "you 
fool,"  and  she  wa.s  literally  furious, 
"  what  did  you  go  poking  under 
the  pillow  for  (  You  are  no  more 
poisoned  than  I  am  ;  it  is  a  draught 
I  am  obliged  to  take  for  nervous 
depression,  and  your  imagination 
has  almost  frightened  you  into  a 
tit.  1  put  'poison'  on  it  to  keep 
the  servants  from  prying.  Come, 
get  up,  be  a  man  — do,"  and  Lady 
Broadbrim  gave  me  her  hand,  in 
consideration  for  my  weakness,  to 
help  myself  up  by. 

"  Dearest  Lady  Broadbrim,"  said 
I,  pressing  it  to  my  lips,  "  1  cannot 
tell  what  comfort  you  give  me.  I 
was  just  beginning  to  regret  the 
world  I  thought  1  was  al>out  to 
leave  for  ever,  when  your  assurance 
that  I  have  not  taken  poison,  but 
a  tonic,  makes  me  feel  as  grateful 
to  you  as  if  you  had  saved  my  life. 
I  confess  that,  when  I  found  that 
you  considered  your  affairs  to  be 
so  desperate  that  you  had  provided 
the  most  effectual  mode  of  escape 
from  them.  1  envied  the  supe- 
rior foresiglit  which  you  had  dis- 
played, and  determined  to  repair 
my  error.  If  it  is  worth  dear 
Lady  Broadbrim's  while  to  poison 
herself,  I  thought,  it  is  surely  worth 
mine.  But,  after  all,  suicide  is  a 
cowardly  act  either  in  a  man  or  a 
woman  :  better  far  face  the  ills  of 


614 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


life  with  the  aid  of  stimulants,  and 
fly  for  refuge  in  the  agony  of  a 
financial  crisis  to  the  shop  of  an 
apothecary." 

"  You  are  an  incomprehensible 
creature,  Frank,"  said  Lady  Broad- 
brim ;  "  I  am  sure  I  hope  for  her  own 
sake  that  U?stila  will  understand 
you  better  than  I  do  ;  but  as  your 
humours  are  uncertain,  and  you  seem 
able  to  go  into  these  affairs  now,  I 
think  we  had  better  not  waste  any 
more  time  ;  only  I  do  wish"  (with 
a  wistful  glance  at  the  bottle)  "  you 
would  provide  yourself  with  your 
own  draughts  in  future." 

"  How  lucky,"  thought  I,  as  I 
put  on  a  business-like  air,  and  me- 
thodically began  arranging  the 
papers  according  to  their  dockets. 
"  Now,  if  it  had  been  just  the  other 
way,  and  her  Ladyship  had  taken 
the  draught  instead  of  me,  how 
completely  I  should  have  been  at 
her  mercy  !  Now,  I  am  master  of 
the  situation." 

"  '  Greek  loan,  thirty  thousand,' " 
I  read,  going  down  the  list ;  "  I  am 
afraid  this  is  rather  a  losing  busi- 
ness. I  see  they  have  been  already 
held  over  for  some  months.  I 
suppose  some  of  the  £27,000  is 
to  be  absorbed  there." 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Broadbrim; 
"  because  if  I  can  carry  on  for  an- 
other fortnight,  I  have  got  informa- 
tion which  makes  it  certain  I  shall 
recover  on  them." 

"  What  is  this  ?  five  hundred 
pounds'  worth  of  dollar  bonds  1 "  I 
went  on. 

"  Oh,  I  only  lost  a  few  pounds  on 
them.  I  bought  them  at  threepence 
a-piece  and  sold  them  at  twopence. 
Spiffy  got  me  to  take  them  off  his 
hands,  and,  in  fact,  made  a  great 
favour  of  it,  as  he  says  there  is 
nothing  people  make  money  more 
surely  out  of  than  dollar  bonds." 

"  Timson's  Eating-house  and  Ci- 
gar Divan  Company,  Strand.  Well, 
there  is  a  strong  direction.  How  do 
you  come  by  so  many  shares  ? " 

"  Lord  Staggerton  was  one  of  the 
promoters,  and  had  them  allotted  to 
me,"  said  Lady  Broadbrim.  "  He 
also  was  kind  enough  to  put  me 


into  two  Turkish  baths,  a  monster 
hotel,  and  a  music-hall.  You  will 
see  that  I  lost  heavily  in  the  Turk- 
ish baths  and  the  hotel,  but  the 
music-hall  is  paying  well.  Spiffy 
says  I  ought  never  to  stay  so  long 
in  anything  as  I  do  ;  in  and  out 
again,  if  it  is  only  half  a  per  cent, 
is  his  system ;  but  Staggerton  used 
to  look  after  my  interests,  and  man- 
aged them  very  successfully.  I  am 
afraid  that  all  my  troubles  com- 
menced when  I  quarrelled  with  him. 
He  is  now  promoting  two  com- 
panies which  I  hear  most  highly 
spoken  of,  but  he  says  I  must  take 
my  chance  with  others  about 
shares,  and  he  won't  advise  me 
in  the  matter.  One  is  '  The  Metro- 
politan Crossing- Sweeping  Com- 
pany,' of  which  he's  to  be  chair- 
man, and  the  other  is  the  '  Seaside 
Bathing-machine  Company.'  Spiffy 
says  they  will  both  fail,  because 
Staggerton  has  not  the  means  of 
having  them  properly  brought  out. 
Bodwinkle  won't  speak  to  him, 
and  unless  either  he  or  the  Credit 
Foncier  bring  a  thing  out,  there  is 
not  the  least  chance  of  its  taking 
with  the  public.  They  don't  so 
much  look  at  the  merits  of  the 
speculation  as  at  the  way  in  which 
it  is  put  before  them ;  and  with  this 
system  of  rigging  the  market,  so 
many  people  go  in  like  me  only  to 
get  out  again,  that  it  is  becoming 
more  and  more  difficult  everyday  to 
start  anything  new.  Oh  dear,"  said 
Lady  Broadbrim,  "  how  exhausted 
it  always  makes  me  to  talk  '  City.' 
I  only  want  to  show  you  that  I  un- 
derstand what  I  am  about,  and  that 
if  you  can  only  help  to  tide  me 
over  this  crisis,  something  will 
surely  turn  up  a  prize." 

"  I  know  you  disapprove  of  cards, 
but  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to 
suggest  the  word  '  trump '  as  being 
more  expressive  than  'prize,'"  I  said. 
"  Well,  now  we  have  got  through, 
the  companies,  what  have  we  here  1 
W"hy,  Lady  Broadbrim,  you  have 
positively  taken  no  less  than  seven 
unfurnished  houses  this  year.  What 
on  earth  do  you  intend  to  do  with 
them  all? " 


1805.1 


Contfinporanfout  Autobiography, — I\ir(  I  If. 


"  My  dear  Frank,  where  have 
you  Keen  living  for  the  la.st  few 
years  I  do  with  them  f  Kxactly  what 
dozens  of  smart  people,  with  very 
little  to  live  on,  do  with  houses — 
let  them,  to  be  sure.  1  made  i'l  luti 
la.st  year  in  four  houses,  and  all  by 
adding  it  on  to  the  premiums.  1 
don't  like  furnishing  and  putting  it 
in  the  rent.  Jn  the  first  place,  one 
is  apt  to  have  disagreeable  squab- 
bles about  the  furniture,  which, 
however  Rood  you  give  people,  they 
always  say  is  shabby  ;  and  in  the 
second,  you  get  much  more  into 
the  hands  of  the  house-agents." 

"  Well,  but,"  I  said,  "  here  is  one 
of  the  largest  houses  in  London — 
rent,  unfurnished,  .£'lf)Ot)  a -year. 
That  is  rather  hazardous :  who  do 
you  expect  will  take  that  I" 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  safest  specula- 
tion of  them  all,"  said  Lady  Broad- 
brim. "  1  had  an  infinity  of  trouble 
to  get  it.  Spiffy  h'r.st  suggested  the 
plan  to  me,  and  we  found  it  suc- 
ceed admirably  la-st  year.  It  was 
we  who  brought  out  Mrs  Gorgon 
Tompkins  and  her  daughters.  She 
took  the  house  from  me  at  my 
own  rent,  on  condition  that  Spitt'y 
managed  her  balls,  and  got  all  the 
best  people  in  London  to  go  to 
them.  This  year  we  are  going  to 
bring  out  the  Kodwinkles.  It  will 
be  much  easier,  because  she  is 
young,  and  has  no  family.  He, 
you  know,  is  a  man  of  immense 
wealth  in  the  City — in  fact,  a.s  I 
said  before,  his  name  is  almost 
essential  to  the  success  of  any  new 
company.  I  told  his  wife  I  could 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them  un- 
less he  came  into  Parliament,  for 
they  are  horridly  vulgar,  and  they 
were  bound  to  do  what  they  could 
for  themselves  before  1  could  think 
of  taking  them  up.  Lady  Mun- 
dane positively  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  them,  and,  in 
fact,  I  live  so  little  in  the  world, 
though  I  keep  it  up  to  some  extent 
for  the  sake  of  my  girls,  that  it  was 
quite  an  accident  my  hearing  of 
them.  Now,  however,  he  has  got 
into  the  House  of  Commons,  and  it 
is  arranged  that  she  is  to  take  the 


house,  and  Hodwinkle  is  to  help 
Spitly  in  <  'ity  matters,  on  condition 
that  he  gets  all  Lady  Mundane's 
list  to  her  lirst  party.  1'oor  SpiH'y 
is  a  littl«:  nervous,  :LS  llodwinkle 
actually  wanted  to  put  it  in  writing 
on  a  stamped  paper  ;  but  he  is  so  im- 
mensely useful  to  society,  that  the 
least  people  can  do  is  to  be  good-na- 
tured on  an  occasion  of  this  kind." 

"  No  fear  of  them,"  .said  I  ;  "if 
Bodwinklc  is  the  only  man  who 
can  launch  a  company  in  the  City, 
no  one  can  compete  with  Spitly  in 
launching  a  snob  in  Mayfair.  Hut 
1  thought  you  never  went  to  balls." 

"I  never  do  ;  but  because  I  do 
not  approve  of  dancing,  there  is  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  let  houses 
for  the  purpo.se.  You  might  a.s 
well  say  a  religious  banker  ought 
not  to  open  an  account  with  a 
theatre,  or  a  good  brewer  live  by 
his  beer,  because  some  people  drink 
too  much  of  it.  It  any  one  was  to 
leave  a  gin-palace  to  me  in  a  legacy, 
1  should  not  refuse  the  rent." 

"  Any  more  than  you  do  the  in- 
terest of  your  shares  in  the  music- 
hall.  And  now,"  said  I  coolly, 
gathering  up  all  her  papers  and 
putting  them  in  my  pocket,  "  as  it 
is  past  one  o'clock,  and  I  see  you 
are  tired,  I  will  take  these  away 
with  me,  and  let  you  know  to-mor- 
row what  I  think  had  better  be 
done  under  the  circumstances." 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Frank  I 
what  an  unheard-of  proceeding! — 
I  insist  upon  your  leaving  my  pa- 
pers here." 

"  If  1  do.  you  must  look  else- 
where for  the  money.  No,  I^jidy 
Broadbrim!" — I  felt  that  my  mo- 
ral ascendancy  was  increasing  every 
moment,  and  that  I  should  never 
have  such  another  opportunity  of  es- 
tablishing it — "  we  had  better  un- 
derstand each  other  clearly.  You 
regard  me  at  this  moment  in  the 
light  of  your  future  son-in  law,  and 
in  that  capacity  expect  me  to  extri- 
cate you  and  your  family  from  your 
financial  difficulties.  Now,  I  am 
quite  capable  of  '  behaving  badly,' 
as  the  world  calls  it,  at  the  shortest 
notice.  1  told  you  at  Dickieticld 


616 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


that  I  was  totally  without  principle, 
and  we  are  both  trusting  to  Ursula 
to  reform  me.  But  I  will  relin- 
quish the  pleasure  of  paying  your 
debts,  and  the  advantage  of  being 
reformed  by  your  daughter,  unless 
you  agree  to  my  terms." 

"  And  they  are  1 "  said  her  Lady- 
ship, doggedly. 

"  First,  that  from  this  evening 
you  put  the  entire  management  of 
your  affairs  into  my  hands,  and, 
as  a  preliminary  measure,  allow  me 
to  take  away  these  papers,  giving 
me  a  note  to  your  lawyer  authoris- 
ing him  to  follow  my  instructions 
in  everything;  and,  secondly,  that 
you  never,  under  any  pretence,  en- 
ter into  any  company  or  speculation 
of  any  kind  except  with  my  per- 
mission." 

Aglance  of  very  evil  meaning  shot 
across  her  Ladyship's  eyes  as  they 
met  mine  after  this  speech,  but  I 
frightened  it  away  by  the  savage- 
ness  of  my  gaze,  till  she  was  lite- 
rally obliged  to  put  her  hand  up 
to  her  forehead.  The  crisis  was 
exciting  me,  for  Ursula  was  at 
stake,  and  it  was  just  possible  my 
conditions  might  be  refused ;  but  I 
felt  the  magnetism  of  my  will  con- 
centrating itself  in  my  eyes  as  if  they 
were  burning-glasses.  It  seemed 
to  dash  itself  upon  the  reefs  and 
barriers  of  Lady  Broadbrim's  rocky 
nature ;  the  inner  forces  of  our  or- 
ganisations were  engaged  in  a  deci- 
sive struggle  for  the  mastery ;  but 
the  field  of  battle  was  in  her,  not 
in  me.  I  had  invaded  the  enemy's 
country,  and  her  frontier  was  as 
long  and  difficult  to  defend  as  ours 
is  in  Canada.  So  I  kept  on  pour- 
ing in  mesmeric  reinforcements,  as 
she  sat  with  her  head  bent,  and 
her  whole  moral  being  in  turmoil. 
Never  before  had  any  man  ventured 
to  dictate  to  this  veteran  campaign- 
er. The  late  Lord  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  regard  her  as  infallible, 
and  Broadbrim  has  not  yet  known 
the  pleasures  of  independence.  She 
never  had  friends  who  were  not 
servile,  or  permitted  herself  to  be 
contradicted,  except  by  a  few  privi- 
leged ecclesiastics,  and  then  only 


in  unctuous  and  deprecatory  tones. 
That  I,  of  whom  the  world  was 
accustomed  to  speak  in  terms  of 
compassion,  and  whom  she  inwardly 
despised  at  this  moment,  should 
stand  over  her  more  unyielding  and 
imperious  than  herself,  caused  her 
to  experience  a  sensation  nearly 
allied  to  suffocation.  I  seemed  in- 
stinctively to  follow  the  mental 
processes  through  which  she  was 
passing,  and  a  certain  consciousness 
that  I  did  so  demoralised  her.  Now, 
I  felt,  she  is  going  to  take  me  to 
task  in  a  "  sweet  Christian  spirit  " 
about  the  state  of  my  soul,  and  I 
brought  up  "  will  "  reinforcements 
which  I  poured  down  upon  her  brain 
through  the  parting  of  her  front, 
till  she  backed  suddenly  out  of  the 
position,  and  took  up  a  hostile,  I 
might  almost  say  an  abusive,  atti- 
tude. Here  again  I  met  her  with 
such  a  shower  of  invective,  "  utter- 
ed not,  yet  comprehended,"  that 
after  a  silent  contest  she  gave  this 
up  too,  and  finally  fell  back  on  the 
flat  rejection  of  me  and  my  money 
altogether.  This,  I  confess,  was 
the  critical  moment.  She  took  her 
hand  down  when  she  came  to  this 
mental  resolution,  and  looked  at 
me,  I  thought,  but  it  might  have 
been  imagination,  demoniacally. 
What  had  I  to  oppose  to  it?  My 
love  for  Ursula  1  No  !  that  would 
soften  me.  My  aversion  to  Lady 
Broadbrim  1  No  ;  for  it  was  not 
so  great  as  hers  for  me.  For  a  mo- 
ment I  wavered;  my  will  seemed 
paralysed ;  her  gaze  was  becoming 
fascinating,  while  mine  was  getting 
clouded,  till  a  mist  seemed  to  con- 
ceal her  from  me  altogether.  And 
now,  at  the  risk  of  being  misimder- 
stood  and  ridiculed,  I  feel  bound  to 
describe  exactly  the  most  remark- 
able occurrence  of  my  life.  At  that 
moment  I  saw  distinctly,  in  the  lu- 
minous haze  which  surrounded  me, 
a  fiery  cross.  I  have  already  said 
that  objects  of  this  kind  often  ap- 
peared to  me  in  the  dark,  a  propos  of 
nothing  ;  but  upon  no  former  occa- 
sion had  a  lighted  room  become  dim, 
and  a  vision  manifested  itself  which 
seemed  an  answer  to  the  involun- 


16G5.] 


Contfmjwraneotu  Autobiography. — I\irt  111. 


cr 


tary  invocation  for  assistance  that 
I  made  when  1  found  the  powers  of 
my  own  will  Id-winning  utterly  to 
fail  mo  ;  and  what  was  still  more 
strange,  never  before  had  any  such 
manifestation  effected  an  immediate 
revolution  in  my  sentiments.  l"p 
to  that  moment  1  had  been  inter- 
nally tierce  and  overbearing  in  my 
resolution  to  subdue  the  nature 
with  which  I  was  contending,  and 
I  was  actually  defeated  when  I  re- 
ceived this  supernatural  indication 
of  assistance.  Before  the  dazzling 
vision  had  vanished,  it  had  con- 
veyed its  lesson  of  self-sacrifice,  and 
created  within  me  a  new  impulse, 
under  the  influence  of  which  I 
solemnly  vowed  that  if  I  triumphed 
now  I  should  use  my  victory  for 
the  good  not  only  of  those  I  loved, 
but  of  her  then  sitting  before  me. 
The  demon  of  my  own  nature, 
which  had  evidently  been  struggling 
with  the  demon  of  hers,  suddenly 
deserted  me,  and  his  place  seemed 
occupied  by  an  angel  of  light, 
furnishing  me  with  the  powers 
of  exorcism,  which  were  to  be 
gained  only  at  the  sacrifice  of  self. 
My  very  breath  seemed  instantly 
charged  with  prayers  for  her,  at  the 
moment  I  felt  she  regarded  me 
with  loathing  and  hate. 

An  ineffable  calm  pervaded  my 
whole  being.  A  sense  of  happiness 
and  gratitude  deprived  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  conquest  which  I 
had  gained  of  any  sentiment  of  ex- 
ultation ;  on  the  contrary,  I  felt 
gentle  and  subdued  myself — anxious 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her  with  that 
consolation  1  had  just  experienced. 
Ah,  Lady  Broadbrim  !  at  that  mo- 
ment, had  I  not  been  in  the  pre- 
sence of  a  "  saint,"  I  should  have 
fallen  upon  my  knees.  Perhaps  as 
it  was  I  might  have  done  so,  hail 
she  not  suddenly  leant  back  ex- 
hausted. 

"  Frank,"  she  said,  "  I  seem  to 
have  been  dreaming.  I  am  subject 
to  fits  of  violent  nervous  depres- 
sion, and  the  agitation  of  this  scene 
has  completely  overcome  me  ;  my 
brain  seems  stunned,  and  all  my 
faculties  have  become  torpid.  I 


can  think  of  nothing  more  now,  do 
what  you  like  ;  all  1  want  is  to  go 
to  sleep.  If  you  ring  the  bell  in 
that  corner,  Jenkins  will  conic  down. 
(lood-night  ;  I  shall  see  you  to 
morrow.  Take  the  papers  with  you." 
I  took  I,ady  Broadbrim's  hand — 
it  was  cold  and  clammy — and  held 
it  till  her  maid  came  down.  She 
had  already  fallen  into  a  half  mes- 
meric sleep,  but  wa.s  not  conscious 
of  her  condition.  1  saw  her  safely 
on  her  way  to  her  bedroom  on  the 
arm  of  her  maid,  and  left  the  house 
with  my  pockets  full  of  papers, 
more  fresh  and  invigorated  than  I 
had  felt  for  weeks.  A  new  light 
had  indeed  dawned  upon  me.  For 
the  first  time  one  of  these  "hallu- 
cinations," as  medical  men  usually 
term  them,  to  which  I  am  subject, 
had  contained  a  lesson.  Not  only 
had  I  profited  from  it  upon  the  >|>»t, 
but  it  had  suggested  to  me  an  en- 
tirely new  line  of  conduct  in  the 
great  question  which  most  nearly 
affected  my  own  happiness,  and 
seemed  to  guarantee  me  the  strength 
of  will  and  moral  courage  which 
should  enable  me  to  carry  it  out. 
At  the  same  time,  I  am  not  so  sure 
of  my  powers  to  adhere  to  my  re- 
solution, that  I  can  admit  my 
readers  into  my  confidence.  Time 
alone  will  show  whether  the  pro- 
ject I  formed  as  I  walked  home, 
with  the  piercing  March  wind  cut- 
ting me  through,  will  ever  be  real- 
ised in  the  manner  I  now  propose. 

There  is  one  point  which  I  have 
in  common  with  Kuclid, — my  most 
brilliant  inspirations  very  often 
come  to  me  in  my  tub,  or  while  I 
am  dressing.  On  the  morning  fol- 
lowing the  scene  above  described,  I 
trusted  to  this  moment  to  furnish 
me  with  an  idea  which  should  en- 
able me  to  put  my  plan  into  opera- 
tion, but  I  sought  in  vain. 

In  the  first  place,  though  I  assumed 
in  the  presence  of  Lady  Broadbrim 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  pecu- 
liar description  of  the  transaction 
in  which  she  was  engaged,  I  feel 
bound  not  to  conceal  from  my 
readers  that  I  am  as  utterly  and 


618 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


entirely  ignorant  of  the  terms  of 
the  Stock  Exchange  as  of  the  lan- 
guage of  the  swell  mob.  Deben- 
tures, stock,  scrip,  coupons,  and  all 
the  jargon  connected  with  such 
money -making  and  money-losing 
contrivances,  are  to  me  incompre- 
hensible ;  nor  do  I  ever  desire  to 
know  more  of  them  than  I  do  al- 
ready, feeling  assured  that  it  is  a 
description  of  information  which, 
if  dwelt  upon,  not  only  degrades 
the  intelligence,  biit  is  apt  to  de- 
base the  moral  nature.  I  do  not 
for  a  moment  wish  to  reflect  upon 
those  honest  individuals  who  de- 
vote their  whole  lives  to  the  acqui- 
sition of  money  and  nothing  else. 
Had  one  of  my  own  ancestors  not 
done  so,  I  should  not  now  be  the 
millionaire  I  am,  and  able  to  write 
thus  of  the  pursuit  of  wealth.  But 
let  no  man  tell  me  that  the  supreme 
indifference  to  it  which  I  entertain, 
does  not  place  my  moral  nature 
upon  a  higher  platform  than  a 
gold-hunter  can  possibly  aspire  to. 
When,  therefore,  I  looked  forward 
to  an  interview  with  the  Honour- 
able Spiffington  Goldtip,  I  felt  that 
I  should  be  most  completely  at  his 
mercy  in  matters  of  business  ;  and 
though  I  was  animated  by  the  most 
benevolent  sentiments,  both  as  re- 
garded Lady  Broadbrim  and  little 
Spiffy  himself,  still  I  was  haunted 
by  the  apprehension  that  my  gen- 
erosity would  be  misunderstood,  and 
that  I  should  be  "done."  Not  being 
versed  in  the  Capel  Court  standard 
of  morality,  or  being  in  the  habit 
of  treading  those  delicate  lines  upon 
which  Spiffy  had  learnt  to  balance 
himself  so  gracefully,  I  might,  in- 
stead of  doing  him  good,  be  the 
means  of  encouraging  him  in  that 
pecuniary  scramble  which  enabled 
him  to  gain  a  precarious  livelihood. 
"After  all,"  I  thought,  "why 
not  hover  about  the  City  with  one's 
hands  full  of  gold,  as  one  used  to 
after  dinner  at  Greenwich,  when 
showers  of  coppers  delighted  the 
ragged  crowd  beneath,  and  have 
the  fun  of  seeing  all  the  mud-lark- 
ing Spiffys,  fashionable  and  snob- 
bish, scrambling  in  wild  confusion, 


and  rolling  fraternally  over  each 
other  in  the  dirt  ]  If  I  can't  con- 
vert them,  if  I  must  be  '  done'  by 
them,  I  will  '  do '  to  them  as  I 
would  be  '  done '  by ;  and  rather 
than  leave  them  to  perish,  will 
adopt  an  extreme  measure,  and  keep 
on  suffocating  them  with  the  mud 
they  delight  to  revel  in,  till  they 
cry  aloud  for  help.  What  a  pleas- 
ure it  would  be  to  wash  Spiffy  all 
over  afterwards,  and  start  him  fresh 
and  sweet  in  a  new  line  of  life  !  " 
As  I  said  before,  I  was  in  my  tub 
myself  as  I  made  this  appropriate 
reflection  ;  then  my  thoughts  invol- 
untarily reverted  to  Chundango. 
When  I  had  threatened  Lady 
Broadbrim  with  the  mercenary 
spirit  of  that  distinguished  Orien- 
tal, I  inwardly  doubted  whether, 
indeed,  it  were  possible  for  her  to 
propose  any  pecuniary  sacrifice 
which  he  was  not  prepared  to  make, 
in  order  to  gain  the  social  prize 
upon  which  he  had  set  his  heart ; 
and  I  dreaded  lest  I  should  have 
driven  her  in  despair  to  have  re- 
course to  this  '  dark '  alternative, — 
whether,  in  order  to  save  the  Broad- 
brim family  from  ruin  and  disgrace 
— for  I  suspected  that  the  papers 
I  had  carried  away  contained  evi- 
dence that  one  was  as  possible  as 
the  other  —  Ursula  would  accede 
to  the  pressure  of  the  family  gene- 
rally, and  of  her  mother  in  particu- 
lar, whose  wish  none  of  her  chil- 
dren had  ever  dared  to  thwart, 
was  a  consideration  which  caused 
me  acute  anxiety.  I  must  prepare 
myself  shortly  for  a  conversation 
on  the  subject  with  Grandon.  What 
should  I  say  to  him  1  Granting 
that  the  means  occasionally  justify 
the  end,  which  I  do  not  admit, 
what  would  be  the  use  of  making  a 
false  statement  either  in  the  sense 
that  I  was,  or  that  I  was  not,  going 
to  marry  Ursula  1  If  I  said  I  was, 
he  would  think  me  a  traitor  and 
her  a  jilt;  if  I  said  I  was  not,  I 
must  go  on  and  tell  him  that  the 
family  would  be  ruined  and  dis- 
graced, or  that  she  must  marry 
Chundango  to  save  it.  He  would 
obtain  comfort  neither  way.  Bet- 


18G5.] 


Contemporaneous  A 


.  —  l\irt  ///. 


c;9 


tcr  leave  him  in  doubt  and  sus- 
pense, since  putting  him  out  of  it 
was  in  the  first  place  impossible, 
where  everything  w;us  uncertain  ; 
ami  where,  in  the  second,  even  cer- 
tainty would  only  add  to  hi*  misery. 
Then,  I  thought,  how  will  he  ac- 
count for  my  reserve  (  what  can  he 
think  except  that  it  arises  from  an 
unworthy  motive  I — and  I  brushed 
my  hair  viciously.  At  that  instant 
I  heard  a  thump  at  the  door,  and 
before  I  could  answer,  in  walked 
the  subject  of  my  meditation. 

''  Well,  my  dear  old  fellow," 
said  (Jrandon,  as  he  grasped  my 
hand  warmly,  "  how  mysterious 
and  spasmodic  you  have  been  in 
your  movements !  I  was  afraid 
even  now,  if  I  had  not  invaded  the 
sanctity  of  your  dressing-room,  that 
you  would  have  slipped  through 
my  fingers.  I  know  you  have  a 
great  deal  to  tell  me,  of  interest  to 
us  both,  and  we  are  too  fast  friends 
to  hesitate  to  confide  in  each  other 
on  any  matters  which  affect  our 
happiness.  True  men  never  have 
any  reticence  as  between  them- 
selves ;  they  only  have  recourse  to 
that  armour  when  they  happen  to 
be  cursed  with  false  friends."  1 
cannot  describe  my  feelings  during 
this  speech  ;  how  on  earth  was  I 
to  avoid  reticence  I  how  show  him 
that  I  loved  and  trusted  him  when 
I  had  just  been  elaborately  devis- 
ing a  speech  which  should  tell  him 
nothing  I  and  I  thought  of  our 
school  and  then  our  college  days 
— how  I  never  seemed  to  be  like 
other  boys  or  other  men  of  my 
own  age — and  how  when  nobody 
understood  me  (Jrandon  did,  and 
how  when  nobody  defended  my 
peculiarities  (Jrandon  did — how  he 
protected  and  advised  me  at  first 
out  of  sheer  compassion,  until  at 
last  I  had  become  as  a  younger 
brother  to  him.  How  distressed 
he  was  when  I  gave  up  diplomacy, 
and  how  anxious  during  the  five 
years  that  I  was  exploring  in 
the  far  West,  and  gold -digging 
in  Australia,  and  how  nothing 
but  his  letters  ever  induced  me  to 

VOL,  xcvii. — NO.  DXCV. 


leave  the  wild  reckless  life  th.it 
po.S8CS.sed  such  a  wonderful  diann 
for  me  ;  and  how  he  bop-  with 
my  wilfulness  and  vanity  ;  for 
the  faults  of  my  character  ut  Mich 
moments  would  heroine  p.iinfully 
apparent  tome;  and  how  now  I  was 
going  to  return  it  all,  by  allowing 
him  to  suppose  that  I  had  deliber- 
ately plotted  against  his  happiness, 
and  ruthlessly  sapped  the  solid 
foundations  upon  which  our  life's 
friendship  had  been  built.  He  saw 
these  painful  thoughts  reflected  but 
too  accurately  upon  my  face,  for  he 
has  been  accustomed  to  read  it  for 
so  many  years,  and  lie  smiled  a  look 
of  encouragement  and  kindliness. 
"Come."  he  said,  "  1  will  tell  you 
exactly,  first  everything  I  suspect, 
and  then  everything  1  know,  and 
then  what  1  think  about  it,  so  that 
you  will  have  as  little  of  the  labour 
of  revelation  as  possible.  First  of 
all,  I  suspect  that  you  imagine  that 
I  had  proposed  to  Lady  Ursula 
Newlyte  before  we  met  the  other 
day  at  Dickieficld  :  I  need  not  say 
that  in  that  case  I  should  have  told 
you  as  much  upon  the  evening  we 
parted  ;  I  pledge  you  my  word  I 
have  never  uttered  a  syllable  to 
Lady  Ursula  from  which  she  could 
suspect  the  state  of  my  feelings  to- 
wards her,  and  she  has  never  given 
me  any  indication  that  she  returned 
my  affection  ;  1  therefore  did  not 
mention  myself  when  you  told  me 
your  intention  of  proposing  to  her 
at  Dickiefield  ;  I  only  do  so  now 
in  consequence  of  a  letter  which  I 
received  from  Lady  Broadbrim  last 
night." 

"A  letter  from  Lady  llroad- 
brim  ?"  said  I,  aghast. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "in  which  she 
encloses  a  copy  of  one  of  yours 
containing  your  proposal  to  Lady 
Ursula,  and  informs  me  that  you 
were  aware  when  you  made  it  of 
the  difficulties  you  might  have  to 
encounter  through  me.  She  goes 
on  to  say  that,  whatever  may  have 
been  her  daughter's  feelings  to- 
wards me  at  one  time,  they  have 
completely  changed,  as  she  at  once 


620 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[May, 


accepted  you  ;  and  she  winds  up 
with  the  rather  unnecessary  remark 
that  this  is  the  less  to  be  regretted 
by  me,  as  under  no  circumstances 
would  I  have  obtained  either  her 
consent  or  that  of  Lord  Broadbrim. 
And  so,"  my  poor  friend  went  on, 
but  his  lips  were  quivering,  and  I 
turned  away  my  eyes  to  avoid  see- 
ing the  effort  it  cost  him — "  and  so, 
you  see,  my  dear  Frank,  it  is  all  for 
the  best.  In  the  first  place,  she  never 
loved  me.  I  have  too  high  an 
opinion  of  her  to  suppose  that  if 
she  had,  she  would  have  accepted 
you ;  in  the  second,  she  would  never 
have  married  me  against  her  mo- 
ther's consent,  and  so  even  if  she 
had  loved  me,  we  should  have  both 
been  miserable  ;  and  thirdly,  if 
there  is  one  thing  that  could  con- 
sole me  under  such  a  blow,  it  is, 
that  the  man  she  loves,  and  the 
family  approve,  is  my  dear  old 
friend,  who  is  far  more  worthy  the 
happiness  in  store  for  him  than  I 
should  have  been."  Heput  his  hand 
kindly  on  my  shoulder  as  his  strong 
voice  shook  with  the  force  of  his 
suppressed  emotion,  and  I  bowed 
my  head.  I  felt  utterly  humiliated 
by  a  magnanimity  so  noble,  and  by 
a  tenderness  surpassing  that  of 
women.  I  thanked  God  at  that 
moment  that  Lady  Ursula  did  not 
love  me,  and  I  vowed  that  Lady 
Broadbrim  should  bitterly  expiate 
her  sins  against  us  both.  Here,  then, 
was  the  secret  of  her  refusing  to  ac- 
knowledge that  she  had  stolen  my 
missing  letter  at  Dickiefield,  and 
this  was  the  precious  use  she  had 
made  of  it.  The  question  now  was, 
what  was  to  be  done  1  But  my  mind 
was  paralysed  —  all  its  strength 
seemed  expended  in  vowing  ven- 
geance against  Lady  Broadbrim. 
When  I  tried  to  form  a  sentence  of 
explanation  to  Grandon,  my  brain 
refused  its  functions ;  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  in  a  net,  and  that  the  slightest 
movement  on  my  part  would  en- 
tangle me  more  inextricably  in  its 
meshes.  The  last  resolution  I  had 
come  to  before  he  entered  the  room 
was,  on  no  account  to  tell  him  the 
exact  state  of  the  case,  and  this  re- 


solution had  now  become  an  idee 
fixe.  I  had  not  clearness  of  mind 
at  the  moment  to  decide  whether  it 
was  right  or  wrong.  I  felt  that  when 
my  head  was  clear  I  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  best,  so 
I  stuck  to  it  now.  True,  it  involved 
leaving  him  in  the  delusion  that 
Ursula  and  I  were  engaged — but 
was  it  altogether  certain  to  remain 
a  delusion  1  did  Lady  Ursula  really 
care  for  him  1  I  had  only  Lady 
Broadbrim's  word  for  it.  Again, 
had  I  anything  better  to  give  him  ? 
would  it  be  a  comfort  to  him  to  hear 
the  Chundango  alternative  1  These 
in  a  confused  way  were  the  thoughts 
which  flitted  across  my  brain  in 
this  moment  of  doubt  and  difficulty, 
so  I  said  nothing.  He  misinterpreted 
my  silence,  and  thought  me  over- 
whelmed with  remorse  at  the  part 
I  had  played.  "Believe  me/'  he 
said,  "  I  do  not  think  one  particle 
the  worse  of  you  for  what  you  have 
done ;  I  know  how  difficult  it  is  to 
control  one's  feelings  in  moments 
of  passion  ;  and  you  see  you  were 
quite  right  not  to  believe  Lady 
Broadbrim  when  she  told  you 
Ursula  cared  for  me." 

"  I  had  already  written  the  letter 
then,"  I  stammered  out. 

"  Of  course  you  had :  I  never  sup- 
posed you  could  do  the  dishonour- 
able thing  of  hearing  she  cared 
about  me  first,  and  writing  to  her 
afterwards,  although  Lady  Broad- 
brim said  so.  When  you  did  make 
the  discovery  that  Lady  Ursula's  af- 
fections were  not  already  engaged, 
you  were  perfectly  right  to  win  her 
if  you  could.  I  only  bargain  that 
you  ask  me  to  be  your  best-man." 

This  was  a  well-meant  but  such 
a  very  unsuccessful  attempt  at  re- 
signation on  Grandon's  part,  that 
it  touched  me  to  the  quick.  "  My 
dear  Grandon,"  I  said — and  I  saw 
my  face  in  the  glass  opposite,  look- 
ing white  and  stony  with  the  effort 
it  cost  me  not  to  fall  upon  his  neck 
and  cry  like  a  woman  ;  "  I  solemnly 
swear,  whatever  you  may  think 
now,  that  the  day  will  come  when 
you  will  find  that  I  was  worthy  the 
privilege  of  having  been  even  your 


18G5.] 


Contemporaneous  Autobiography, — Part  III. 


«J21 


friend.  I  was  going  to  say,  Till 
then,  believe  me  and  trust  me  ;  but  I 
need  not,  for  I  know  that,  however 
iinnatiir.il  it  seems  for  me  to  .i-k 
you  not  to  allude  again  to  the  sub- 
ject \ve  have  just  been  discussing, 
you  will  be  satisfied  that  I  would 
not  ask  it  without  having  a  reason 
which  if  you  knew  you  would  aj>- 
prove.  On  my  conscience  I  be- 
lieve that  I  am  right  in  reserving 
from  you  my  full  confidence  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life;  but  do  not 
let  the  fact  of  one  forbidden  topic 
alienate  us — let  it  rather  act  as  an- 
other link,  hidden  for  the  moment, 
but  which  may  some  day  prove  the 
most  powerful  to  bind  us  together.'1 

Grandon's  face  lit  up  with  a 
bright  frank  smile.  "  I  trust  and 
believe  in  you  from  the  bottom  of 
my  soul,  and  you  shall  buiy  any 
.subject  you  like  till  it  suits  you  to 
exhume  it.  Come,  we  will  go  to 
breakfast,  and  I  will  discourse  to 
you  on  the  political  and  military 
expediency  of  spending  £2(10.000 
on  the  fortifications  of  (Quebec." 

"Well,"  thought  [,  as  I  followed 
Grandon  down-stairs,  ''  for  a  man 
who  is  yearning  to  be  honest,  and 
to  do  the  right  thing  by  every- 
body, I  have  got  into  as  elaborate 
a  complication  of  lies  as  if  I  were  a 
Russian  diplomatist.  First,  I  have 
given  both  Lady  Broadbrim  and 
Grandon  distinctly  to  understand 
that  I  am  at  this  moment  engaged 
to  Ursula,  which  I  am  not ;  and  se- 
condly, I  have  solemnly  assured  that 
young  lady  herself  that  I  am  con- 
scious of  being  occasionally  mad." 

In  this  tissue  of  falsehoods,  it  is 
poor  consolation  to  think  that  the 
only  one  in  which  there  may  be 
some  foundation  of  truth  is  the 
hist.  Supposing  I  was  to  go  in  for 
dishonesty,  perhaps  I  could  not 
help  telling  the  truth  by  the  rule 
of  "contraries."  I  will  go  and  ask 
the  Honourable  SpiHington  whether 
he  finds  this  to  be  the  ca.se,  and  I 
parted  from  Grandon  in  the  hope 
of  catching  that  gentleman  before 
he  had  betaken  himself  to  his  civic 
haunts.  1  was  too  late,  and  pur- 
sued him  east  of  Temple  liar. 


Here  he  frequented  sundry  "  board- 
rooms "  of  companies  which  by  a 
figure  of  speech  he  helped  to  "  di- 
rect," and  was  also  to  be  found 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Hercu- 
les 1'assage  ami  tin-  narrow  streets 
which  surround  the  Stock  Kxchange, 
in  the  little  back  deits  of  pet 
brokers,  upon  whom  he  relied  for 
"good  things."  Spiff y  used  to  collect 
political  news  in  fashionable  circles 
all  through  the  night  and  up  to  an 
early  hour  of  the  morning,  and  then 
come  into  the  ( 'ity  with  it  red  hot,  so 
as  to  "  operate."  He  was  one  of  the 
most  lively  little  rabbits  to  be  found 
in  all  that  big  warren  of  which  the 
Hank  is  the  centre,  and  popped  in 
and  out  of  the  different  holes  with 
a  quickness  that  made  him  very 
difficult  to  catch.  At  last  I  ran 
him  to  a  very  dingy  earth,  where  he 
was  pausing,  seated  on  a  green  baize 
table  over  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a 
biscuit,  and  chaffing  a  rising  young 
broker  who  hoped  ultimately  to  be 
proposed  by  Spitl'y  for  the  Piccadilly 
C'lub.  He  was  trying  to  establish  a 
claim  thereto  now,  on  the  >trength 
of  having  been  at  Mrs  Gorgon 
Tompkins's  ball  on  the  previous 
evening.  "  It  is  rather  against  you 
than  otherwise,"  said  Spitfy — who 
was  an  extremely  off -hand  little 
fellow,  and  did  not  interrupt  his 
discourse  after  he  had  nodded  to 
me  familiarly — "  I  can't  afford  to 
take  you  up  yet  ;  indeed,  what  have 
you  ever  done  to  merit  it  \  and  Mrs 
Gorgon  Tompkins  has  enough  to  do 
this  season  to  keep  her  own  head 
above  water  without  attempting  to 
float  you.  I  diil  what  I  could  for 
her  last  night,  but  she  can't  ex- 
pect to  go  on  with  her  successes 
of  last  year.  We  had  a  regular 
scene  at  <>  A.M.  this  morning,  '  in 
banquet  halls  deserted,' — tears,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing — nobody  pre- 
sent but  self,  Gorgon,  and  part- 
ner. We  took  our  last  year's  list, 
and  compared  them  with  the  invi- 
tations sent  out  this  year.  The 
results  were  painful  —  only  the 
fag-end  of  the  diplomatic  corps  had 
responded,  none  of  the  great  Eu- 
ropean powers  present,  and  our  own 


622 


Piccadilly :  an  E^tisode  of 


[May, 


Cabinet  most  slenderly  represented. 
Obliged  to  resort  for  young  men 
to  the  byways  and  hedges ;  no 
expense  spared,  and  yet  the  whole 
affair  a  miserable  failure." 

"  Have  you  tried  lobsters  boiled 
in  champagne  at  supper,  as  a 
draw  1 "  said  I. 

"  No,"  said  Spiffy,  looking  at  me 
with  admiration.  "  I  did  not  know 
this  sort  of  thing  was  in  your  line, 
Frank."  He  had  not  the  least  right 
to  call  me  Frank  ;  but  as  every- 
body, whether  they  knew  him  or  not, 
called  him  Spiffy,  he  always  antici- 
pated this  description  of  familiarity. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  could 
pull  the  Tompkins  through  another 
season,  but  I  am  keeping  all  my 
best  ideas  for  the  Bodwinkles. 
Bodwinkles'  first  ball  is  to  cost 
.£2000  ;  he  wanted  me  to  do  it  for 
,£1500,  and  I  should  have  been  able 
to  do  it  for  that,  if  Mrs  Bodwinkle 
had  had  any  7*'s  ;  but  the  creme  de 
la  creme  require  an  absence  of 
aspirates  to  be  made  up  to  them 
somehow.  Oh,  with  the  extra 
£500  I  can  do  it  easily,"  said 
Spiffy,  with  an  air  of  self-com- 
placency. "  She  is  a  comparatively 
young  woman,  you  see,  without 
daughters  ;  that  simplifies  matters 
very  much.  And  then  BodwLnkle 
can  be  so  much  more  useful  to 
political  men  than  Gorgon  Tomp- 
kins ;  the  only  fear  is  that  he  may 
commit  himself  at  a  late  hour  at 
the  supper-table,  but  I  have  hit  on 
a  notion  which  will  overcome  all 
these  possible  contretemps.1' 

"What  is  that?"  said  I,  curiously. 

"  Well,  in  confidence,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  as  you  are  not  in 
the  line  yourself  ;  but  it  is  a  master- 
stroke of  genius.  Like  all  great  ideas, 
its  merit  lies  in  its  simplicity." 

"  Well,  don't  keep  us  any  longer 
in  suspense  ;  I  promise  not  to  ap- 
propriate it." 

"  Well,"  said  Spiffy,  triumphant- 
ly. "I  am  going  to  pay  the  aris- 
tocracy to  come ! " 

"Pay  them!"  said  I,  really  as- 
tounded ;  "  how  on  earth  are  you 
going  to  get  them  to  take  the 
money  ? " 


"  Ah,  that  is  the  secret.  Wait 
till  the  Bodwinkles'  ball.  You 
will  see  how  delicately  I  shall  con- 
trive it ;  a  great  deal  more  neatly 
than  you  do  when  you  leave  your 
doctor's  fee  mysteriously  wrapped 
in  paper  upon  his  mantelpiece.  I 
shall  no  more  hurt  that  high  sense 
of  honour,  and  that  utter  absence 
of  anything  like  snobbism  which 
characterises  the  best  London  so- 
ciety, than  a  French  cook  would  of- 
end  the  nostrils  of  his  guests  with 
an  overpowering  odour  of  garlic ; 
but  it  is  a  really  grand  idea." 

"  Worthy  of  Julius  Caesar,  Char- 
lemagne, or  the  first  Napoleon," 
said  I ;  "  posterity  will  recognise 
you  as  a  social  giant  with  a  mission, 
if  the  small  men  and  the  envious  of 
the  present  day  refuse  to  do  so." 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  Spiffy 
went  on,  "  that  the  idea  first  oc- 
curred to  me  in  a  Scotch  donkey- 
circus,  where  I  won  as  a  prize  for 
entering  the  show,  a  red  plush 
waistcoat  worth  five  shillings.  The 
fact  is,  Bodwinkle  is  so  anxious 
to  get  people,  he  would  go  to  any 
expense;  he  has  even  offered  me  a 
commission  on  all  the  accepted  in- 
vitations I  send  out  for  him,  gra- 
duated on  a  scale  proportioned  to 
the  rank  of  the  acceptor.  I  am 
afraid  it  would  not  be  considered 
quite  the  right  thing  to  take  it ; 
what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Well/'  said  I, "  I  doubt  whether 
society  would  stand  it.  You  must 
bring  them  to  it  gradually.  At 
present,  I  feel  sure  they  would  draw 
the  line  at  a  'commission.'  Apropos 
of  the  Bodwinkles,  I  want  to  have 
a  little  private  conversation  with 
you." 

"  I  am  awfully  done,"  said 
Spiffy.  "  I  never  went  to  bed  at 
all  last  night.  I  got  some  informa- 
tion about  Turkish  certificates  be- 
fore I  went  to  the  Tompkins  ;  then 
I  stayed  there  till  past  six,  and  had 
to  come  on  here  at  ten  to  turn  what 
I  knew  to  account.  However,  go 
ahead  ;  what  is  it  in  ?  Jones  here 
will  do  it  for  you.  No  need  of 
mystery  between  us.  '  Cosmopo- 
litan district '  is  the  sort  of  thing  I 


1865.] 


Conlfniftoranfotu  Autobiography. — l\irt  III. 


can  conscientiously  recommend — 
I'll  tell  yon  why  :  I  went  down  to 
the  lol>l>y  of  the  House  last  night 
on  purpose  to  hear  what  the  fellows 
were  saying  who  prowl  about  there 
pushing  what  my  wretched  tailor 
would  call  'a  little  hill'  through 
committee.  It  is  becoming  a  sort 
of  '  ring,'  and  the  favourites  la.st 
night  were  light  Cosmopolitans." 

"  What  on  earth  are  they  as  dis- 
tinguished from  heavy  ("  1  asked. 

".Jones,  show  his  Lordship  the 
stock-list,1'  said  Spiffy,  with  a  swag- 
ger. 

The  investigation  of  the  ''list" 
completely  bewildered  me.  Why 
a  .£'1(1  share  should  he  worth  -£'!!), 
and  a  .£100  share  worth  X'D'J,  los..  in 
the  same  company,  was  not  evident 
on  the  face  of  the  document  before 
me,  so  1  looked  into  Spiffy's. 

"  I'u/./.ling,  isn't  it  t"  said  Spiffy. 

"Very,"  [replied.  "Now  tell  me," 
and  I  turned  innocently  towards 
Mr  Jones,  for  Spiffy's  expression 
was  secretive  and  mysterious — "ex- 
plain to  me  how  it  is  that  a  share 
upon  which  only  ,£ln  has  been  paid, 
should  be  so  much  more  valuable 
than  one  which  has  been  fully  paid 
up." 

"Ask  the  syndicate."  said  Jones, 
looking  at .Spiffy  in  a  significant  way. 

I  felt  quite  startled,  for  1  expect- 
ed to  see  a  group  of  foreigners  com- 
posing this  institution  walk  into 
the  room  ;  it  was  not  until  I  had 
looked  again  to  Spitfy  for  infor- 
mation, and  was  met  by  the  single 
open  eye  of  that  gentleman,  that  I 
drew  an  inference  and  a  very  long 
breath. 

"  Spiffy,"  I  said,  "  I  am  getting 
stifled — the  moral  atmosphere  of 
this  place  is  tainted  ;  take  me  to 
the  sweetest  board-room  in  the 
neighbourhood — I  want  to  speak  to 
you  on  private  business." 

''  Haven't  time,"  said  Spilfy, 
looking  at  his  watch. 

"  Not  to  settle  Lady  Broadbrim's 
little  affair,"  said  I,  in  a  whisper. 

Spiffy  got  uncommonly  pale,  but 
recovered  himself  in  a  second.  "All 
right,  old  fellow,"  and  he  poured  a 
few  hurried  words  in  an  incompre- 


hensible dialect  into  Jone*'*  ear, 
and  led  the  way  to  the  Suburban 
\N  ashing  ground  Company's  board- 
room, which  was  the  most  minute 
apartment  of  the  kind  I  had  c\xr 
seen. 

I  shall  not  enter  into  the  par- 
ticulars of  what  pa.ssed  between 
Spiffy  and  myself  on  this  occasion. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  so  dry  that 
it  would  bore  you  ;  in  the  .second 
place,  it  was  so  complicated,  and 
Spiffy's  explanations  seemed  to 
complicate  it  so  much  the  more, 
that  1  could  not  make  it  clear  to 
you  if  1  wished  ;  and  in  the  last, 
1  do  not  feel  justified  in  divulging 
all  Lady  Broadbrim's  money  diffi- 
culties and  private  crises.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  that  in  the  course  of  our 
conversation  Spiffy  was  obliged  to 
confide  to  me  many  curious  facts 
connected  with  his  own  line  of  life, 
and  more  especially  with  the  pecu- 
liar functions  which  he  exercised 
in  his  capacity  of  a  "  syndic," 
under  the  seal  of  solemn  secrecy. 
"Without  the  hold  over  him  which 
this  little  insight  into  his  transac- 
tions has  xiven  me,  I  should  not  be 
able  to  report  so  much  of  our  con- 
versation as  I  have.  Nevertheless, 
1  thought  it  right  to  tell  him  how 
much  of  it  he  would  shortly  see  in 
print. 

"(iracious,  I' rank,"  said  Spiffy, 
petrified  with  alarm,  "you  don't 
mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  pub- 
lish all  1  told  you  about  the  (Jorgon 
Tompkins  and  the  Bodwiuklea  / 
how  am  I  ever  to  keep  them  going 
if  you  do  }  besides  there  are  a  num- 
ber of  other  fellows  in  the  same 
line  as  1  am.  .lust  conceive  the 
injury  you  will  inflict  upon  society 
generally — nobody  will  thank  you. 
The  rich  'middles'  who  are  looking 
forward  to  this  kind  of  advance- 
ment will  be  furious  ;  all  of  us 
'promoters'  will  hate  you,  and  '/</ 
haute'  will  probably  cut  you.  Why 
can't  you  keep  quiet  instead  of  try- 
ing to  get  yourself  and  everybody 
else  into  hot  water  (" 

"Spiffy,"  said  1,  solemnly,  "when 
I  devoted  myself  to  'mission  work,' 
as  they  call  it  in  Exeter  Hall,  I 


624 


Piccadilly. — Part  III. 


[Mcay, 


counted  the  cost,  as  you  will  see  on 
referring  back  to  my  first  article. 
I  am  still  only  at  the  beginning.  I 
have  a  long  and  heavy  task  before 
me ;  but  my  only  excuse  for  re- 
maining in  society  is  that  I  am 
labouring  for  its  regeneration." 

"  You  won't  remain  in  it  long," 
said  Spiffy,  "if  you  carry  on  in 
your  present  line.  What  do  you 
want  to  do  1  Eradicate  snobbism 
from  the  British  breast  ? — never  ! 
we  should  all,  from  the  highest  to 
the  lowest,  perish  of  inanition  with- 
out it." 

"Society,"  said  I,  becoming  meta- 
phorical, "  is  like  a  fluid  which  is 
pervaded  by  that  ingredient  which 
you  call  '  snobbism,'  the  peculiarity 
of  which  is  that  you  find  it  in  equal 
perfection  when  it  sinks  to  the 
bottom  and  becomes  dregs,  and 
when  it  rises  to  the  surface  and 
becomes  creme — though  of  course 
it  undergoes  some  curious  chemical 
changes,  according  to  its  position. 
However,  that  is  only  one  of  the 
elements  which  pollute  what  should 
be  a  transparent  fluid.  I  am  sub- 
jecting it  just  now  to  a  most  minute 
and  careful  analysis,  and  I  feel  sure 
I  shall  succeed  in  obtaining  an  in- 
teresting '  precipitate.'  I  do  most 
earnestly  trust  both  you  and  the 
world  at  large  will  profit  by  my  ex- 
periments." 

"Frank,  you  are  a  lunatic,"  said 
Spiffy,  with  a  yawn,  for  I  was  be- 
ginning to  bore  him.  "  I  suppose  I 
can't  help  your  publishing  what  you 
like,  only  you  will  do  yourself  more 
harm  than  me.  Let  me  know  when 
society  has  'precipitated'  you  out 
of  it,  and  I  will  come  and  see  you. 
Nobody  else  will.  Good-bye  !  " 

"  He  calls  me  a  lunatic,"  I  mur- 
mured, as  I  went  down-stairs — "  I 
thought  that  I  should  be  most  likely 
to  hear  the  truth  by  applying  to  the 
Honourable  Spiffington." 

The  same  reasons  which  have 
compelled  me  to  maintain  a  certain 
reserve  in  narrating  my  conversa- 
tion with  this  gentleman  prevent 
me  fully  describing  the  steps  which 
I  am  at  present  taking  to  arrange 
Lady  Broadbrim's  affairs,  and  which 


will  occupy  me  during  the  Easter 
recess.  Now,  thank  goodness,  I 
think  I  see  my  way  to  preventing 
the  grand  crash  which  she  feared, 
but  I  decline  to  state  the  amount 
of  my  own  fortune  which  will  be 
sacrificed  in  the  operation.  The 
great  inconvenience  of  the  whole 
proceeding  is  the  secrecy  which  it 
necessarily  involves.  Grandon  is 
under  the  impression  that  I  am 
gambling  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
and  is  miserable  in  consequence, 
because  he  fancies  I  add  to  that 
sin  the  more  serious  one  of  deny- 
ing it.  Lady  Ursula,  whom  I  have 
avoided  seeing  alone,  but  who 
knows  that  I  am  constantly  plot- 
ting in  secret  with  her  mother,  is 
no  doubt  beginning  to  think  that  I 
am  wicked  as  well  as  mad,  and  is 
evidently  divided  between  the  sac- 
red obligation  of  keeping  the  secret 
of  my  insanity,  and  her  dread  lest 
in  some  way  or  other  her  mother 
should  be  the  victim  of  it.  Lady 
Bridget  is  unmistakably  afraid  of 
me.  The  other  day,  when  I  went 
into  the  drawing-room  and  found 
her  alone,  she  turned  as  pale  as  a 
sheet,  jumped  up,  stammered  out 
something  about  going  to  find 
mamma,  and  rushed  out  of  the 
room.  Did  I  not  believe  in  Ursula 
as  in  my  own  existence,  I  could 
almost  fancy  she  had  betrayed  me. 
Then  there  is  Broadbrim.  He  is 
utterly  puzzled.  He  knows  that  I 
am  come  to  pull  the  family  out  of 
the  mess,  and  put  his  own  cherished 
little  person  into  a  financially  sound 
condition ;  and  he  is  equally  well 
assured  that  I  would  not  make  this 
sacrifice  without  feeling  certain  of 
marrying  his  sister.  But,  in  the 
first  place,  that  any  man  should 
sacrifice  anything,  either  for  his 
sister  or  any  other  woman,  is  a  mys- 
tery to  Broadbrim ;  and,  in  the 
second,  I  strongly  suspect  that  Ur- 
sula has  said  something  which  m  akes 
him  very  doubtful  whether  she  is 
engaged  to  me  or  not.  Poor  girl !  I 
feel  for  her.  '\\ras  ever  a  daughter 
and  sister  before  placed  in  the  em- 
barrassing position  of  leaving  her 
own  mother  and  brother  in  the  de- 


1865.] 


To  a  Larl: 


lusion  that  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  man  who  had  never 
breathed  to  her  the  subject  of  his 
love,  much  le.s,s  of  matrimony  f  Then 
SpiHYand  Lady  Hroadbrim's  lawyer 
both  luok  upon  the  marriage  as  set- 
tled :  how  else  can  they  am  unit  fur 
the  trouble  I  am  taking,  and  the 
liberality  I  am  displaying  /  There 
is  something  mysterious,  moreover, 
in  the  terms  upon  which  I  am  in 
the  house.  Lady  Broadbrim  is  be- 
ginning to  think  it  unnatural  that 
1  should  not  care  tu  see  inure  of 
Ursula;  and  whenever  sin-  is  nut 
quite  absorbed  with  considering  her 
own  affairs,  is  making  the  arrange- 
ment known  among  mammas  by 
the  expression,  "bringing  the  young 
people  together" — a.s  it  any  young 
people  who  really  cared  to  be  to- 
gether, could  not  bring  themselves 
together  without  mamma  or  any- 
body else  interfering.  Fortunate- 
ly Lady  Broadbrim  is  so  much  mure 
taken  up  with  herown  .speculations 
than  with  either  her  daughter's  hap- 
piness or  mine,  that  1  am  always 
able  to  give  the  conversation  a  C'ity 
turn  when  she  broaches  the  delicate 


subject  of  Ursula.  How  Unwla 
manages  on  these  occasions  I  ran- 
not  conceive,  but  I  do  my  best  to 
prevent  Lady  Broadbrim  talking 
about  me  to  her,  as  1  always  say 
mysteriously,  that  if  she  does,  "  it 
will  >poil  everything" — an  al. inning 
phro.se,  which  produces  an  immedi- 
ate effect.  Still  it  is  quite  clear 
that  this  kind  of  thing  can't  con- 
tinue lung.  If  I  can  only  keep 
matter^  going  for  a  few  days  more, 
they  will  all  lie  nut  of  town  for 
Ka>ter.  and  that  will  give  me  time 
to  breathe.  As  it  is,  it  is  impossible 
to  shut  my  eyes  to  the  fact,  that  my 
best  friend  is  beginning  to  doubt 
me  —  that  the  girl  1  love  dreads 
me — and  that  the  rest  of  the  family, 
and  those  sufficiently  connected 
with  it  to  observe  my  proceedings, 
either  pity,  laugh  at,  or  despise  me. 
This,  however,  by  no  means  pre- 
vents their  using  their  utmost  en- 
deavours to  ruin  me.  That  is  the 
present  state  of  matters.  The  situa- 
tion cannot  remain  unchanged  dur- 
ing the  next  four  weeks.  Have 
I  your  sympathies,  dear  reader  I 
Do  you  \vi>h  me  well  out  of  it  i 


To    A    LA  UK, 


UN     IIKA.K1NO    "NT. 


l.AKl.Y     IN     KI.!!I;r  A  HY. 


1*1'  in  the  sky!  sweet  Lark!  up!  up! 

The  sun  Kilpatrick  hills  doth  brighten, 
The  care  draught  brimming  in  my  cup 

Thou  sweetenest,  and  my  heart  doth  lighten. 
Up.  and  thy  first  spring  lay  prolong; 
The  labour  ache  flies  from  thy  song. 

Up  higher  yet.  blithe  lark  !  no  eye 

On  earth  should  see  thine  eye's  joy-glisten  ; 

Hide  in  yon  blue  spot  of  the  sky, 
And  I'll  beneath  thee  sit  and  listen; 

For  it  thy  notes  but  reach  my  ear, 

Sweet  bird,  no  other  sound  I'll  hear. 

From  yonder  dreary  Mine  but  now 
Kmerging,  I  my  grief  wax  muttering; 

In  vain  the  sunshine  touched  my  brow, 
Till  from  the  grass  1  saw  thee  Muttering, 

And  heard  thy  "  Hail,  Spring!"  o'er  me  burst, 

Sweet  a.s  the  water-spring  to  thirst. 


626  To  a  Larl: 

I  foolishly  and  faithless  deemed 

These  Knowes  had  nought  my  heart  to  gladden ; 
And,  nursing  discontent,  but  dreamed 

Of  toil  and  trouble  in  Garscadden ; 
Till,  like  the  sun  a  cloud  dispelling, 
Thy  song  came  better  things  foretelling. 

What  was  it  called  thee  up  to  sing1? 

The  merle  and  thrush  thy  song  hear  mutely ; 
Yon  frozen  uplands  feel  no  Spring, 

The  winds  with  chilling  breath  salute  me. 
Say  wherefore  dost  thou  soar  so  proudly, 
And  trill  thy  ecstasy  so  loudly  ] 

Didst  thou  perceive  the  care-cloud  spread 

Upon  my  face,  and,  sympathising, 
Spring  from  the  bare  turf,  kindness-led, 

And  on  thy  angel-mission  rising, 
Above  me  circled  trilling,  trilling, 
My  heart  with  peace  and  gladness  filling  ] 

Or  wert  thou  only  love-inspired  ? 

Of  thine  own  pleasure  thinking  only1? 
Nor  saw  me  where  I,  vexed  and  tired, 

Among  the  Pit-wood  sat  so  lonely  1 
And  had  the  song,  so  sung  and  heard, 
A  sensual  source  alone,  dear  bird? 

JTis  said  thou  hast  no  joys  of  thought — 
That  raptureless  from  earth  thou  springest ; 

And,  thus  melodious  toiling,  nought 

For  sunshine  car'st,  and  aimless  singest ; 

And  art  at  most  a  feathered  creature — 

A  whistle  in  the  mouth  of  nature. 

No  matter;  thou  art  of  the  seers, 

To  whom  a  wondrous  foresight's  given ; 

And  when  to  men  no  sign  appears, 
Thou,  in  the  calendar  of  heaven, 

Spring's  advent  read'st,  and  with  weird  skill 

Her  foot-fall  not'st  upon  the  hill. 

And  whatsoever  else  thou  art, 

Where'er  celestial  sages  rank  thee, 
The  tribute  of  one  grateful  heart 

Thou  hast ;  with  all  my  soul  I  thank  thee. 
Where  no  sun  shines,  where  none  can  hear  thee, 
The  memory  of  thy  song  shall  cheer  me. 

DAVID  WINGATE. 


1865.] 


The  Xtitte  and  Protect  f>/  J'arrirt. 


r_7 


TIIK    STATK    AND    rKosITX  T   Or    I'AI.TIIS. 


ON  the  4th  of  April  1^:>!)  Lord 
Derby  delivered  in  the-  House  of 
Lords  as  suggestive  ft  speech  as  in 
times  comparatively  quiet  was  ever 
addressed  to  that  august  assembly. 
He  was  then  at  tin-  head  <>f  a  (  'onser- 
vative  Administration,  the  second 
which  in  the  course  of  >i\  years  he 
had  succeeded  in  forming.  It  had 
just  sustained  a  defeat  upon  a  vital 
question  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  the  alternative  submitted  to 
him  as  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury 
was,  either  to  earry  his  own  and 
his  colleagues'  resignation  to  the 
foot  of  the  Throne,  or  to  advise  her 
Majesty  to  dissolve  the  Parliament. 
After  well  considering  the  question, 
the  Cabinet  determined  that,  for 
the  sake  of  the  country  and  of  Par- 
liamentary government  in  the  ab- 
stract, it  would  be  best  to  dissolve. 
They  communicated  their  views  to 
the  Sovereign,  who  at  once  adopted 
them  ;  and  Lord  Derby  now  came 
down  to  state  to  his  brother  Peers, 
and  through  them  to  the  country. 
the  course  which  he  intended  to 
pursue,  and  his  reasons  for  pur- 
suing it. 

During  the  twelve  previous  years 
— in  the  interval,  that  is  to  say,  be- 
tween 1847  and  1859 — there  had 
been  no  Government,  properly  so 
called,  in  this  country,  but  a  suc- 
cession of  Administrations  holding 
place  rather  than  power,  one  after 
another,  on  mere  sufferance.  The 
great  party  which  it  had  taken  so 
many  years  to  consolidate,  one 
rash  act  of  its  leader  shivered  to 
pieces.  The  repeal  of  the  Corn- 
Laws,  at  Sir  Robert  Peel's  dicta- 
tion, came  upon  his  Conservative 
followers  like  a  repetition  of  the 
policy  of  1,^:2!) ;  and  the  same  nat- 
ural indignation  which  operated 
before  to  hurry  them  into  a  reck- 
less pursuit  of  vengeance,  drove 
them  again,  only  with  a  terrible 
accession  of  force,  to  follow  the 
same  course.  We  do  not  presume 


to  insinuate  that  any  other  proceed- 
ing was  under  the  circumstances 
po.-vsjl.le.  An  army  which  believes 
it.self  to  have  been  twice  betrayed 
by  its  general,  c.m  -candy  be  ex- 
pected to  tru>t  him  a  third  time; 
and  though  we  may  now  -ee,  look- 
ing to  all  that  followed,  h«.w  well  it 
Would  have  been  to  keep  lYcl  chain- 
ed where  lie  was.  and  to  guide  his 
future  policy  t'or  him,  it  is  idle  to 
argue  that  a  policy  so  Machiavellian 
might  have  suggested  it>«-]f,  or  could 
have  been  adopted  by  the  party  in 
1M7.  One  thing,  however,  as  we 
deplored  it  at  the  moment,  so\\e 
have  not  ceased  to  think  of  it  with 
regret  ever  >ince.  It  might  be 
becoming  as  Well  as  natural  to 
drive  Peel  out  of  otlice  ;  it  was  a 
great  mistake  to  do  so  upon  a 
question  when1  he  had  the  right 
on  his  side.  His  Ilegistration  of 
Arms  Uill,  if  good  in  itself,  could 
not  be  made  bad  because  he  pro- 
posed it.  The  House  of  Commons 
had  sanctioned  the  first  reading, 
the  Conservatives  to  a  man  voting 
for  it.  It  was  the  same  when  it 
came  to  a  second  reading,  yet  to  a 
man  the(  'onservatives voted  against 
it.  The  consequence  was,  that  Peel 
earned,  what  he  ill  deserved,  a  crown 
of  martyrdom  ;  ami  blind  anger, 
not  a  statesman  like  objection  to 
his  general  policy,  was,  with  some 
show  of  reason,  accepted  by  the  pub- 
lic as  the  cause  of  his  overthrow. 

Sir  Uobert  Peel  separated  him- 
self from  his  old  adherents  by  sud- 
denly adopting  a  policy,  which 
throughout  the  whole  of  his  po- 
litical career  he  had  resisted.  He 
received  in  return  the  empty  plau- 
dits of  Whigs  ;  but  when  the  time 
came  for  testifying  to  the  sincerity 
of  their  professions,  the  Whigs,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  tripped 
up  his  heels.  They  never  liked 
him,  even  when  playing  their  game; 
they  entertained  no  thought  of  keep- 
ing him  where  lie  was  for  the  sake 


628 


T/te  /State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


of  the  country.  For  four  years  he 
had  excluded  them  from  office,  and 
they  did  not  intend  to  sit  any  longer 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  House. 
Lord  John  Russell,  accordingly,  seiz- 
ed the  opportunity  of  the  Regis- 
tration of  Arms  Bill,  to  move  an 
amendment,  which,  with  the  help 
of  the  angry  Conservatives,  he  car- 
ried. Place  and  pay  thus  passed  to 
him  and  to  his  friends,  but  strength 
enough  to  carry  on  an  independent 
Government  was  nowhere. 

Lord  John  Russell  overthrew  Sir 
Robert  Peel's  Government,  and  took 
possession  of  Downing  Street  on 
the  plea  of  having  averted  from 
Ireland  a  great  political  injustice. 
He  had  not  been  many  weeks  in 
office  before  the  necessity  of  pass- 
ing a  bill,  as  stringent  as  that  which 
he  so  successfully  resisted,  became 
apparent  to  him.  He  proposed  such 
a  bill  with  consummate  effrontery, 
and,  in  spite  of  fierce  opposition 
from  his  own  people,  he  carried  it. 
This  was  playing  over  again,  though 
with  a  curious  change  of  dresses 
and  decorations,  the  game  of  1835. 
In  1835  he  had  carried  certain  re- 
solutions affecting  the  Irish  Church, 
which,  as  soon  as  Sir  Robert  Peel's 
Government  was  overthrown  by 
them,  he  abandoned.  He  now, 
being  in  office,  passed  a  measure 
which,  while  in  opposition  to  Sir 
Robert  Peel's  Government,  he  had 
successfully  resisted.  That  was  all, 
so  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned, 
but  it  was  not  all  in  its  effect  up- 
on Parliamentary  government  and 
Parliamentary  parties.  A  large 
section  of  those  to  whom  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  look  for  sup- 
port fell  off  from  them ;  and  though 
he  kept  his  place  long  enough  to  do 
a  good  deal  of  mischief,  he  kept  it 
uneasily. 

Lord  John  Russell's  Administra- 
tion lasted,  subject  to  many  checks 
and  one  collapse,  rather  more  than 
three  years.  It  owed  its  stability 
so  far,  not  to  any  strength  inherent 
in  itself,  far  less  to  the  preponder- 
ance of  pure  Whig  principles  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  but  to  the  dis- 


organised condition  of  the  Conserva- 
tives as  a  party,  and  to  the  attitude 
of  neutrality  taken  up  by  an  influ- 
ential section  of  it.  For  Peel  car- 
ried with  him  many  men  amiable 
in  private  life,  and  of  undoubted 
administrative  ability,  who,  having 
sacrificed  some  of  them  their  better 
convictions  to  a  sense  of  loyalty  to 
their  chief,  could  not  follow  any 
other  leader  so  long  as  he  lived. 
This  band,  more  powerful,  perhaps, 
on  account  of  the  estimation  in 
which  it  was  held  out  of  doors 
than  from  its  numbers,  or  even  its 
authority  in  the  House,  acted  like 
the  balance-wheel  in  the  machinery 
of  a  watch.  It  became  to  a  great 
extent  the  arbiter  of  all  disputes. 
Incapable  itself  of  undertaking 
office,  it  was  yet  strong  enough  to 
decide  with  whom  office  should 
rest,  and  over  and  over  again  it 
saved  Lord  John  Russell  not  less 
from  his  foes  than  from  his  friends. 

Peel's  death  came  upon  the  na- 
tion like  a  thunderbolt.  It  had 
the  immediate  effect  of  dividing  the 
little  band  which  called  itself  by 
his  name.  Some,  following  the 
dictates  of  patriotism  and  principle, 
returned  to  their  old  faith,  condon- 
ing the  offences  which,  in  the  first 
burst  of  their  anger,  the  Conserva- 
tives had  committed  against  their 
old  chief.  Others  wavered,  hesi- 
tated, played  fast  and  loose,  and 
ended  by  selling  themselves  to 
Whiggery  and  to  place.  Yet  there 
were  good  names  among  that  rene- 
gade body  too.  To  Lord  John 
Russell's  Administration  the  cala- 
mity which  thus  divided  the  neu- 
trals proved  disastrous  in  the  ex- 
treme. Without  Peel  and  his 
adherents,  Lord  John  Russell  could 
do  nothing.  In  1850  his  majority 
went  from  him,  and  his  resignation 
was  tendered  and  accepted. 

Called  upon  thus  early  by  the 
Queen  to  support  her,  Lord  Derby 
made  his  first  attempt  to  construct 
a  Conservative  Administration. 
How  the  attempt  failed,  we  need 
not  stop  to  particularise.  It  is 
difficult  for  men  long  accustomed 


1865.] 


Thf  Xfatf  and  Pr^i>fct  <>/  Parties. 


02!) 


to  act  with  statesmen  trained  to  the 
details  of  official  life  to  understand 
that  in  such  details  there  is  really 
no  mystery  ;  that  whatever  seems 
to  the  uninitiated  to  bo  obscure, 
soon  becomes  clear  enough  on 
closer  inspection;  and  that  whatever 
is  really  intricate  because  of  its 
technicality  may  be  safely  left  to 
the  permanent  members  of  what  is 
called  the  civil  service  ;  than  whom, 
with  rare  exceptions,  there  does  not 
exist  in  any  country  a  more  intelli- 
gent and  trustworthy  body  of  gen- 
tlemen. Lord  Derby  was  not,  how- 
ever, alive  to  that  fact,  and  failing 
to  conciliate  certain  old  colleagues, 
of  whom  lie  entertained  an  exagge- 
rated opinion,  he  abandoned  the 
attempt.  The  consequence  was 
that  Lord  John  resumed  the  func- 
tions of  government,  lie  resumed 
them,  however,  under  very  disad- 
vantageous circumstances.  He  felt 
himself  to  be  the  head  of  one 
section  of  the  Liberals,  and  of  one 
only.  Lord  Palmerston.  as  he  well 
knew,  was  the  head  of  another. 
There  cannot  be  two  kings  in 
Brentford.  Lord  Palmerston  was 
summarily  dismissed  from  the  Fo- 
reign Oth'ce,  and  in  less  than  a  year 
the  Cabinet  broke  down.  Lord 
John  proposed  a  measure  for  en- 
rolling a  militia  force,  the  want  of 
which  had  been  long  felt  and  de- 
plored. Lord  Palmcrston  moved 
an  amendment  on  the  scheme, 
which,  with  the  help  of  the  Con- 
servatives, he  carried.  Once  more 
Lord  Derby  received  her  Majesty's 
command  to  form  an  Administra- 
tion, and,  seeking  on  this  occasion 
no  extraneous  help,  he  succeeded 
in  forming  it. 

I5ut  a  glance  at  the  state  of  par- 
ties sufficed  to  demonstrate  that, 
with  the  House  of  Commons  con- 
stituted as  it  then  was,  a  Conserva- 
tive Government  could  not  last  a 
single  day.  Though  superior  to 
Whigs  and  lladicals  and  waverers 
taken  separately,  the  Conservatives 
were  not  strong  enough  to  resist  a 
combination  formed  against  them, 
for  the  purpose  of  expelling  them 


from  office.  It  was  determined, 
therefore,  at  the  first  convenient 
opportunity,  to  dissolve  ;  and  the 
dissolution  took  place  in  the  autumn 
of  l^:>-2.  The  results  of  that  move- 
ment by  no  means  fulfilled  the 
hopes,  rather  than  the  expectations, 
which  had  been  founded  on  it. 
The  country,  it  was  clear,  h  id  n«.t 
yet  arrived  at  any  fixed  < •<>nrlu>ions 
respecting  the  principles  on  which 
it  desired  to  be  governed.  The 
gain  to  the  Conservatives  in  point 
of  numbers  proved  indeed  to  be 
considerable,  but  lor  that  very  rea- 
son the  hostility  of  the  rival  fac- 
tions was  embittered  fourfold. 
When  the  new  Parliament  met.  it 
was  easy  to  see  that,  balanced 
against  all  the  other  parties,  the 
Ministers  were  still  in  a  minority. 
It  was  manifest,  likewise,  from  the 
outset,  that  no  measure  of  forbear- 
ance would  be  meted  out  to  them. 
An  amendment  on  the  Address,  in 
answer  to  the  (Queen's  Speech,  was 
moved  and  carried.  \\lierciipoii, 
without  having  had  an  opportunity 
of  explaining  their  views,  far  less  of 
developing  their  policy.  Ministers 
had  nothing  for  it  except  to  resign. 
These  repeated  failures  of  the  two 
historic  parties,  and  the  apparent 
impossibility  on  both  sides  of  suffi- 
ciently recruiting  their  strength, 
suggested  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary delusions  which  in  the  last 
forty  years  has  darkened  the  Kng- 
lish  mind.  It  was  believed  that  if 
an  Administration  could  be  formed, 
such  as  should  comprehend  moder- 
ate men,  as  they  were  called,  of  all 
shades  of  political  opinion.  Parlia- 
ment might  be  got  in  time  to  do 
its  work,  and  the  business  of  the 
country  be  carried  on.  \Vith  whom 
this  bright  idea  originated  has 
never  been  clearly  shown.  The 
Queen's  advisers,  during  the  inter- 
regnum, were  the  late  !><>rd  Lans- 
downe  and  the  late  Lord  AU'rdeen  ; 
and  the  latter  magnate,  if  he  did 
not  suggest  the  scheme,  undertook 
to  act  upon  it.  He  was  himself  u 
Tory  so  far  as  foreign  politics  wero 
concerned.  He  had  held  the  seals 


G30 


The  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


of  the  Foreign  Office  under  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  and  culti- 
vated then,  as  he  had  done  before, 
and  was  understood  to  have  done 
since,  intimate  and  familiar  rela- 
tions with  the  Governments  of 
Russia  and  of  Prussia.  On  ques- 
tions of  home  policy,  and  particu- 
larly in  relation  to  free  trade,  he 
belonged  indeed  to  the  liberal 
school ;  but  on  Church  questions  his 
opinions  were  known  to  be  fixed. 
Having  assented  to  the  repeal  of 
the  Test  and  Corporation  Acts,  and 
to  Catholic  Emancipation,  he  was 
not  disposed  to  go  farther.  As  a 
Tory,  therefore,  representing  Tory- 
ism in  the  state  to  which  the  Duke 
and  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  brought 
it,  Lord  Aberdeen  undertook  to 
form  a  Government.  He  made  no 
advances,  as  far  as  we  have  ever 
heard,  to  Lord  Derby,  or  to  any 
member  of  his  late  Administration. 
They  and  their  supporters  in  both 
Houses  of  Parliament  seem  to  have 
been  regarded  as  incorrigibles.  But 
to  every  other  political  section  he 
held  out  the  hand  of  friendship. 
The  results  were  as  follows  : — From 
among  the  Whigs  place  was  given 
to  Earl  Granville,  Lord  John  Rus- 
sell, the  Duke  of  Argyle,  and  Sir 
Charles  Grey.  Lord  Palmerston, 
at  that  time  apparently  without 
any  political  connections,  was 
placed  in  the  Home  Office.  To 
Lord  Lansdowne  a  seat  in  the 
Cabinet  was  given,  unencumbered 
with  the  charge  of  any  department 
of  state.  The  Peelites  contributed 
three  of  their  number  to  this  mot- 
ley Administration.  The  Duke  of 
Newcastle  became  Colonial  Secre- 
tary, Sir  James  Graham  First  Lord 
of  the  Admiralty,  and  Mr  Sidney 
Herbert  Secretary-at-War.  From 
among  the  Radicals  only  one  man 
was  found  worthy  to  be  admitted 
within  the  charmed  circle.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Molesworth,  as  thorough  an 
aristocrat  as  ever  made  profession 
of  democratic  opinions,  took  office 
as  First  Commissioner  of  the  Board 
of  Works ;  and  the  vessel  of  the 
State,  so  manned,  put  to  sea. 


The  vessel  held  its  course  toler- 
ably well  as  long  as  fair  weather 
lasted  ;  but  at  the  first  occurrence 
of  an  adverse  breeze  it  reeled  and 
laboured.  Drifting  into  war,  the 
Cabinet  drifted  also  into  difficul- 
ties, and  the  rope  of  sand  which 
kept  its  antagonistic  parts  together 
soon  gave  way.  The  first  to  leave 
the  sinking  ship  was,  of  course, 
Lord  John  Russell.  How  could  it 
be  otherwise  ?  It  was  impossible  for 
the  representative  of  one  of  the 
great  Revolution  Houses,  a  Whig  of 
the  Whigs,  and  the  author  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  to  play  for  any  length 
of  time  a  subordinate  part  to  an  old 
Tory  ;  and  being  dissatisfied  with 
the  position  which  he  held,  it  would 
have  been  contrary  to  nature  had 
he  allowed  considerations  of  loyalty 
to  his  colleagues,  or  any  thought  of 
what  the  commonwealth  required, 
to  stand  between  him  and  the  in- 
dulgence of  his  own  humours.  He 
withdrew  from  the  Administration, 
and  its  continued  existence  became 
thenceforth  a  question  of  time.  Mr 
Roebuck's  successful  motion  for 
inquiry  into  the  management  of 
the  Crimean  war  settled  that 
question,  and  the  Coalition  Cabinet 
resigned  in  a  body. 

Once  more  there  was  chaos ;  and 
once  more  Lord  Derby  received 
her  Majesty's  commands  to  help 
her  out  of  her  difficulties.  What 
an  opportunity  was  presented  to 
him  then  !  How  sadly  he  missed 
it  !  No  doubt  Lord  Palmerston 
behaved  upon  the  occasion  in 
a  manner  which  we  would  rather 
be  excused  from  particularising. 
Mr  Gladstone  and  Mr  Sidney 
Herbert  likewise  outraged  their 
better  principles  when  they  allowed 
themselves  to  be  swayed  by  the 
advice  of  the  present  Premier.  But 
how  came  Lord  Derby,  with  his 
knowledge  of  character,  to  make 
his  advances  to  these  two  followers 
of  Peel  through  one  whom  Peel 
entirely  distrusted?  The  popular 
prejudice  in  Lord  Palmerston's 
favour,  which  by-and-by  carried  all 
before  it,  can  hardly  be  said  to 


1865.] 


7V«- 


a»'l 


o    l\irlits. 


c;:n 


liavc  had  at  that  time  any  existence. 
Newspapers  might  point  to  him 
as  the  first  statesman  able  to 
get  the  c«>untry  out  of  its  diflicul- 
ties,  but  newspapers  scarcely  as  yet 
spoke  the  opinions  of  the  public, 
and  they  contradicted  the  views  of 
persons  possessing  better  sources  of 
information  than  themselves.  ( >n 
another  point  likewise  Lord  Derby 
seems  to  have  deceived  himself. 
lie  imagined  that  between  Lord 
I'almerston  and  the  Whig  section 
of  the  late  Cabinet  a  great  gulf 
was  fixed  ;  and  that  if  he,  with  Mr 
Gladstone  and  .Mr  Sidney  Herbert, 
could  be  induced  to  take  otHee  un- 
der a  Conservative  leader,  a  bright- 
er era  than  had  dawned  upon  the 
country  since  the  great  breach  of 
184G  might  be  inaugurated.  So 
persuading  himself,  he  made  a  con- 
fidant in  an  evil  hour  of  one  who 
immediately  betrayed  him.  The 
results  are  well  known.  ( )n  Lord 
Derby's  relinquishing  the  powers 
which  had  been  intrusted  to  him, 
Lord  Palmerston  undertook  to  form 
an  Administration.  The  two  states- 
men who,  by  his  advice,  refused 
to  connect  themselves  with  Lord 
Derby,  consented  to  become  mem- 
bers of  that  Administration.  They 
had  not  taken  their  seats  in  the 
Cabinet  many  days  ere  they  found 
reasons  to  withdraw  from  it  again. 
Yet  the  Administration  stood.  It 
stood  because  circumstances  en- 
tirely beyond  control,  entirely 
unexpected,  and,  as  the  event  has 
shown,  not  very  fortunate,  did  for 
Lord  I'almerston  what  he  never 
could  have  done  for  himself.  A 
peace  with  Russia  was  patched  up 
through  the  intrigues  of  France,  at 
the  very  time  when  Kngland  was 
just  gathering  her  strength  for  the 
war  ;  and  he  who,  a.s  Home  Secre- 
tary, had,  by  neglecting  to  call  out 
the  militia  in  time,  contributed 
more  than  any  man  living  to  the 
disasters  which  befel  the  British 
army  in  the  Crimea,  was  hailed  as 
the  great  pacificator  of  Kurope  ;  as 
the  statesman  who,  by  the  wisdom 
of  his  counsels,  had  more  than  com- 


pensated for  the  tarnish  whirh  was 
admitted  to  h.tve  fallen  on  the  h-.u- 
our  of  his  country  in  arm-;. 

This  false  cry — and  altogether 
false  it  was — gave  to  Lord  Palnier- 
ston  that  prestige  which  his  unparal- 
leled adroitness  has  enabled  him 
ever  since  to  retain.  I'ojml.iras  h" 
had  become,  hoWrVer-  per-i.nailv 
popular,  we  mean  —  evidence  was 

Soon  afforded  thateVell  he  larkrd  111- 

lluence  enough  to  carry  Parliament 
with  him  exeept  upon  it->  own 
terms.  Tidings  of  Sir  John  \\-iw- 
ring's  quarrel  with  tin-  ('liine.se 
reached  London.  Lord  I'almerston, 
with  that  fidelity  t>>  his  agent, 
which,  by  the  by,  is  one  of  his  re- 
deeming virtues  supported  Sir  .Inlm 
I'.owring.  The  House  of  Commons, 
and  especially  the  Radical  portion 
of  it,  took  a  different  view  of  the 
subject  ;  and,  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  that  neither 
through  him  nor  through  anybody 
else  were  they  disposed  to  put 
confidence  in  the  executive,  they 
immediately  struck  out.  Mr  Cob- 
den  proposed  a  vote  of  censure  on 
the  Government  for  needlessly  in- 
volving the  country  in  fresh  war-; 
and  the  Government,  after  a  spirit- 
ed debate,  was  left  in  a  min- 
ority. 

So  far  from  being  disheartened 
by  this  defeat.  Lord  I'almerston 
saw  in  it  the  best  chance  that  was 
likely  to  fall  to  him  of  establishing 
over  the  House  of  Commons  the 
same  ascendancy  which  he  had 
established  over  the  newspaper 
press.  He  gave  the  word,  and  a 
cry  was  raised  that  the  great 
pacificator  w;ts  an  ill-used  man  ; 
that  a  discontented  Parliament, 
jealous  of  his  renown,  stood  be- 
tween him  and  the  vindication  of 
the  national  honour;  and  that  the 
point  to  be  determined  at  the 
hustings  was,  whether  Lord  Pal- 
merston should  be  supported  or 
"the  meteor  flag  of  Kngland" 
lowered  at  the  bidding  of  a  bar- 
barian I  The  cry  was  eminently 
successful.  Such  a  Parliament  was 
returned  as  in  the  memory  of  liv- 


632 


The  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


ing  man  had  never  before  come 
together.  Not  even  Pitt's  popu- 
larity in  1784  equalled  that  of  Pal- 
merston  in  1857.  For  Palmerston 
was  verily  England,  and  England 
was  verily  Palmerston. 

At  last,  then,  there  appeared  to 
be  some  prospect  of  a  Government 
which  should  be  able  to  depend 
upon  its  own  party,  and  to  take  its 
own  course.  It  might  not  be  in 
the  estimation  of  many  the  very 
best  Government  which  could  have 
been  formed;  but  anything  was 
better  than  constant  change,  any- 
thing preferable  to  a  state  of  things 
which  left  no  man  free  to  adopt 
the  policy  which  he  believed  to  be 
best  for  the  country,  and  to  pursue 
it  steadily.  Factions,  when  kept 
under  for  any  length  of  time, 
change  in  some  degree  their  char- 
acter ;  and  governments  which  are 
fairly  honest  and  honestly  brave, 
gain  strength  the  longer  they  re- 
main in  office.  Alas  !  all  this  was 
the  merest  delusion.  There  was 
really  no  party  at  Lord  Palmer- 
ston's  back  strong  enough  to  carry 
him  through  a  crisis,  should  it 
come ;  and  come  it  did,  within  a 
few  months  after  the  new  Parlia- 
ment set  itself  to  business.  The 
Orsini  plot  horrified  Europe.  The 
French  army,  if  not  the  French 
nation,  lost  its  temper  and  its 
head.  Lord  Palmerston,  fresh  from 
bullying  China  and  Persia,  became 
suddenly  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
moral  right,  and  in  a  manner  less 
dignified  than  earnest  proposed  on 
the  demand  of  the  French  Minis- 
ter to  alter  that  law  of  equal  hospi- 
tality to  strangers  which  had  from 
time  out  of  mind  been  the  boast  of 
this  country.  We  conscientiously 
believe  that,  but  for  the  jealousies 
of  factions,  he  would  have  carried 
his  measure,  inopportune  as  it  was. 
The  law  of  hospitality  had  in  the 
Orsini  case  been  grossly  abused, 
and  it  was  fitting  that  steps  should 
be  taken  to  render  such  another 
outrage  impossible.  But  here  was 
an  opportunity  which  the  factions 
could  not  allow  to  escape  them  of 


convincing  Lord  Palmerston  that, 
however  popular  he  might  be  in 
the  country,  he  was  in  Parliament 
at  their  mercy.  Mr  Milner  Gibson, 
sitting  on  the  Ministerial  side  of 
the  House,  moved  an  amendment 
at  the  second  reading  of  the  "  Con- 
spiracy to  Murder"  bill.  He  was 
supported  by  Mr  Gladstone,  at  that 
time  in  bitter  hostility  to  the  Gov- 
ernment, and  a  majority  of  nine- 
teen against  him  left  the  defeated 
Premier  no  option  except  to  re- 
sign. 

It  was  under  such  circumstances 
that  Lord  Derby  found  himself  for 
the  third  time  called  upon,  and 
indeed  morally  constrained,  to  un- 
dertake the  responsibilities  of  of- 
fice. Again  he  offered  the  hand  of 
reconciliation  to  the  Peelites,  with 
whom  he  would  have  willingly 
joined  the  administrative  talent  of 
Earl  Grey,  and  again  they  declined 
his  proposal.  He  had  no  choice, 
therefore,  except  to  fall  back  upon 
his  colleagues  of  1852,  of  whom,  to 
their  honour  be  it  remembered, 
there  was  not  one — not  even  Mr 
Disraeli  himself  —  but  was  pre- 
pared to  postpone  his  own  claims, 
provided,  by  making  that  sacrifice, 
he  could  contribute  to  secure  a 
stable  Administration  for  the 
country. 

Lord  Derby  constructed  his  Cab- 
inet, and  in  a  spirit  not  very  hope- 
ful, certainly,  but  bravely  and 
honestly  took  steps  to  submit  his 
measures,  present  and  prospective, 
to  a  House  of  Commons  in  which 
it  was  next  to  impossible  that  he 
should  command  a  majority.  He 
found  himself  hampered  by  a  pro- 
mise given  in  the  Queen's  Speech 
that  the  question  of  Parliamentary 
Reform  should  be  considered  ;  and, 
wisely  or  unwisely,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  grapple  with  that  difficulty  at 
once.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  the 
Conservatives  did  try  to  settle  that 
point.  It  had  been  made  use  of  so 
often,  in  and  out  of  Parliament — 
sometimes  as  a  means  of  annoy- 
ance to  the  Government,  some- 
times by  the  Government,  with  a 


i  ><;:>. 


7Vw  State  and  Protect  t>/  I'artiet. 


C3.J 


view  to  conciliate  adverse  votes — 
that  statesmen  as  yet  comparatively 
untried  may  well  be  pardoned  for 
having  embraced  the  opportunity 

made  for  them — not  by  them — to 
convince,  if  they  could,  both  the 
House  and  the  people  out  of  doors, 
that  they  were  not  the  obstructives 
which  their  enemies  represented 
them  to  be.  They  brought  in  a 
Keform  Hill,  and  were  beaten. 
What  were  they  to  do  after  that  I 
If  they  resigned,  who  could  take 
their  places  /  Not  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  for  his  own  House  of  (.'om- 
inous had  rejected  him  ;  not  Lord 
John  litissell,  for  the  House  was 
Lord  Falmerston's,  not  his ;  not 
the  Peelites,  for  their  following 
was  down  at  zero  ;  not  the  lladi- 
cals,  for  they  were  in  numbers  far 
inferior  to  either  Whigs  or  Tories. 
Keep  the  House  as  it  was,  how- 
ever, and  the  only  sure  prospect 
would  be  a  continuance  of  that 
state  of  things  which  had  already 
shaken,  and  must,  if  persevered 
in,  put  an  end  to,  all  confidence  in 
the  constitution.  Ministers  would 
therefore  dissolve  ;  and  that  their 
object  in  so  doing  might  not  be 
misunderstood,  their  eloquent  chief 
delivered  a  manifesto,  of  which  the 
moral  may  be  said  to  be  expressed 
in  the  following  sentences  : — 

"  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the 
days  of  Parliamentary  government 
have  come  to  an  end.  If  by  that 
is  meant  that  the  days  are  gone  by 
when  the  House  of  Commons  was 
divided  into  two  distinct  parties, 
within  each  of  which  the  leaders 
exercised  an  undisputed  and  uncon- 
trolled power  over  their  followers, 
commanding  their  votes  and  exer- 
cising a  species  of  Parliamentary 
discipline,  then  I  admit  those  days 
are  gone,  and  are  not  likely  to 
return.  Hut,  my  Lords,  if  it  is 
meant  that  henceforth  no  Govern- 
ment can  hope  for  support,  not  on 
individual  questions,  on  which  ex- 
ceptions may  occur,  but  that  no 
Government  will  be  able  hereafter 
to  obtain  a  permanent  majority  in 
the  House  of  Commons  strong 


enough  to  keep  it  from  being  over- 
borne by  other  conflicting  partie*. 
not  themselves  bound  by  any 
common  tie,  each  having  its  own 
leader  and  its  own  projects, — if  the 
House  of  Commons  is  to  be  divided 
into  a  number  of  little  parties,  none 
capable  of  exercising  a  permanent 
influence  in  the  affairs  of  the  coun- 
try, but  able,  collectively,  to  pre- 
vent the  measures  and  impede  the 
business  of  the  Ministry  which  has 
bi-di  formed  ; — if  in  that  sense  gov- 
ernment by  party  is  at  an  end, 
then  1  warn  your  Lordships  that 
the  system  of  government  by  Par- 
liament itself  will  have  received  a 
blow  from  which  it  may  not  easily 
recover.'' 

Lord  Derby's  manifesto,  though 
it  so  far  failed  that  a  Parliament 
was  returned  which  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  control,  cannot  be  said 
to  have  been  thrown  away  either 
upon  the  constituencies  or  the 
House  of  Commons.  There  was 
a  far  greater  display  of  Conserva- 
tive feeling  at  the  general  election 
of  lb,V.)  than  had  been  manifested 
on  any  similar  occasion  since  1M:.'; 
and  the  consequence  is,  that  the 
Government  which  alnio-t  imme- 
diately succeeded  that  of  Lord 
Derby  was  brought  under  the  in- 
lluence  of  Conservative  restraint  to 
an  extent  never  before  experienced 
by  a  Cabinet  set  up  for  the  avowed 
purpose  of  promoting  a  liberal 
policy.  Lord  Puluierston,  during 
six  years'  tenure  of  otfice,  h;is 
neither  brought  forward  a  Reform 
Hill  in  the  name  of  the  Govern- 
ment, nor  consented  to  disarm  the 
country.  When  the  Church  has 
been  assailed  in  its  rights  and  pro- 
perty, he  may  not  have  taken  any 
active  part  in  defending  it,  but  he 
has  left  his  followers  to  their  own 
devices,  knowing  perfectly  well  that 
there  was  strength  enough  on  the 
other  side  to  hinder  the  movement 
from  becoming  dangerous.  Kveii 
his  commercial  policy,  more  or  less 
Gladstonian  as  we  admit  it  to  be, 
has  not  been  without  an  element  of 
Conservatism  in  it.  At  all  events,  he 


C34 


The  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties* 


has  the  merit  of  having  kept  the 
machine  working  free  from  the  col- 
lapses which,  previously  to  his  last 
accession  to  power,  had  become 
events  of  almost  annual  occurrence. 
And  this,  we  must  be  permitted  to 
observe,  is  an  advantage  not  lightly 
to  be  spoken  of,  because  we  quite 
agree  with  Lord  Derby  in  thinking 
that  any  Government  which  is 
stable,  so  long  as  it  leaves  the  great 
institutions  of  the  country  intact, 
is  preferable  to  such  a  balance  of 
parties  as  has  given  us  not  fewer 
than  seven  distinct  Governments, 
besides  two  periods  of  anxious 
interregnum,  within  the  space  of 
little  more  than  twelve  years.  But 
then  arises  the  question,  How  long 
may  we  calculate  on  things  remain- 
ing in  their  present  state  ?  and  if, 
as  is  probable,  changes  must  soon 
come,  in  what  direction  may  we 
calciilate  that  the  current  of  public 
opinion  is  likely  to  fall  ?  We  will  en- 
deavour to  answer  these  questions. 
When  Lord  Palmerston  last  ac- 
ceded to  office  he  was  75  years  of 
age.  He  is  now  81.  With  ordi- 
nary men  75  years  are  enough  to 
unfit  them  for  the  wear  and  tear  of 
public  life.  Since  the  days  of  the 
deliverance  of  Israel  from  Egyptian 
bondage,  we  never  heard  till  now  of 
an  octogenarian  vigorous  enough  to 
conduct  the  affairs  of  a  great  na- 
tion. It  would  be  absurd  to  deny, 
likewise,  that  even  in  Lord  Palmer- 
ston, preternatural ly  hale  as  we 
admit  him  to  be,  symptoms  of  fail- 
ing strength  are  discernible.  Had 
he  been  what  he  once  was,  he  would 
not  have  tolerated  either  the  extra- 
Parliamentary  harangues  of  his 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  during 
last  autumn,  or  the  recent  speech  of 
that  incomprehensible  statesman  in 
the  House  of  Commons  on  the 
Irish  Church.  It  is  evident,  too, 
that  in  the  Cabinet  the  balance  of 
influences  has  changed  not  in  his 
favour.  This  is  the  necessary  con- 
sequence of  the  modifications  which, 
in  the  lapse  of  a  very  few  years, 
have  taken  place  in  its  component 
parts.  Death  has  removed  from 


it  in  that  interval  three  men, 
all  of  them  more  or  less  bound 
by  old  traditions  to  withstand  radi- 
cal changes  in  the  constitution. 
Sidney  Herbert,  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle, and  Sir  George  Cornewall 
Lewis  made  gaps  in  such  an  Ad- 
ministration as  that  of  Lord  Pal- 
merston which  could  not  be  easily 
supplied.  Sidney  Herbert's  great 
personal  popularity,  his  genial  man- 
ners, his  generous  disposition,  threw 
a  veil  no  doubt  over  political  de- 
fects, which  those  who  knew  him 
best,  best  understood^and  most  de- 
plored. His  personal  antipathies 
were  too  strong  for  his  political 
convictions — a  great  weakness  in  a 
statesman.  Still,  though  a  recent, 
and,  we  must  add,  an  unwilling  con- 
vert to  Whiggery,  Sidney  Herbert 
could  not  subside  into  Radicalism. 
In  the  Palmerston  Cabinet  he 
might  always  be  counted  upon  as 
giving  his  vote  against  measures 
which  endangered  the  great  insti- 
tutions of  the  country  ;  and  his 
administration  of  the  War  Office, 
though  liable  to  objection,  was, 
upon  the  whole,  vigorous  and  Avise. 
He  died  in  the  prime  of  his  days, 
and  the  Church  certainly — we  be- 
lieve the  State  likewise — lost  in  him 
a  faithful  andan  industrious  servant. 
Next  George  Cornewall  Lewis  was 
taken  away,  an  able,  honest,  clear- 
headed man,  neither  a  Whig  nor  a 
Radical  nor  a  Palmerstonian,  nor, 
by  profession  at  least,  a  Conserva- 
tive. He  was  a  political  philoso- 
pher, connected  rather  by  accident 
than  design  with  colleagues,  some 
of  whom  he  mistrusted,  others  he 
despised.  Sceptical  to  a  degree  on 
almost  every  other  point,  he  had 
unbounded  faith  in  the  excellency  of 
the  English  constitution,  to  which 
he  saw  greater  danger  from  the 
encroachments  of  the  democracy 
than  from  any  other  cause.  His 
voice  was  always  raised  in  Cabinet 
against  proposals  which  had  for 
their  object  the  transference  of  the 
burdens  of  the  State  to  one  class,  and 
the  surrender  of  its  political  influ- 
ences to  another.  He  was  likewise 


1805.] 


The  Statf  ami 


of  I'urtirt. 


a  great  luviT  of    peace.     We   have 
reason   to  believe  that  he,  and  he 
alone,  stood  between  us  and  a  nip 
tun-    \\ith    tlie    1'Yderal    States     of 
America  in  the  matter  of  the  Trent 
outrage  ;  and    that   he    carried  the 
Cabinet  with  him  by  the  mere  force 
of  reason,  which  he  brought  to  l»i  ar 
against  outraged  feeling.      How  t.ir 
liis  policy  was  a  wise  policy  as    re- 
gards the  interests  of  this  country 
and   of    the    world  time  has  yet  to 
show.      Hut  arguing  the  matter,  as 
he    did,   exclusively    from    a    legal 
point  of  view,  his  conclusions  were 
undeniably  sound.   There  was  room 
to  demand,  as  Lord  1'almerston  ditl, 
reparation  for  a  wrong  committed. 
There   was   no    room  for  an  appeal 
to  arms,  till  reparation  should  have 
been    formally  refused.      Lord   Pal- 
merston  might    indeed    have  gone 
further  than    he  did,  and  insisted 
upon  the  dismissal  from  the  Ameri- 
can   navy  of    Captain  Wilkes  ;   but 
this  latter  right   his  sagacious  col 
league  persuaded  him  to  waive,  and 
he  did  well  perhaps  in  so  advising. 
If  we  were  not  to  go  to  war.  and  to 
secure   by  so  doing   the  independ- 
ence  of  the   South,  we  acted  judi- 
ciously in   inflicting   upon  the  na- 
tional vanity  of  our  cousins  as  light 
a  wound  as  the  circumstance  would 
allow.      And   that  we  acted  thus  is 
due    entirely    to    the    influence    of 
George    Cornewall    Lewis     in     tin- 
Cabinet.       Hut    George  Cornewall 
Lewis  is  gone,  and  with   him  has 
departed      by     far    the     strongest 
Conservative  element  in  Lord  Pal- 
merston's   Administration.     While 
lie   lived,    his    excellent  sense  wa-s 
a    counterpoise    to    the  erratic  ge- 
nius of  the  Chancellor  of  the  Kx- 
chequer.      He  was  confessedly  the 
man  to  whom  the  old  Whig  party 
looked   as   the    successor    to    Lord 
1'almerston    when    inevitable    fate 
should   do    its  work.     And    if    we 
must  have,  after  Lord   Palmerston 
passes  away,  a  continuance  of  what 
is  called  Liberal  governments,  then 
we  are   free    to  confess  that  men 
of    the   calibre    of     George  Corne- 
wall  Lewis  are  the  sort  of   persons 
VOL.  xcvii. — NO.  D.xrv. 


whom  we  should  desire  to  see  at 
the  head  of  them.  Lewis  w.is  no 
Whig. 

In  the  I  hike  of  Newcastle,  even 
more  than  in  Sidney  Herbert,  though 
not,  perhaps,  so  much  a.s  in  Sir 
George  Cornewall  Lewis,  Lord  Pal- 
nier>ton  lo.it  a  colleague  who  could 
ill  be  spared.  The  Ihike  of  New- 
castle was  cursed  with  a  nio>t  un- 
happy temper,  and  was  himself 
ino-t  unhappy  in  all  hi-  domestic 
relations.  These  c  ire  urns  tan  CCH 
were  not  without  their  weight  in 
colouring  his  political  opinions. 
The  quarrel  with  his  father  threw 
him  into  the  arms  of  the  Liberals, 
and  he  acted  ever  after  with  a  party 
with  which  he  had  few  sentiments 
in  common.  Hut  he  acted  as  tin- 
drag  acts  upon  the  carriage  wheel 
in  descending  a  hill.  This  it  was 
which,  from  an  early  date,  from  his 
first  acceptance  of  otlice  in  the 
Coalition  Cabinet,  rendered  him  to 
the'  Whig  and  Radical  sections  in 
the  House  an  object  of  special  dis- 
like. He  was  made  the  scapegoat  at 
the  break-down  during  the  ( 'rimean 
war.  as  is  now  admitted  by  all  who 
are  conversant  with  the  circum- 
stances, very  unfairly.  And  even 
after  his  return  to  the  Colonial 
OHice.  both  Whigs  and  Radicals 
made  a  point  of  undervalu- 
ing him  to  the  utmost  of  their 
power.  Hut  he  too  is  gone,  and 
though  his  >uc<'es.sor  at  the  Colonial 
be  neither  Whig  nor  Kadical,  we 
very  much  doubt  whether  his  voice 
carries  with  it  anything  like  the 
weight  which  the  Duke's  did,  or  is 
always  lifted  for  the  same  purpose 
which  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  de- 
sired to  serve. 

Lord  Palmerston  lias  got  in  the 
room  of  these  three  men — all  of 
them  men  of  mark  ami  tried  abil- 
ity—  Karl  de  Grey  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  Mr  Card  well  and  Sir 
Charles  Wood  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Karl  de  Grey,  amiable 
and  respectable  in  private  life,  is 
not  a  man  to  bring  weight  to  any 
Government  or  to  any  party  which 
accepts  him  as  one  of  its  leaders. 
2  U 


The  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


Painstaking  and  assiduous,  lie  ap- 
pears to  lack  strength  of  character 
enough  to  control  even  his  own  office. 
In  the  Cabinet  and  in  the  House 
of  Lords  he  is  little  better  than  a 
cipher.  He  has  neither  natural 
talent,  nor  acquired  knowledge,  nor 
experience,  nor  the  gift  of  speech. 
We  should  imagine  that  he  is  felt 
to  be  an  incumbrance  rather  than 
a  gainj  by  Lord  Palrnerston,  a  dead 
weight  to  be  carried  rather  than 
a  strong  arm  willing  and  able  to 
help  in  sustaining  a  load.  In  the 
House  of  Commons  he  professed 
Radical  opinions.  What  his  opin- 
ions may  be  now,  few  people  seem 
to  know,  and  fewer  still  to  care. 
Mr  Cardwell  is  cast  in  a  different 
mould.  He  possesses  fair  abilities 
with  considerable  experience  of 
office.  He  speaks  well,  especially 
when  required  to  speak  against 
time,  though  it  must  be  confessed 
that  he  seldom  speaks  with  much 
authority.  Unfortunately,  likewise, 
he  has  lent  himself  to  one  or  two 
moves  which  were  discreditable  to 
his  party  when  in  opposition,  and 
this  has  done  him  no  good.  Still, 
take  him  in  all  his  bearings,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  he  is  an  acquisi- 
tion to  the  party  which  has  adopted 
him,  and  the  more  so  that  he  ap- 
pears to  be  free  from  those  strong 
personal  antipathies  which  told  so 
much  against  better  men  and  abler 
members  of  the  little  party  to 
which  he  properly  belongs. 

Sir  Charles  Wood  is  the  reverse 
of  all  this.  A  singularly  ungracious 
manner,  the  result  of  dyspepsia  or 
bad  temper,  or  both,  is  perpetually 
involving  him  in  small  squabbles,  not 
alone  with  members  of  Parliament 
sitting  on  the  Opposition  benches, 
but  with  his  own  supporters,  and 
with  every  one  who  approaches 
him  on  business.  His  Whig  con- 
nection has  placed  him  where  he 
is ;  whether  he  is  not  more  a  source 
of  weakness  than  of  strength  to  the 
Government  which  has  adopted 
him,  we  must  leave  the  members 
of  that  Government  to  say. 

It  thus  appears,  assuming  Lord 


Palrnerston  to  be,  what  many  both 
of  his  friends  and  enemies  believe 
that  he  is,  in  reality  a  Tory,  by 
profession  only  a  Liberal,  that  the 
support  which  enabled  him  to  keep 
the  even  tenor  of  his  way  has  gone 
from  him  at  a  time  of  life  when  he 
was  least  able  to  spare  it.  An  old 
man  of  eighty-one,  even  if  he  had 
Sidney  Herbert,  George  Cornewall 
Lewis,  and  the  Duke  of  Newcastle 
to  stand  by  him,  would  find  it  a 
hard  matter  enough  to  resist  the 
vehemence  of  Mr  Gladstone,  aided 
by  the  dogged  and  smiling  perse- 
verance of  Mr  Milner  Gibson  and 
Mr  Charles  Villiers.  Left  alone,  as 
it  is  pretty  well  understood  that  he 
now  is,  for  neither  Lord  de  Grey 
nor  Mr  Cardwell  can  be  of  much 
use  to  him,  it  seems  impossible 
that  he  should  escape  being  swept 
sooner  or  later  into  measures  of 
which  his  judgment  disapproves. 

We  have  spoken  of  Mr  Glad- 
stone and  his  vehemence,  and  of 
the  lengths  to  which  he  is  carried  by 
it.  Let  none  of  our  readers  fall  into 
the  common  error  of  supposing 
that  he  acts  now,  or  has  for  some 
time  past  been  acting,  on  the  mere 
impulse  of  the  moment.  Mr  Glad- 
stone watches  the  signs  of  the  times 
as  narrowly  as  any  man,  and  in  his 
own  way  is  both  able  and  willing 
to  shape  his  course  as  these  may 
direct.  He  has  shown  more  than 
once  that,  when  bent  on  a  particu- 
lar object,  there  is  no  power,  in  the 
Cabinet  at  least,  to  keep  him  from 
achieving  it.  In  the  repeal  of  the 
paper  duties  he  triumphed  quite  as 
signally  over  his  colleagues  in  of- 
fice as  over  the  Conservative  Oppo- 
sition. What  is  there  to  stop  him, 
when  Lord  Palrnerston  succumbs 
to  age  or  to  weariness,  from  com- 
pelling the  Liberal  party  to  accept 
him  as  its  chief  1  While  George 
Cornewall  Lewis  lived,  there  might 
have  been  considerable  difficulty  in 
accomplishing  that  object.  Some- 
how or  another  Liberals  of  all 
shades  of  opinion,  and  many  Con- 
servatives too,  entertained  a  high 
opinion  of  that  hesitating  speaker, 


1865.] 


Thf  Mitt?  nint 


that  erudite  scholar,  that  calm  and 
judicial  thinker.  The  \\  'higs  to  a 
niau  swore  by  him.  Hut  now  then: 
is  no  one  in  the  House  of  ( 'ominous, 
at  least — no  one,  we  mean,  on  the 
Liberal  benches — who  can  pretend 
for  a  moment  to  place  himself  in 
competition  with  the  eloquent  and 
irritable  Chancellor  of  the  Kx- 
cheqner. 

Knowing  this. and  measuring  very 
accurately  his  standing  in  other 
quarters,  Mr  Gladstone,  has  judged 
it  expedient  of  late  to  put  out  a 
feeler  in  the  direction  of  the  Un- 
man Catholic  hierarchy  in  Ireland. 

How  the  feeler  is  likely  to  lie 
taken,  the  coming  general  election 
will  doubtless  show.  If  the  priests 
believe  that  Mr  Gladstone  bides 
his  time,  and  is  ready,  at  the  fitting 
moment,  to  destroy  the  Established 
Church,  they  will  cert  tinly  do  their 
best  to  send  to  Parliament  Irish 
members  pledged  to  support  him  in 
that  work.  And  as  he  is  already  the 
accepted  head  of  the  Radicals  of 
England  and  Scotland,  he  may  fairly 
enough  calculate  on  being  able  to 
bear  down,  through  this  combina- 
tion of  forces,  such  resistance  as  the 
Whi^s  are  in  a  condition  to  oiler. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Whigs  are 
scarcely  prepared  to  accept  as  their 
leader  a  new  man.  however  highly 
gifted.  It  is  said  that  they  are 
arranging  to  bring  forward  either 
Lord  Russell  or  Lord  Clarendon  as 
Palmerston's  successor,  in  the  hope 
that  Mr  Gladstone  may  be  prevailed 
upon  to  accept  the  leadership  of  the 
House  of  Commons.  We  believe 
that  they  deceive  themselves  in 
trusting  to  that  hope.  Mr  Glad- 
stone  will  not  play  second  fiddle 
either  to  Lord  Russell  or  Lord 
Clarendon  ; — nor  can  either  Lord 
Russell  or  Lord  Clarendon  form  a 
Government  if  Mr  Gladstone  refuse 
to  become  a  member  of  it.  What 
follows  }  The  Whigs  will  give  way. 
Rather  than  see  the  Conservatives 
in  office,  they  will  accept  Mr  Glad- 
stone as  their  chief  ;  but  they  will 
accept  him  on  compulsion — and 
serve  him  without  the  slightest  cor- 


diality. There  will  follow  upon 
this,  individual  secessions,  <,ne  after 
another,  as  reasonable  pretexts  are 
afforded,  till,  by  and  by,  Mr  Glad- 
stone's Administration  will  be  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  choosing 
between  resignation  and  some 
desperate  attempt  to  keep  its  place 
at  the  exp'-nsc  of  thu  constitution. 

All  this,  be  it  ob-.-rv.-d.  we  antici- 
pate mi  the  calculation  tli  it  Ireland 
will  send  to  the  m-w  Parliament  a 
stronger  body  ,,f  I'ltramojitane 
members  than  it  now  -mds,  and 
that  the  K idical  party  in  England 
and  S  -otland  will  in  lintain  the 
position  which  it  now  hold-.  P>ut 
are  both  events  certain  !  We  think 
not. 

It  appears  to  us  that  Mr  ( II  id- 
stone's  threatened  hostility  to  the 
Established  Church  will  do  him 

quite  as  much  harm  as   g 1  at  the 

general  election  in  Ireland.  The 
1'i'oti  slants  of  that  country,  though 
numerically  weak,  are  in  intlu« •nee, 
.-tat  ion.  and  intrlli_'rn. •<•  far  superior 
to  the  Koiuan  ( 'atholics.  To  a  man, 
too,  tln-y  an-  loyal  to  the  I'liion 
with  England  —  the  Liberals  or 
Whigs  among  them  quite  as  much 
so  as  the  Tories.  And  I  ri-li  Whigs, 
not  less  than  I  rish  Tories,  know  that 
it  is  only  by  maintaining  the  Pro- 
testant Church  as  tin-  F.stablished 
Church  of  the  country  that  the 
I'nion  can  be  maintained.  We  ex- 
press ourselves  thus  not  adverting 
solely  to  the  fact  that  the  Act  of 
t'nion  distinctly  provides  for  this 
arrangement.  That  is,  indeed,  true, 
and  common  justice  requires  that 
before  you  violate  a  compact  solemn- 
ly entered  into,  as  this  was,  you 
should  replace  the  parties  to  it  in 
the  exact  situation  in  which  they 
stood  when  the  compact  was  entered 
into.  I  )o  this,  and  the  overthrow 
of  the  Established  Church  in  Ire- 
land becomes  impossible.  15ut 
apart  from  this,  there  is  the  con- 
sideration, that  when  the  Estab- 
lished Church  falls,  there  is  ab- 
solutely nothing  left,  the  value 
set  upon  which  can  induce  any 
Irishman,  be  his  creed  and  place  in 


638 


Tlie  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


society  what  it  may,  to  contend  for 
a  continuance  of  tlie  Union.  Con- 
sidered in  the  abstract,  Ireland  loses 
more  than  she  gains  by  the  fusion 
of  her  legislature  into  that  of 
Great  Britain.  Her  nobility  and 
gentry  are  drawn  away  by  that 
incident — some  by  their  duties, 
others  by  their  pleasures — from  the 
capital  of  their  own  country.  And 
say  what  we  will,  a  Parliament 
purely  Irish  is  more  likely  to  pass 
measures  suitable  to  the  wants  and 
wishes  of  Ireland,  than  one  which 
is  composed  of  four-fifths  English 
and  Scotch,  and  only  one-fifth  Irish 
members.  The  evils  incident  to 
the  existing  state  of  things  the  Irish 
landowners  are  willing  to  endure, 
because  they  look  to  the  tendency 
of  imperial  legislation  ;  and  are 
satisfied,  that  in  time — as  soon,  that 
is  to  say,  as  the  industrial  resources 
of  their  own  country  are  developed — - 
Ireland  will  benefit  by  the  triumph 
of  such  legislation.  But  pass  an  Act 
abolishing  the  Established  Church, 
and  as  they  will  have  no  farther 
excuse  for  setting  themselves  in 
opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the 
majority  of  their  countrymen,  they 
will  all  become  repealers  —  some 
through  indignation  at  the  outrage 
put  upon  their  principles,  and  others 
because  it  is  pleasanter  to  live  in 
amity  than  its  opposite  with  our 
neighbours.  For  these  and  other 
reasons,  it  is  a  matter  of  doubt  with 
us  whether  Mr  Gladstone  has  not 
damaged  himself,  and  the  Govern- 
ment in  Ireland,  by  his  recent  dis- 
play of  hostility  to  the  Irish  Church. 
If  the  priests  support,  the  property 
and  intelligence  of  the  country  will 
oppose  him.  Wherever  a  Protes- 
tant constituency  is  in  the  ascend- 
ant, it  will,  without  regard  to  min- 
or differences,  return  a  member 
pledged  to  defend  the  Church  ; 
and  every  Irish  member  pledged  to 
defend  the  Established  Church  of 
Ireland  will  fall  into  the  ranks  of 
Conservatism,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Our  deliberate  opinion,  therefore, 
is,  that  so  far  Mr  Gladstone  has 
shot  wide  of  his  mark.  Let  us  see 


next  how  the  Radical  party  stands, 
and  what  its  prospects  are  in  the 
future. 

The  Radicals  in  general,  and  Mr 
Gladstone  in  particular,  have  sus- 
tained an  irreparable  loss  in  the 
death  of  Mr  Cobden.  Amiable, 
gentle,  generous,  in  his  own  way, 
Richard  Cobden  won  many  hearts, 
often  when  men's  judgments  con- 
demned his  views,  and  his  manner 
of  advancing  them.  He  was  as 
thorough  a  democrat  as  Mr  Bright, 
without  any  of  Mr  Bright's  bluster 
and  bad  taste.  He  had  established 
for  himself  a  European  reputation, 
of  which  the  whole  Radical  body 
were  justly  proud ;  and  it  gave  him 
immense  weight,  both  in  the  House 
of  Commons  and  in  the  country. 
Mr  Cobden  had,  indeed,  shot  his 
bolt.  He  was  essentially  a  man  of 
one  idea,  and  that  idea  he  lived  to 
see  triumphant.  Take  him  apart 
from  the  subject  of  free  trade,  and 
you  found  that  there  was  really  no 
depth  in  him.  His  notions  of 
foreign  policy  were  childish  in  the 
extreme.  He  did  not  seem  to  know 
that  an  Established  Church  and  a 
hereditary  House  of  Lords  are  in- 
evitable ingredients  in  the  consti- 
tution of  this  country.  He  was, 
however,  a  thoroughly  honest  man, 
and  entertained,  as  such,  both  dis- 
like and  contempt  for  the  Palmer- 
stonian  section  of  the  present  Gov- 
ernment. Without  doubt  he  would 
have  supported  Mr  Gladstone. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  taken  office 
under  him ;  for  both  were  peace-at- 
any-price  men — both  parliamentary 
reformers — both  free-traders.  But 
however  this  may  be,  he  would 
have  gone  farther  to  bring  Mr 
Gladstone  into  office,  and  to  keep 
him  there,  than  any  other  man  in 
England  had  the  power  to  go.  He 
has  left  no  successor  to  his  popu- 
larity in  the  party  to  which  he  be- 
longed, nor  any  inheritor  of  his  in- 
fluence. We  repeat,  then,  that  in 
losing  him  Mr  Gladstone  has  lost 
much ;  and  the  cause  of  Radicalism, 
if  possible,  still  more.  We  doubt 
whether  either  the  one  or  the 


1805.] 


The  Staff  nn<l  /'/•'».«/*<•/  <\f  I'nrlie*. 


other  will  ever  in  our  day  recover 
the  Mow. 

Ami  this  leads  us  to  consider 
what  the  position  ami  prospects  of 
this  Radical  party  really  an-.  That 
there  are  one  or  two  aMe  nidi 
among  them  cannot  he  denied. 
Mr  l»right,  of  course,  stands,  by 
common  consent,  in  the  foremost 
rank  of  Parliamentary  speakers, 
and  Mr  (Jo.schen  is  not  unlikely,  by 
Hiid-l>y,  if  he  he  returned  again,  to 
secure  the  ear  of  the  House.  I'.ut 
when  we  have  said  this,  we  have 
said  all.  Looking  to  1'arliament 
as  it  now  is,  Mr  Milner  Gibson  and 
Mr  C'harles  Yilliers  are  neither  of 
them  destitute  of  eloquence,  hut 
their  places  in  the  Cahinet  mux/lc 
them  ;  they  can  only  speak  as 
Lord  ralmerston  will  allow.  Mr 
Gladstone  alone  asserts  the  privi- 
lege of  saying  what  he  pleases. 
Then,  again,  there  are  Mr  I'.aines, 
a  rather  small  man,  with  Mr  Schol- 
field  and  the  recent  accession,  Mr 
Totter,  smaller  men  still.  These 
are  all  ready  to  follow  Mr  ( llad- 
stone  when  he  raises  the  Radical 
standard.  Not  so  .John  Bright. 
The  only  intellect  to  which  he 
ever  condescended  to  submit  his 
own  was,  Mr  Cohden's,  and  that 
statesman  being  removed,  it  is 
impossible  to  guess  at  the  extent 
to  which  his  rabid  Americanism 
may  carry  him.  The  exhibition 
which  he  made  of  himself  at  Roch- 
dale the  other  day,  is  but  a  fore- 
shadowing of  sterner  things  tocome. 
He  is  essentially  the  tribune  of  the 
people.  He  will  neither  serve  the 
Crown  himself,  nor  allow  anybody 
else,  if  he  can  help  it.  to  put  on 
the  royal  livery.  It  appears,  then, 
that  the  Radicals  in  the  present 
House  of  Commons  are  not,  upon 
the  whole,  either  strong  enough,  or 
sufficiently  united  among  them- 
selves, to  dictate  to  the  Crown 
whom  it  shall  choose  as  the  head 
of  an  Administration.  Neither  do 
we  anticipate  that  a  general  elec- 
tion will  either  add  to  their  num- 
bers or  consolidate  their  strength. 
The  recent  defeat  of  the  Conserva- 


tive candidate  at  Rochdale  counts, 
in  our  opinion,  for  nothing,  lie- 
entered  tlie  lists  under  circumstan- 
ces the  most  unfavourable  which 
could  have  occurred.  His  chances 
against  Cobden  living,  would  have 
been  infinitely  greater  than  against 
the  memory  of  Cobden  just  dead. 
I'.ut  wait  till  the  dissolution  takes 
place,  and  then  it  will  be  seen  that 
even  ill  Rochdale  there  i.>  (  'oliMTVat- 

isin  enough  to  tight  a  winning  battle. 
Rochdale,  moreover,  is  not  Mug- 
land  ;  and  Kngland  is  everywhere 
le-s  prepared  than  she  wa-  a»umed 
to  he  a  year  or  two  ago  to  dc.stroy 
the  < 'hurch,  and  abolish  the  heredi- 
tary senate.  \Yith  ic.-pect  t<>  the 
Church,  the  Libeiation  Society  itself 
is  beginning  to  complain,  through 
its  organs  of  the  press,  that  l>i>-ent 
is  losing  ground.  We  read  of  short- 
comings among  Haptists — of  back- 
slidmgs  in  the  ( 'ongregational  body 
—  of  apathy  everywhere.  Church- 
rates  are  not  only  not  defeated,  but 
it  has  become  a  hard  matter  to  get 
up  a  spirited  opposition  to  them. 
The  late-t  return*,  show  that  in  n»t 
more  than  ."i7n  out  of  1:5.01  u  p.Lr- 
ishes  was  a  rate  propo-cd  without 
being  carried.  And  another  point 
is  worthy  of  notice.  Ten  or  twelve 
years  back  there  was  a  large  sec- 
tion of  the  Church,  a  formidable 
number  both  of  clergy  and  laity, 
who  gave  their  sympathies  more 
to  Nonconformist  latitudinarian- 
i>m  than  to  the  principles  and 
strict  practices  of  tlieir  own  com- 
munion. A  prodigious  reaction 
has  taken  place  among  these  men. 
The  '  Record,'  at  one  time  the 
advocate  of  fusion  with  Kvangeli- 
cal  IHsscnt.  writes  more  bitterly 
against  l>issent  and  1  Dissenters 
than  even  the  'Guardian'  itself. 
They  have  thrown  aside  the  ma.-k 
too  openly  for  the  lowest  of  I»w- 
Church  polemics  any  longer  to 
mistake  or  misrepresent  their  in- 
tentions. In  like  manner,  we  arc 
glad  to  find  that  the  ton  pound 
householder  is  beginning  to  value 
the  political  status  which  he  ha* 
acquired,  and  to  understand  its  ob 


640 


The  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May, 


jects.  The  differences  between  mas- 
ters and  men,  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much  of  late,  are  not 
without  their  significancy.  They 
show  that  the  class  whom  dema- 
gogues take  under  their  protection 
are,  for  obvious  reasons,  the  very 
last  to  which  political  privileges 
should  be  conceded.  What  power 
has  a  working  man  to  keep  aloof 
from  a  strike  when  the  order  for  it 
has  gone  forth  from  the  governing 
committee,  or  to  withhold  his  sub- 
scription from  that  trades-union 
which  has  made  a  slave  of  him, 
and  will  keep  him  in  slavery  1  And 
whither  could  he  carry  his  vote, 
assuming  him  to  have  acquired  one, 
except  to  the  candidates  chosen 
by  the  governing  committee,  and 
pledged  to  do  its  bidding  ?  The 
ten-pound  householders  are  not 
blind  to  these  facts.  They  per- 
fectly understand  that  the  moment 
the  flood-gates  are  opened  there 
must  be  an  end,  in  their  body,  to 
freedom  of  individual  choice.  For 
though  it  may  happen  that  in 
any  given  borough- — say  Preston,  or 
Leeds,  or  Rochdale,  or  Westmin- 
ster— the  six-pounders  shall  come 
short,  numerically,  of  the  classes 
above  them,  they  will  yet  show 
such  strength,  concentrated  and  ap- 
plied by  word  of  command,  as  to 
render  inevitable  one  of  two  results. 
Either  the  ten-pounders  must  forget 
minor  differences,  and  unite  to  bring 
in  their  own  man,  in  opposition  to 
the  trades-union  candidate ;  or  the 
trades-union  will  bring  in  their  man, 
through  the  inability  of  the  strong- 
est out  of  two  or  more  local  par- 
ties to  cope  with  them,  who  act 
steadily  together. 

It  seems  then,  to  us,  that  both 
Parliamentary  reformers  and  poli- 
tical dissenters  are  less  influential  in 
the  country  now  than  they  were  six 
years  ago.  With  Parliamentary  re- 
form the  Conservatives,  either  as  a 
government  or  in  opposition,  will 
•probably  never  again  desire  to 
meddle.  There  is  less  objection  to 
their  dealing  with  the  Church-rate 
question,  should  an  opportunity  be 


afforded  of  settling  it,  on  terms  satis- 
factory to  all  concerned.  But  this 
great  fact  they  must  never  forget, 
that  our  parish  churches  belong  to 
the  poor ;  that  they  were  built  by 
the  owners  of  the  soil  in  order  that 
the  masses  might  worship  freely  in 
them;  and  that  the  soil  has  been 
burthened  with  the  cost  of  keeping 
them  in  repair,  in  order  that  no 
charge  on  that  account  might  fall 
upon  the  people.  Any  settlement, 
therefore,  which  should  dissever 
the  connection  which  now  subsists 
between  territorial  rights  and  the 
obligation  which  goes  along  with 
them,  would  be  unjust  towards  the 
non-territorial  classes,  in  exact  pro- 
portion as  it  threw  upon  them  a 
burthen  which  the  landowners  are 
bound  exclusively  to  carry. 

Of  the  state  and  prospect  of  our 
own,  the  Conservative  party,  it  now 
remains  to  speak.  It  is  at  this 
moment  confessedly  the  strongest 
of  all  parties,  both  in  the  House  of 
Commons  and  in  the  country.  It 
is  not  now,  any  more  than  it  was 
in  1859,  strong  enough  to  grapple 
with  and  overcome  all  the  other 
parties  combined  against  it.  That 
the  coming  election  will,  in  this 
respect,  very  much  alter  the  rela- 
tions in  which  parties  stand  to- 
wards each  other,  we  are  scarcely 
sanguine  enough  to  anticipate.  But 
we  do  expect  to  gain  something; 
quite  enough  to  place  us  in  a  posi- 
tion such  as  shall  enable  us  to  take 
advantage  of  the  dissensions  which 
are  sure  to  arise  in  the  enemy's 
ranks.  Lord  Palmerston  may  meet 
the  new  Parliament  as  First  Minis- 
ter of  the  Crown.  If  he  do,  things 
will  remain  for  a  while  pretty  much 
as  they  are.  If  he  do  not,  let  us  add, 
as  soon  as  he  quits  the  stage,  start- 
ling changes  must  occur.  And 
for  these  changes  the  Conservatives 
ought  to  be  prepared.  In  the  first 
place,  they  must  close  their  ranks, 
as  we  are  happy  to  say  that  we  be- 
lieve they  are  doing.  Crotchets, 
prejudices,  personal  antipathies,  and 
predilections,  must  all  be  laid  aside. 
Even  opinions  which  are  dignified 


1805.] 


hf  Staff  ami 


"/  I\trtiff. 


(MI 


with  the  name  of  principles,  the 
tiiiini|>li  of  which  is  clearly  impos- 
sible, must,  as  far  :us  inun  of  honour 
can  do  such  things  be  placed  in 
abcynncc.  ( Mi  tho  question  of 
protection  and  free  trade  all  sensi- 
ble people  are  now  agreed.  It 
may  have  been  unwise  to  adopt  the 
latter  system  when  we  did,  and  as 
we  adopted  it  ;  l>ut  only  a  set  of 
madmen  would  think  of  jjoing 
back  to  a  state  of  things  which  has 
for  ever  passed  from  us.  Indeed 
the  Conservative  policy  ought  to 
be,  and  will  lie,  we  tru-.t,  more  de- 
cidedly a  free  trade  policy  than 
that  of  the  Liberals.  Take,  for 
example,  the  malt-tax,  and  it  you 
wish  to  understand  the  question 
thoroughly,  read  over  again  Sir 
Lytton  Bulwer's  eloquent  and  most 
masterly  address.  Not  one  speaker 
on  the  Ministerial  side  of  the 
House  ventured  in  the  late  de- 
bate to  grapple  with  it  ;  not 
even  the  ( 'liancellor  of  the  Kxclie- 
quer,  adroit  of  fence,  skilful  in 
dialectics,  as  ho  is.  On  the  other 
hand,  observe  how  entirely  illogi- 
cal was  Mr  Gladstone's  argument. 
how  destitute  of  all  fairness  the 
line  of  action  which  he  expre»ed 
his  anxiety  to  follow.  He  had 
nothing  to  urge  for  the  reten- 
tion of  the  tax,  except  that  it 
is  productive  and  easily  collected. 
But  so  was  the  duty  on  foreign 
corn,  which  had,  besides,  this  to  be 
urged  in  its  favour,  that  the  foreign 
grower  paid  the  tax  ;  whereas  the 
malt  tax  is  levied  directly  on  the 
British  farmer,  and  indirectly  upon 
every  consumer  of  beer  throughout 
the  kingdom.  Indeed,  so  obviously 
fair  are  the  claims  of  the  agricul- 
turists in  this  matter,  that  it  would 
not  surprise  us  to  find  Mr  (Jlad- 
stone  himself  proposing  a  plan  for 
the  partial  reduction  of  the  import. 
Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  the 
Conservatives  will  do  well  to  come 
to  a  distinct  understanding  among 
themselves  as  to  the  course  which 
they  intend  to  pursue ;  and  seeing 
that  not  only  the  strength  of  their 
own  party  is  against  the  tax,  but  a 


considerable  section  of  Liberal 
county  members  besides,  they  will 
act  judiciously  if,  either  a*  a  (l..v- 
ernment  or  in  Opposition,  they  en- 
deavour to  Ki't  rid  of  it  at  the  earli- 
est possible  date.  It  were  better  to 
keep  the  income  tax  ;us  it  is  a  few 
years  longer,  than  to  continue  this 
duty  on  home  grown  malt  beyond 
the  current  session. 

Neil. inly  will  Mi-peet  IH  of  look- 
ing with  favour  upon  Popery  in 
Ireland  or  anywhere  else  ;  but  tlie 

time  has  ^'om;  by  for  seeking  to 
root  it  out  of  the  country  except 
by  fair  controversy.  Mr  Bentinck, 
and  the  gallant  bind  who,  sitting 
on  the  Conservative  benches,  vote 
with  him,  must  remember  this.  If 
any  fair  chance  occur  of  bringing 
monasteries  and  other  religious  in- 
stitutions under  (loverninent  in- 
spection, by  all  means  let  them 
ask  for  such  inspection  ;  ami  as 
often  as  they  tind  po>iti\v  wrongs 
to  complain  of,  let  their  com- 
plaints he  made.  But  the  constant 
denunciation  of  outrages,  of  the 
reality  of  which  there  is  u<>  proof, 
serves  but  to  damage  the  caii-e 
which  it  is  intended  to  promote. 

It  exasperates  personal  feeling  on 
both  sides,  and  separates  those  who 
ou^'ht  to  \voik  cordially  together. 
There  is  no  need  for  Conservatives 
either  to  espouse  the  1'ope's  quarrel 
in  Italy,  or  to  vote  for  the  repeal  of 
those  slender  checks  which  restrain 
both  Romanists  and  Protestant  dis- 
senters from  attacking,  without 
loss  of  character  to  themselves,  the 
Kstablished  Church  at  home.  But 
our  policy  in  regard  to  these  points 
must  be  defensive  only,  not  aggres- 
sive ;  defensive  so  far  as  the  main- 
tenance of  our  Protestant  institu- 
tions is  concerned  at  home,  and 
frank  acceptance  of  whatever  may 
be  finally  settled  between  the 
Pope  and  the  Italian  Government 
abroad. 

On  the  whole,  then,  we  arrive  at 
conclusions  which,  when  fairly  look- 
ed at,  may,  we  think,  be  considered 
as  holding  out  good  hope  for  the 
future  of  Conservatism.  At  pre- 


642 


Tlie  State  and  Prospect  of  Parties. 


[May,  1865. 


sent  party  feeling  is  dormant. 
Nobody  contemplates  its  revival 
in  the  lifetime  of  the  present  Par- 
liament, but  revive  it  certainly  will 
at  the  hustings,  and  for  that  we 
must  be  prepared.  The  current  of 
affairs  in  America  likewise  may 
bring  us  to  very  embarrassing  con- 
clusions. If  the  North  prevail,  as 
now  seems  probable,  in  subjugating 
the  South,  there  will  follow  demands 
upon  this  country  which  can  neither 
be  conceded  with  honour  nor  re- 
fused without  risk.  And  then  it 
will  be  seen  whether  our  present 
rulers  have  placed  us  in  a  position, 
either  creditably  to  avert  the  arbit- 
rament of  war,  or  to  accept  it  with 
reasonable  prospect  of  success. 
Here,  then,  is  a  great  point  in  fav- 
our of  the  party  to  which  we  belong. 
We  are  not  responsible  for  any- 
thing that  lias  occurred.  We  neither 
threatened  war  without  going  into 
it  four  years  ago,  nor  failed  so  to 
enforce  the  Foreign  Enlistment  Act 
as  to  let  the  Alabama  loose  upon  the 
ocean.  Neither  is  it  through  any 
negligence  on  our  part  that  the 
means  of  placing  gunboats  on  the 
Canadian  lakes  are  wanting,  or  that 
not  a  ship  in  the  navy  is  mounted 
with  guns  capable  of  encountering 
an  American  iron-clad.  God  for- 
bid that,  contemplating  the  pro- 
bable coming  of  days  of  danger  and 


of  difficulty,  we  should  think  of 
ought  except  how  best  they  are  to 
be  met.  And  this  much  her  Ma- 
jesty's Government  may  count  up- 
on, whosesoever  be  the  hands  that 
wield  it,  that  from  the  Conserva- 
tives they  will  receive  a  ready  and 
willing  support  to  every  measure  of 
which  it  is  the  object  to  maintain 
the  rights  and  defend  the  honour 
of  the  country.  But  it  is  no  slight 
consolation  to  feel  that  in  bringing 
matters  to  their  present  state  we 
had  no  share.  That  all  this  will  be 
remembered  and  spoken  of  by-and- 
by  at  every  hustings  in  the  United 
Kingdom,  we  are  well  convinced. 

Parliaments  have  been  liberal  in 
their  grants  of  late  beyond  all  pre- 
cedent. The'  army  arid  navy  esti- 
mates of  last  year  were  within  a 
trifle  as  gigantic  as  they  used  to 
be  in  the  height  of  the  Crimean 
war;  yet  we  have  no  navy  fit  to 
keep  for  us  the  dominion  of  the 
sea.  And  for  the  defence  of  our 
own  shores  we  depend  mainly  on 
the  Volunteers.  A  Government 
which  has  so  grossly  neglected  its 
duty  must,  we  should  think,  with 
or  without  an  American  war,  come 
to  grief.  The  one  great  subject 
of  mortification  is,  that  the  nation 
must  in  its  interests,  and  may  in  its 
honour,  have  to  pay  for  the  blunder- 
ings  of  its  incompetent  rulers. 


Printed  ly  William  BlacJcwood  <L  Sons,  Edinluryh. 


BLACKWOOD'S 
EDIXBUHGH     MAGAZINE. 


Xo.  DXCVI. 


K   IbC5. 


Vot.  XCVII. 


riCC.VUlLLY  :    AN    EPISODE    <>K    <  oNTIl.Ml'oUANK' tt  s    At  Toliluc.UAI'HV. 


THE  great  difficulty  which  I  find 
in  this  record  of  my  eventful  exist- 
ence is,  that  I  have  too  much  to. say. 
The  .sensations  of  my  life  will  not 
distribute  themselves  properly.  It 
is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  cram 
all  that  I  think,  say,  and  do  every 
month  into  the  limited  space  at  my 
disposal.  Thus  I  am  positively 
overwhelmed  with  the  brilliant  di- 
alogues, the  elevating  reflections, 
and  the  thrilling  incidents,  all  of 
which  I  desire  to  relate.  Xo  one 
who  has  not  tried  this  sort  of  thing 
can  imagine  the  chronological,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  crinulogicnl,  ditfi- 
cultie.s  in  which  1  find  myself.  For 
instance,  the  incidents  which  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  my  last  article 
took  place  in  twenty-four  hours, 
and  yet  how  could  I  have  left  out 
either  the  poison  scene,  or  my  inter- 
view with  Grandon,  or  Spitfy's  in- 
teresting social  projects  I  Much 
better  have  left  out  the  poison 
scene,  say  some  of  my  critical 
friends.  It  was  not  natural — too 
grotesque ;  but  is  that  my  fault  I 
If  nature  has  jammed  me  into  a 
most  unnatural  and  uncomfortable 
niche  in  that  single  step  which  is 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  DXCVI. 


>aid  to  lead  from  the  Miblime  to 
the  ridiculous,  am  1  responsible  fur 
it  /  If,  instead  of  taking  merely  a 
serio-comic  view  of  life,  like  sume 
of  my  acquaintances,  I  regard  it 
frum  a  tragic-burlesque  aspect,  how 
can  I  help  it  (  1  didn't  put  my 
ideas  into  my  own  he. id.  nur  in- 
vent the  extraordinary  thing*  that 
happen  tu  me.  and  thi>  is  the  reflec- 
tion which  renders  me  si.  profoundly 
indifferent  to  criticism.  I  shall 
have  reviewers  finding  out  that  I 
am  incon>i>tent  with  myself,  and  . 
not  true  to  nature  here — as,  for  in- 
stance, when  1  fell  violently  in  love 
with  Ursula  in  one  evening  ;  or  to 
the  first  principles  of  art  there — us 
when  I  wrote  to  propose  to  her 
early  next  morning :  as  if  both  art 
and  nature  could  not  take  care  of 
themselves  without  my  bothering 
my  head  about  them.  Once  for  all, 
then,  my  difficulties  do  not  arise 
from  this  source  at  all ;  they  are, 
as  1  have  said  before,  of  the  most 
simple  character.  In  fact,  they  re- 
solve themselves  into  Kant's  two 
great  a  j>riori  ideas,  time  and  space. 
Now  I  could  quite  easily  run  on  in 
the  moral  reflective  vein  to  the  end 
2  X 


Piccadilly  :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


of  the  article,  but  then  what  should 
I  do  with  the  conversations  which 
I  ought  to  record,  but  to  which  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  do  justice,  be- 
cause I  am  so  bound  and  fettered 
by  the  chain  of  my  narrative  1  What 
an  idea  of  weakness  it  conveys  of 
an  author  who  talks  of  "  the  thread 
of  his  narrative!"  I  even  used  to 
feel  it  when  I  was  in  the  diploma- 
tic service,  and  received  a  severe 
"  wigging "  once  for  writing  in 
one  of  my  despatches,  "  My  Lord,  I 
have  the  honour  to  resume  the  '  tape' 
of  my  narrative"  —  so  wedded  is 
the  Foreign  Office  to  the  traditions 
of  its  own  peculiar  style.  I  was 
glad  afterwards  they  kept  me  to 
"  the  thread,"  as  when  I  wanted 
finally  to  break  it  I  found  no  diffi- 
culty. By  the  way,  after  I  have 
done  with  society,  I  am  going  to 
take  up  the  departments  of  the 
public  service.  If  I  let  them  alone 
just  now,  it  is  only  because  I  am  so 
desperately  in  love,  and  my  love  is 
so  desperately  hopeless;  and  the 
whole  thing  is  in  such  a  mess,  that 
one  mess  is  enough.  At  present  I 
am  setting  my  dwelling-house  in 
order.  When  that  is  done  I  will 
go  to  work  to  clean  out  the  "offices." 
I  may  also  allude  here  to  another 
somewhat  embarrassing  circum- 
stance which,  had  I  not  the  good 
of  my  fellow -creatures  at  heart, 
might  interfere  with  the  progress 
of  my  narrative;  and  this  is  the 
morbid  satisfaction  which  it  seems 
to  afford  some  people  to  claim  for 
themselves  the  credit  of  being  the 
most  disagreeable  or  unworthy  of 
those  individuals  with  whom  I  am 
at  present  in  contact.  They  would 
pretend,  for  instance,  that  there  is 
no  such  person  as  Spiffington  Gold- 
tip,  but  that  I  mean  him  to  repre- 
sent some  one  else ;  and  they 
take  the  '  Court  Guide,'  and  find 
that  no  Lady  Broadbrim  lives  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  so  they  suppose 
that  she  too  stands  for  some  one 
else  who  does.  Now,  if  I  hear 
much  of  this  sort  of  thing  I  shall 
stop  altogether.  In  the  first  place, 
neither  Spiffy  nor  Lady  Broadbrim 


will  like  it ;  and  in  the  second,  it  is 
very  disagreeable  to  me  to  be  sup- 
posed to  caricature  my  acquaint- 
ances under  false  names.  I  have 
never  had  the  least  intention  of 
doing  so;  but  when,  perchance,  I 
find  groups  of  people,  even  though 
I  know  them,  acting  unworthily,  I 
should  be  falling  into  the  same 
error  for  which  I  blame  the  parsonic 
body  of  the  present  day,  if  I  shrank 
from  exposing  and  cutting  straight 
into  the  sores  that  they  are  fain  to 
plaster  and  conceal.  In  these  days 
of  amateur  preaching  in  theatres 
and  other  unconsecrated  buildings, 
I  feel  I  owe  no  apology  to  my 
clerical  brethren  for  taking  their 
congregations  in  hand  after  they 
have  quite  done  with  them. 

People  may  call  me  a  "  physician  " 
or  any  other  name  they  like,  and 
tell  me  to  heal  myself ;  but  it  is 
quite  clear  that  a  sick  physician 
who  needs  rest,  and  yet  devotes  all 
his  time  and  energies  to  the  curing 
of  his  neighbours,  is  a  far  more 
unselfish  individual  than  one  who 
waits  to  do  it  till  he  is  robust. 
Therefore,  if  I  am  caught  doing 
myself  the  very  things  I  find  fault 
with  in  others,  "  that  has  nothing 
at  all  to  do  with  it,"  as  Lady  Broad- 
brim always  says  when  all  her  ar- 
guments are  exhausted. 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have 
taken  an  interest  in  her  ladyship's 
speculations  and  in  my  endeavours 
to  extricate  her  from  her  pecuniary 
embarrassments,  may  conceive  our 
feelings  upon  hearing  of  the  sur- 
render of  General  Lee.  I  regret 
to  say  that,  in  spite  of  every  de- 
vice which  the  experience  of  Spiffy, 
of  Lady  Broadbrim's  lawyer,  and 
of  Lady  B.  herself,  could  suggest, 
her  liabilities  have  increased  to 
such  an  extent  in  consequence  of 
the  rapid  fall  of  Confederate  stock, 
that  I  was  obliged  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  Easter  recess  to  run 
over  to  Ireland  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  selling  an  extremely  en- 
cumbered estate,  which  I  purchased 
as  a  speculation  some  years  ago,  but 
have  never  before  visited.  This 


1805.] 


Con(on])oranfou$  Autoli<njrai>liy.  —  /'art  1  V.  045 


trip  has  given  me  an  opportunity  of 
enabling  me  thoroughly  to  muster 
tlie  Irish  question.  1  need  scarcely 
say  how  much  I  was  surprised  ut 
the  prosperous  condition  of  the 
peasants  of  Conneuiara  after  the 
accounts  I  had  received  of  them. 
When  I  "  surveyed  "  my  own  estate, 
which  consists  of  seven  miles  of 
uninterrupted  rock,  I  regarded  with 
admiration  the  population  who 
could  Hud  the  means  of  subsistence 
upon  it,  and  whose  rags  were  fre- 
quently of  a  very  superior -quality. 
I  also  felt  how  creditable  it  was  to 
the  British  (Sovernmeiit,  that  by  a 
judicious  system  of  legislation  it 
should  succeed  in  keeping  people 
comparatively  happy  and  content- 
ed, whose  principal  occupation 
seemed  to  me  to  consist  of  wading 
about  the  sea-beach  looking  for 
sea-weed,  and  whose  diet  was  com- 
posed of  what  they  found  there. 
That  every  Irishman  I  met  should 
expect  me  to  lament  with  him  the 
decrease  by  emigration  in  the  pop- 
ulation of  a  nation  which  subsists 
chiefly  on  peat  and  periwinkles, 
illustrated  in  a  striking  manner  the 
indifference  which  the  individuals 
of  this  singular  race  have  for  each 
other's  sufferings ;  and  it  is  quite  a 
mistake,  therefore,  to  suppose  that 
absentee  landlords,  who  are  for  the 
most  part  Irish,  live  away  from 
their  properties  because  they  are  so 
susceptible  to  the  sight  of  distress 
that  they  cannot  bear  to  look  upon 
their  own  tenantry.  To  an  English- 
man nothing  is  more  consoling 
than  to  feel  that  the  Irish  question 
is  essentially  an  Irish  question,  and 
that  Englishmen  have  nothing  at 
all  to  do  with  it — that  the  tenant- 
right  question  is  one  between  Irish 
landlords  and  Irish  tenants — that 
the  religious  question  is  one  be- 
tween Irish  Catholics  and  Irish 
Protestants — and  that  the  reason 
that  no  Englishman  can  understand 
them  is,  because  they  are  Irish,  and 
inverted  brains  would  l>e  necessary 
to  their  comprehension.  These  con- 
siderations impressed  themselves 
forcibly  upon  my  notice  at  a  meet- 


ing of  the  National  league,  which 
I  attended  in  Dublin,  th<-  object  of 
which  was  to  secure  the  national 
independence  of  Ireland,  and  to 
free  it  from  the  tyranny  of  British 
rule.  One  of  the  speakers  made  out 
so  strong  a  case  for  England,  that 
1  could  only  account  for  it  by  the 
fact  that  he  was  an  Irishman  argu- 
ing the  case  of  his  own  <"Uiitry. 
"  How,"  he  a-kcd.  "  is  the  English 
Parliament  to  know  our  grievances, 
when  out  of  In:,  members  that  we 
send  up  to  it,  there  are  not  two 
who  are  hoiie>t  f  Why  is  not  the 
<  )'I  )oiioghue  in  the  chair  today  ?  he 
is  the  only  man  we  can  trust,  and 
we  can't  trust  him.  Why  are  the 
Irish  Protestants  not  true  to  them 
selves  anil  the  cause  (  Why,  in 
fact,  is  there  not  a  single  man  of 
the  smallest  position  and  influence, 
either  on  the  platform  or  in  the 
body  of  the  house,  except  my-elf, 
who  am  a  magistrate  of  the  county 
of  Cork,  and  therefore  unable  to 
advocate  those  violent  measures  by 
which  alone  our  liberties  are  to  be 
gained  ?  Is  it  U'can^e  we  have  got 
them  already/  No!  but  bee  ui-e 
Irishmen  do  not  care  a  farthing 
about  them.  Shame  on  them  for 
their  apathy,"  Arc.  It  was  pleasant 
to  listen  to  this  Irish  patriot  in- 
veighing against  his  countrymen, 
and  finally  making  England  respon- 
sible for  Irishmen  being  what  they 
are.  Bless  them,  my  heart  warmed 
towards  them  as  I  saw  them  at 
Queenstown  trooping  on  board  an 
emigrant-ship,  looking  ruddy  and 
prosperous,  bound  on  the  useful 
errand  of  propagating  Fenianism, 
of  exhibiting  themselves  as  choice 
specimens  of  an  oppressed  nation- 
ality, and  of  devoting  their  brilliant 
political  instincts,  their  indefatiga- 
ble industry,  and  their  judicial 
calmness  to  the  service  of  that 
country  which  is  at  present  suffer- 
ing from  a  determination  of  blood 
to  the  head  in  the  JH.TSOII  of  Andy 
Johnson.  If  anything  can  right 
that  extremely  crank  craft  "  I'nit- 
ed  States."  at  present  on  her  l>oam- 
ends,  let  us  hope  that  it  will  be  by 


646 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


taking  in  Irishmen  at  the  rate  of 
one  thousand  per  week,  to  serve  as 
ballast ;  for  most  certainly  the  best 
means  of  increasing  the  sailing  qua- 
lities of  the  respectable  old  tub, 
"  British  Constitution,"  will  be  by 
inducing  the  ballast  aforesaid  to 
throw  itself  overboard.  I  was 
pitching  and  rolling  abominally  be- 
tween Kingston  and  Holyhead  as 
I  drew  this  appropriate  nautical 
parallel,  and  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
relish  the  following  announcement, 
which  appeared  in  the  pages  of  a 
fashionable  organ,  that  happened 
to  be  the  first  journal  I  bought  in 
England : — 

"We  are  in  a  position  to  state 
that  a  marriage  is  arranged  between 
Lord  Frank  Vanecove,  M.P.,  second 
son  of  the  late  Duke  of  Dunder- 
head, and  Lady  Ursula  Newlyte, 
eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Earl  of 
Broadbrim." 

How  I  envied  "our  position," 
and  what  a  very  different  one  mine 
was  !  However,  the  notice  served 
its  purpose,  for  it  prepared  me  for 
what  I  should  have  to  encounter  in 
London — the  sort  of  running  fire 
of  congratulation  I  must  expect  to 
undergo  all  along  Piccadilly,  down 
St  James's  Street,  and  along  Pall 
Mall.  Should  I  simper  a  coy  ad- 
mission, or  storm  out  an  indignant 
denial  ?  On  the  whole,  the  most 
judicious  line  seemed  to  be  to  do 
each  alternately.  The  prospect  of 
puzzling  the  gossip-mongers  gener- 
ally almost  consoled  me  for  the 
feeling  of  extreme  annoyance  which 
I  experienced.  "  The  imbroglio 
must  clear  itself  at  last,"  thought  I, 
"  but  it  will  be  a  curious  amusement 
to  see  how  long  I  can  keep  it  from 
doing  so  ;"  and  I  bought  an  even- 
ing paper  as  I  approached  London, 
by  way  of  distracting  my  mind. 
The  first  news  which  thrilled  me  as 
I  opened  it  was  the  announcement 
of  the  assassination  of  President 
Lincoln.  I  am  not  going  to  moralise 
on  this  event  now,  and  only  allude 
to  it  as  it  affects  the  story  of  my 
own  life.  It  saved  me  that  even- 
ing from  the  embarrassment  I  had 


anticipated  ;  for  even  when  I  went 
to  the  Cosmopolitan,  I  found  every- 
body listening  to  Mr  Wog,  so 
that  nobody  cared  about  my  pri- 
vate affairs,  and  it  induced  Lady 
Broadbrim  to  make  a  secret  expedi- 
tion into  the  City  of  a  speculative 
nature  next  morning,  as  I  accident- 
ally discovered  from  Spiffy.  It  is 
not  impossible  that  the  knowledge 
of  this  breach  of  faith  on  her  part 
may  prove  a  valuable  piece  of  in- 
formation to  me. 

I  sauntered  into  "the  Piccadilly" 
on  the  following  afternoon,  armed 
at  all  points,  and  approached  the 
bay-window,  in  which  I  observed 
Broadbrim  and  several  others 
seated  round  the  table,  with  the 
utmost  insouciance.  They  had  evi- 
dently just  talked  my  matter  over, 
for  my  appearance  caused  a  mo- 
mentary pause,  and  then  a  general 
chorus  of  greeting.  Broadbrim, 
with  an  air  of  charming  naivete 
and  brotherly  regard,  almost  rushed 
into  my  arms  ;  but  his  presence  re- 
strained that  general  expression  of 
frank  opinion  on  the  part  of  the 
rest  of  the  company,  with  reference 
to  my  luck,  with  which  the  fortun- 
ate fiance  is  generally  greeted. 
Still,  the  characters  of  my  different 
so-called  "friends"  and  their  forms 
of  congratulation  were  amusing  to 
watch.  There  was  the  patronising, 
rather  elderly  style — "My  dear 
Vanecove,  I  can't  tell  you  how 
happy  the  news  has  made  me.  I 
was  just  saying  to  Broadbrim," 
and  so  on  ;  then  the  free  and  easy 
"  Frank,  old  fellow  "  and  "  slap  on 
the  back"  style  ;  then  the  "know- 
ing shot "  and  "  poke  in  the  ribs  " 
style  ;  then  the  "feelings  too  much 
for  me  "  style — severe  pressure  of 
the  hands,  and  silence,  accompanied 
by  upturned  eyes  ;  then  the  "  seri- 
ous change  of  state  and  heavy  re- 
sponsibilities "  style.  Oh,  I  know 
them  all,  and  am  thankful  to  say 
the  peculiar  versatility  of  my  talents 
enabled  me  to  give  as  many  dif- 
ferent answers  as  there  are  styles. 
I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  not  to  know 
exactly  what  all  my  friends  said  of 


l  365.  Contfm]x>raneout  Autobiography. — l\trt  1 1 


C47 


the  match  behind  my  lurk  : — 
"Sharp  old  woman,  Lady  Broad- 
brim ;  she'll  make  that  flat,  r'rank 
Yam-cove,  pay  all  the  Broadbrim 
debts;"  or,  "  <  )dd  tiling  it  is  that 
such  a  nice  girl  as  I'rsula  Ncw- 
lyte  should  throw  herself  away 
on  such  a  maniac  a.s  Frank  Yanr- 
cove;"  then,  "Oh,  she'd  marry 
anybody  to  j:et  away  from  such  a 
mother ;"  again,  "I  always  thought 
Vanecove  a  fool,  but  1  never 
supposed  he  would  have  deliber- 
ately submitted  to  be  bled  by  the 
Broadbrims."  That  is  the  sort 
of  thing  that  will  go  on  with  varia- 
tions in  every  drawing-room  in  Lon- 
don for  the  next  few  evenings.  Now 
1  am  striking  out  quite  a  new  line 
to  meet  the  humbug,  the  hypocrisy, 
the  scandal,  and  the  ill-nature  of 
which  both  I'rsula  and  myself  are 
the  subjects.  Thus,  when  Broad- 
brim greeted  me  in  the  presence  of 
the  company,  after  I  had  received 
their  congratulations  with  a  good 
deal  of  ambiguous  embarrassment, 
1  appeared  to  be  a  little  overcome, 
and,  linking  my  arm  in  that  of  my 
future  brother-in-law,  walked  him 
out  of  the  room.  "  My  dear  Bn>ad- 
brim,"  said  I,  "for  reasons  which  it 
i.s  not  necessary  for  me  now  to  enter 
into,  but  which  are  connected  with 
the  pecuniary  arrangements  I  am 
making  to  put  your  family  matters 
.straight,  this  announcement  is  a 
most  unfortunate  occurrence — we 
must  take  measures  to  contradict 
it  immediately." 

"  Why,"  said  Broadbrim, "  if  it  is 
the  case,  as  you  know  it  is.  I  don't 
see  the  harm  of  announcing  it  :  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  it  ought 
to  have  been  announced  sooner,  and 
that  you  have  been  putting  I'rsula 
lately  in  rather  a  false  position,  by 
seeming  to  avoid  her  so  much  in 
society,  because  you  know  it  has 
been  talked  of  for  some  time  past." 

"  Ah,  then  I  fancy  the  announce- 
ment was  made  on  your  authority,'' 
I  said  ;  "  it  is  a  pity,  as  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  postpone  the  cere- 
mony until  I  had  not  only  com- 
pleted all  my  arrangements  for 


putting  your  family  matters  square, 
but  could  actually  see  my  way 
towards  gradually  clearing  off  tin- 
more  pressing  liabilities  with  which 
the  estate  i.s  encumbered.  You 
know  what  a  crotrhetty  fellow  I 
am.  Now,  my  plan  is,  clear  every 
thing  ot!'  lirst,  and  marry  after 
wards;  and  unless  you  positively 
contradict  the  report  of  my  marriage 
with  your  sifter,  1  -hall  immediate- 
ly countermand  the  instructions 
under  which  my  lawyers  are  acting, 
and  take  no  further  steps  whatever 
in  the  matter."  1  felt  a  malicious 
pleasure  in  watching  Broadbrim's 
face  during  this  speech,  a-  I  was 
sure  that  he  had  (lone  his  be-t  to 
spread  the  report  of  my  marriage 
with  his  sister  for  fear  of  my  1  tack- 
ing out.  and  escaping  from  my  obli- 
gations in  respect  to  his  financial 
embarrassments.  It  is  only  fair  to 
him  to  state,  that  these  were  none 
of  his  own  creating  — he  had  been  a 
perfect  model  of  steadiness  all  his 
life.  "  It  will  be  pie  isantcr  for  us 
both,"  1  went  mi,  "that  the  world 
should  never  be  able  to  say.  after 
my  marriage  with  your  si.ster,  that 
you  and  your  mother  continue  to 
live  upon  us.  Now,  I  tell  you  fairly, 
that,  for  family  reasons,  this  prema- 
ture announcement  renders  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  proceed  with 
those  arrangements  which  must 
precede  my  connection  with  your 
family." 

Broadbrim's  face  grew  very  long 
while  he  listened  to  this  speech. 
"  But,"  he  said,  "it  is  not  fair  to 
I'rsula  that  everybody  should  sup- 
pose that  you  are  engaged  to  her, 
and  refuse  to  acknowledge  it." 

"  I  'ray,  whose  fault  is  it,"  said  I, 
"  that  anybody  supposes  anything 
about  it  ]  I  have  never  told  a  soul 
that  I  was  engaged  to  be  married, 
and  if  you  and  your  mother  choose 
to  go  spreading  unauthorised  re- 
ports, you  must  take  the  conse- 
quences; but" — and  a  sudden  inspir- 
ation flashed  upon  me — "  1  will  tell 
you  what  I  will  do,  1  will  be  guided 
entirely  by  I*ady  Ursula's  wishes  in 
the  matter.  If  she  wishes  the  re- 


Piccadilly :  an  JZjrisode  of 


[June, 


port  contradicted,  I  must  insist 
most  peremptorily  on  both  Lady 
Broadbrim  and  yourself  taking  the 
necessary  steps  to  stop  the  public 
gossip  ;  but  if  she  is  willing  that 
the  marriage  should  be  announced, 
I  pledge  you  my  word  that  I  will 
allow  no  preconceived  plans  to  in- 
fluence me,  or  pecuniary  difficulties 
to  stand  in  the  way,  but  will  do 
whatever  she,  your  mother,  and 
yourself  wish." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Broadbrim, 
"  that  sounds  fair  enough.  I'll  go 
and  see  Ursula  at  once." 

"Not  quite  so  fast;  please  take 
me  with  you,"  I  said.  "  As  it  is  a 
matter  most  closely  affecting  my 
future  happiness,  I  must  be  present 
at  the  interview,  and  so  must  Lady 
Broadbrim." 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  an  ar- 
rangement which  will  suit  Ursula 
at  all.  In  fact,  both  she  and  my 
mother  are  so  incomprehensible  and 
mysterious,  that  I  am  sure  they  will 
object  to  any  such  meeting.  When- 
ever I  have  spoken  to  my  mother 
about  it,  she  always  meets  me  with, 
'  For  goodness'  sake  don't  breathe  a 
word  to  Ursula,  or  you  will  spoil 
all;'  and  when,  in  defiance  of 
this  injunction,  I  did  speak  to  Ur- 
sula, she  said,  in  a  lackadaisical 
way,  that  she  had  no  intention  of 
marrying  any  one  at  present ;  and 
when  I  went  on  to  say  that  in  that 
case  she  had  no  business  to  accept 
you,  she  asked  me  what  reason  I 
had  for  supposing  that  she  ever  had 
done  so;  and  when  I  said,  'The 
assurance  of  my  mother's  ears  in 
the  drawing-room  at  Dickiefield/ 
she  stared  at  me  with  amazement, 
and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears." 

"  Under  these  circumstances, 
don't  you  think  you  would  have 
done  better  not  to  meddle  in  the 
matter  at  all] "  I  remarked.  " How- 
ever, the  mischief  is  done  now,  and 
perhaps  the  best  plan  will  be  for 
you  to  bring  about  a  meeting  be- 
tween your  sister  and  myself.  I 
suppose  whatever  we  arrange  will 
satisfy  you  and  Lady  Broadbrim  1 " 
"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said 


Broadbrim,  doubtfully;  "  she  does 
not  seem  to  know  her  own  mind, 
and  I  don't  feel  very  sure  of  you. 
However,  you  are  master  of  the 
situation,  and  can  arrange  what 
you  like.  My  mother  is  going  to 
a  May  meeting  at  Exeter  Hall  to- 
morrow to,  hear  Caribbee  Islands 
andChundango  hold  forth.  I  know 
the  latter  is  to  call  for  her  at  eleven, 
so  if  you  will  come  at  half-past,  I 
will  take  care  that  you  have  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  Ursula  alone." 

This  conversation  took  place  as 
we  were  strolling  arm-in-arm  down 
St  James's  Street  on  our  way  to 
the  House,  thereby  enabling  the 
groups  of  our  friends  who  inspect- 
ed us  from  divers  club  windows 
to  assert  confidently  the  truth  of 
the  report. 

Just  as  I  was  parting  from  Broad- 
brim at  the  door  of  the  lobby  we 
were  accosted  suddenly  by  Gran- 
don;  he  looked  very  pale  as  he 
grasped  my  hand  and  nodded  to  my 
companion,  who  walked  off  towards 
"  another  place  "  without  waiting 
for  a  further  greeting.  "  I  sup- 
pose, now  that  your  marriage  is  pub- 
licly announced,  Frank,  it  need  no 
longer  be  a  tabooed  subject  between 
us,  and  that  you  will  receive  my 
congratulations. ' ' 

My  first  impulse  was  to  assure 
him  that  the  announcement  was 
unauthorised  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned, but  the  prospect  (>f  the  im- 
pending interview  with  Ursula  re- 
strained me,  and  I  felt  completely 
at  a  loss.  "  Don't  you  think,  Gran- 
don,"  I  said,  "  that  I  should  have 
told  you  as  much  as  gossip  tells 
the  public,  had  I  felt  myself  entit- 
led to  do  so  1  I  only  ask  you  to  trust 
me  for  another  twenty-four  hours, 
and  I  will  tell  you  everything." 

Grandon  looked  stern.  "  You 
are  bound  not  to  allow  the  report 
to  go  one  moment  uncontradicted, 
if  there  is  nothing  in  it;  and  if 
there  is,  you  are  equally  bound  to 
acknowledge  it." 

"  Surely,"  I  said,  in  rather  a 
piqued  tone,  "Broadbrim is  as  much 
interested  in  the  matter  as  you  are, 


. 


Cunlftnjxjranfuus  Autobiography. — 1'art  1 1". 


CI9 


and  he  is  satisfied  with  my  con- 
duct." 

"  1  tell  you  fairly  I  am  not."  said 
Uraudon.  "  You  will  do  Lady  l"r- 
.sula  a  great  injustice,  and  yourself 
a  great  injury,  if  you  persist  in  a 
course  which  is  distinctly  dishon- 
ourable.'' 

At  that  moment  who  should 
come  swaggering  across  the  lobby 
where  we  happened  to  he  standing, 
but  Larkington  and  Dick  llelter. 
"Well,  Frank,  when  is  it  to  bef" 
said  the  latter.  "  You  were  deter- 
mined to  take  the  world  by  sur- 
prise, and  1  must  congratulate  you 
on  your  success." 

"Thanks,"  said  I,  calmly,  for  I 
was  smarting  under  IJrandon's  last 
words  ;  "the  day  is  not  fixed  yet. 
What  between  1/idy  jlroadbrim's 
scruples  about  Lent  and  some  ar- 
rangements 1  had  to  make  in  Ire- 
land, there  has  been  a  good  deal  of 
delay,  but  I  think."  I  went  on  with 
a  alight  simper,  "  that  it  has  nearly 
come  to  an  end.  ' 

"There,"  said  I  toGrandon,whcn 
they  had  favoured  me  with  a  few 
lanalitis,  and  passed  on,  "  that  is 
explicit  enough  surely  ;  will  that 
satisfy  you,  or  do  you  like  this  style 
better  /  "  and  1  turned  to  receive 
Bower  and  Scraper,  who  generally 
hunt  tufts  and  scandal  in  couples, 
and  were  advancing  towards  us 
with  much  finjirrsnemtnt. 

"  My  dear  Lord  Frank,  charmed 
to  see  you  ;  no  wonder  you  are 
looking  beaming,  for  you  are  the 
luckiest  man  in  London,"  said 
Bower. 

"How  so  i"  said  I,  looking  un- 
conscious. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Scraper,  and 
he  winked  at  me  respectfully  ;  "  we 
have  known  all  about  it  for  the  last 
two  months.  1  got  it  out  of  Ix»rd 
Broadbrim  very  early  in  the  day." 

"Then  you  got  a  most  deliberate 
and  atrocious  fabrication,  for  I  sup- 
pose you  mean  the  report  of  my 
marriage  to  his  sister,  and  1  beg 
you  will  contradict  it  most  emphati- 
cally whenever  you  hear  it,"  said  I, 
very  stiflly.  And  1  walked  on  into 


the  House,  leaving  (irandon  inure 
petrified  than  the  two  little  toadic.s 
1  had  snubbed.  I  can  generally 
listen  to  Gladstone  when  he  is  en- 
gaged in  keeping  the  Hoii>e  in 
suspense  over  the  results  of  his 
arithmetical  calculations,  but  the 
relative  merits  of  a  reduction  nf  the 
tax  on  tea  and  on  malt  fell  flat  on 
my  cars  that  evening,  and  i-vm  the 
consideration  of  two|.rmv  in  the 
pound  ofl  tlie  income-tax  failed  to 
excn-ise  that  southing  influence  on 
my  mind  which  it  >ecined  to  pro- 
duce on  those  around.  I  looked  in 
vain  for  (Jrandon  ;  hi->  aeeu.itoiued 
seat  remained  empty,  and  1  felt 
deeply  penitent  and  miserable. 
What  is  there  in  my  nature  that 
prompts  me.  when  1  am  trying  to  act 
honestly  and  nobly,  to  be  impracti- 
cable and  perverse  I  G  mil  doll  could 
not  know  the  extent  of  the  compli- 
cation in  which  1  am  involved,  and 
was  ri^'iit  in  saying  what  he  did  ; 
yet  1  could  no  more  at  the  moment 
help  resenting  it  as  1  did,  than  a 
man  in  a  passion  who  is  struck 
can  help  returning  the  blow.  Then 
the  fertility  and  readiness  of  inven- 
tion which  the  demon  of  per\vr>e- 
ness  that  haunts  me  invariably  dis- 
plays, fairly  pu/./les  me.  and  you  too, 
1  thought,  as  1  looked  up,  and  saw 
little  Scraper  whispering  eagerly  to 
J)iek  llelter.  who  wa>  regarding  mo 
with  a  bewildered  look, quite  uncon- 
scious that  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  had  become  poetical  in 
regard  to  rags,  and  \\a-,  announcing 
that  we  were  about 

'•  To  servo  .•»«  mo-lei  f»r  the  mighty  w<>rl<l, 
Aii'l  I'O  the  fair  beginning  of  n  tiino." 

"  Ah."  thought  I,  as  I  gazed  on 
that  brilliant  and  ingenious  orator, 
"  he  is  the  only  man  in  the  House, 
who,  if  he  was  in  such  a  mess  a.s  1 
am,  would  find  a  way  out  of  it." 

My  first  impulse  on  the  following 
morning,  before  going  to  Cirosvenor 
Square,  was  to  go  and  ajiologise  to 
Cirandon,  and  1  had  an  additional 
reason  for  doing  so  after  reading 
the  following  paragraph  in  tho 
'  Morning  1'ost :' — 


650 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


"  Lord  and  Lady  Nolands  had 
the  honour  of  entertaining  at  din- 
ner last  night  the  Marquess  and 
Marchioness  of  Scilly,  the  Countess 
(Dowager)  of  Broadbrim,  the  Earl 
of  Broadbrim,  and  Lady  Ursula 
Newlyte,  Mr  and  Lady  Jane  Hel- 
ter,  Lord  Grandon,  the  Honour- 
able Spiffington  Goldtip,  and  Mr 
Scraper." 

To  have  made  it  thoroughly  un- 
lucky I  ought  to  have  been  there 
as  a  thirteenth.  As  it  is,  I  wonder 
what  conclusion  the  company  in 
general  arrived  at  in  reference  to 
the  affair  in  which  I  am  so  nearly 
interested,  and  I  told  them  off  in 
the  order  in  which  they  rrmst  have 
gone  into  dinner.  The  Scillys  and 
Nolands  paired  off ;  Helter  took 
down  old  Lady  Broadbrim;  Broad- 
brim took  Lady  Jane;  Grandon, 
Lady  Ursula ;  and  Spiffy  and  Scraper 
brought  up  the  rear.  I  pictured 
the  delight  with  which  Helter 
would  mystify  Lady  Broadbrim,  by 
allowing  her  to  extract  from  him 
what  he  had  heard  first  from  me 
and  then  from  Scraper,  and  how 
Spiffy  and  Scraper  would  each  pre- 
tend to  have  the  right  version  of 
the  story,  and  be  best  informed  on 
this  important  matter.  All  this 
was  easy  enough,  but  my  imagina- 
tion failed  to  suggest  what  proba- 
bly passed  between  Grandon  and 
Ursula ;  so  I  screwed  up  my  cour- 
age and  determined  to  go  down  to 
Grandon's  room  and  find  out.  We 
often  used  to  breakfast  together, 
and  I  sent  down  my  servant  to 
tell  him  to  expect  me.  Under  the 
circumstances  I  thought  it  right  to 
give  him  the  opportunity  of  refus- 
ing to  see  me,  but  I  knew  him  too 
well  to  think  that  he  would  take 
advantage  of  it. 

He  was  sitting  at  his  writing- 
table,  looking  pale  and  haggard,  as 
I  entered,  and  turned  wearily  to- 
wards me  with  an  air  of  reserve 
very  foreign  to  his  nature. 

"  My  dear  Grandon,"  I  said,  "  I 
have  come  to  apologise  to  you  for 
my  unjustifiable  conduct  yesterday, 
but  you  cannot  conceive  the  Avorry 


and  annoyance  to  which  I  have 
been  subject  by  the  impertinent 
curiosity  and  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference of  the  world  in  my  private 
affairs.  When  you  told  me  I  was 
acting  dishonourably,  an  impulse 
of  petulance  made  me  forget  what 
was  due  to  Ursula,  and  answer  my 
inquisitive  friends  as  I  did ;  but  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Grosvenor  Square 
now,  and  will  put  matters  straight 
in  an  hour." 

"  The  mischief  is  done,"  said 
Grandon,  gloomily,  "  and  it  is  not 
in  your  power  to  undo  it.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  motives  by 
which  you  have  been  actuated — and 
far  be  it  from  me  to  judge  them — 
you  have  caused  an  amount  of 
misery  which  must  last  as  long  as 
those  whom  you  have  chosen  as 
your  victims  live." 

"  I  beseech  you  be  more  expli- 
cit," I  said ;  "  what  happened  last 
night  1 — I  insist  upon  knowing." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that 
as  you  stand  in  no  nearer  relation 
to  Lady  Ursula  than  I  do,"  and 
Grandon's  voice  trembled,  while 
his  eye  gleamed  for  a  second  with 
a  flash  of  triumph,  "  you  have  no 
right  to  insist  upon  anything  ;  but 
I  have  no  objection  to  tell  you 
that  as  Lady  Ursula  was  quite  in 
ignorance  of  any  such  report  hav- 
ing currency,  as  that  which  has  now 
received  a  certain  stamp  of  autho- 
rity, by  virtue  of  the  conspiracy 
into  which  you  seem  to  have  en- 
tered with  her  mother  and  brother, 
she  was  overwhelmed  with  confu- 
sion at  the  congratulations  which 
it  seems  the  ladies  heaped  upon  her 
after  dinner  last  night,  and  finally 
fainted.  Of  course  all  London  will 
be  talking  of  it  to-day,  as  the 
Helters  went  away  early  on  pur- 
pose to  get  to  Lady  Mundane' s 
before  Scraper  could  arrive  there 
with  his  version  of  the  catas- 
trophe." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  she  did  not 
care  for  me,  Grandon  1 "  said  I,  very 
humbly. 

"  She  told  me  to  forgive  you,  and 
love  you  as  I  used  to,  God  help  me," 


16G5.] 


Contemporaneous  A  ntolwrjraiitiy. — /'art  I  V. 


burst  out  Grnndnn,  and  lie  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Frank,'' 
he  said,  "she  is  an  angel  of  whom 
neither  you  nor  I  is  worthy  ;  but 
oh,  span-  her — don't,  for(!od's  sake, 
h«»ld  her  up  to  the  pity  and  curiosity 
of  London.  I  would  do  anything 
on  earth  she  told  me  ;  but  what  spell 
have  you  thrown  over  her  that  in 
spite  of  your  heartless  conduct  she 
should  still  implore  me  to  love  and 
cherish  you  /  how  can  1  obey  her  in 
this  when  your  acts  are  so  utterly 
at  variance  with  all  that  is  noble 
and  honourable  ( 

1  had  discovered  what  I  wanted, 
for  in  spite  of  every  effort  t<>  con- 
ceal it,  I  detected  a  tone  of  jealousy 
in  (irandon's  last  speech.  I'rsula 
in  her  moment  of  agony  had  un- 
consciously allowed  him  to  perceive 
that  he  alone  was  loved,  and  had 
urged  him  still  to  love  and  cherish 
me,  because  as  an  irresponsible  be- 
ing she  had  thought  me  more  than 
ever  in  need  of  sympathy  and  pro- 
tection. For  a  moment  1  wavered 
in  my  resolution.  Should  1  open 
my  heart  and  give  my  dearest  friend 
a  confidence  which  should  justify 
me  in  his  eyes,  at  the  risk  of  de- 
stroying the  project  I  had  formed 
on  that  night  when,  walking  home 
from  my  interview  with  Lady  Broad- 
brim,  I  had  determined  to  devote  my 
energies  to  the  happiness  of  others 
and  not  of  myself  i  or  should  I  main- 
tain that  flippant,  heartless  exterior 
which  seemed  for  the  time  necessary 
to  the  success  of  my  plans  I  As 
usual,  my  mind  made  itself  up  while 
I  was  doubting  what  to  do,  and 
in  spite  of  myself  I  said  jauntily, 
"  Well,  now  that  you  know  that  she 
cares  about  you  and  not  about  me, 
I  suppose  you  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  return  her  affection  {" 

"  1  have  done  that  for  some  time," 
he  replied,  "but  you  know  how 
perfectly  hopeless  our  love  is  ;  and 
yet,"  and  his  voice  deepened  and 
his  face  Hushed  with  enthusiasm, 
"  I  am  happier  loving  hopelessly 
and  knowing  that  I  am  loved  than 
I  have  ever  been  before.  Forgive 
me,  Frank,  but  I  do  not  feel  for 


you  as  I  should  have  done  had  y«m 
behaved  differently  ;  you  had  no 
right  to  let  me  suppose  that  she  had 
accepted  you  when  the  subject  had 
never  been  breathed  In-tween  you. 
^  our  conscience  must  tell  you  that 
you  have  acted  in  an  unworthy 
manner  towards  u*  both.'1 

"(Jrandon,  I  said.sententiously, 
"my  conscience  work>  «n  a  -vstem 
utterly  incomprehensible1  to  .m  ordi- 
nary intelligence,  and  1  am  quite 
satisfied  with  it.  1  will  have  a 
metaphysical  di-<-u--ion  with  you 
on  the  matter  on  some  other  occa- 
sion. Meantime  you  think  I'rsula 
has  decided  <>n  preferring  the  ruin 
and  disgrace  of  the  Broadbrim  fa- 
mily to  a  tii'triit'i''  </'•  «•"/«'  i.'iii'--: 
either  with  me  or  any  one  else  !  " 

"  1  did  not  know  it  was  ;i  ques- 
tion of  disgrace,''  said  (Irandon. 
"and  I  am  quite  sure  that  Lady 
Ursula  will  do  the  right  thing.  I 
would  rather  not  discuss  the  Mibjeet 
any  further;  we  shall  certainly  not 
agree, and  I  am  afraid  that  we  might 
become  more  widely  e.-t  ranged  than 
I  should  wish.  Here  is  breakfast. 
It  w;us  you  who  last  a>ked  me  to 
bury  this  unhappy  subject,  it  i-  my 
turn  now  to  make  the  same  request. 
1  wish  to  heaven  it  had  never  arisen 
between  us." 

"What  a  lucky  fellow  you  are!" 
said  1.  looking  at  him  with  the 
eye  of  a  philosopher  :  "  now  you 
would  never  imagine  yourself  to  be 
one  of  the  most  enviable  men  in 
London,  with  the  mo>t  charming 
of  women  and  the  most  devoted  of 
friends  ready  to  sacrifice  them- 
selves at  your  feet — she  \ncomjmtf, 
1  inC'iiiifirii." 

"Don't  trifle,"  said  CJrandon, 
sternly,  interrupting  me;  "  my  pa- 
tience is  not  inexhaustible." 

"  Luckily,  mine  is,"  said.  I  with 
my  mouth  full  of  grilled  salmon, 
"otherwise  I  should  not  be  the 
right  stuff  for  a  social  missionary— 
"  /"""/*>.<,  you  have  never  asked  me 
what  I  have  been  doing  in  that 
line  ;  nor  told  me  anything  of  your 
new  friend  Mr  Hartmann.  1  met 
Wog  at  the  Cosmopolitan  the  other 


G52 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


night,  and  asked  him  to  come  to 
breakfast  here  on  Monday — you 
must  get  Hartmann,  and  we  will 
have  Clmndango,  Joseph,  and  Bro- 
ther Crysostom." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  Hartmann 
would  care  about  it,"  said  Grandon, 
who  underrated  his  own  gift  of 
patience,  for  I  had  tried  it  severely, 
and  he  was  now  gentle  and  calm 
as  usual ;  "  you  had  better  meet 
him  some  day  alone  first ;  and  now 
I  must  be  off,  for  I  have  a  com- 
mittee of  the  House  to  attend." 

"  And  I  a  rendezvous  of  a  still 
more  interesting  character  to  keep;" 
and  as  I  left  Grandon  I  observed  a 
shade  of  disgust  and  disappoint- 
ment cross  his  face  at  my  last 
speech.  I  always  overdo  it,  I 
thought,  as  I  walked  towards 
Grosvenor  Square,  but  Grandon 
ought  to  make  allowances  for  me. 
He  has  known  me  all  my  life,  but 
it  was  reserved  for  us  both  to  be 
in  love  with  the  same  woman  to 
bring  out  the  strong  points  in  each 
of  us.  Lavater  says  you  never 
know  whether  a  man  is  your  friend 
until  you  have  divided  an  inherit- 
ance with  him  ;  but  it  is  a  much 
more  ticklish  thing  to  go  halves  in 
a  woman's  love.  Never  mind,  I'll 
astonish  them  both  yet.  Now  then, 
to  begin  with  her  ;  and  I  boldly 
knocked  at  the  door.  I  found 
Broadbrim  in  his  own  little  den. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  he  said  as  I 
entered  ;  "I  have  told  Ursula  you 
are  coming,  and  she  will  see  you  in 
the  drawing-room." 

I  had  not  been  for  two  minutes 
alone  with  Lady  Ursula  since  we 
parted  at  Dickiefield ;  indeed,  when 
it  is  remembered  that  my  whole 
intercourse  with  her  upon  that  oc- 
casion extended  over  little  more 
than  twenty-four  hours,  and  that 
we  had  never  been  on  any  other 
terms  since  than  those  of  the  most 
casual  acquaintances,  the  embar- 
rassing nature  of  the  impending 
interview  presented  itself  to  me 
in  a  somewhat  unpleasant  aspect. 
Now  that  it  had  come  to  the  point 
I  could  not  make  up  my  mind 


exactly  what  to  say.  I  tried  to 
collect  my  ideas  and  go  over  the 
history  of  the  events  which  had 
resulted  in  the  present  predicament. 
Why  was  I  in  the  singular  position 
of  having  to  make  a  special  ap- 
pointment with  a  young  lady  with 
whom  I  was  desperately  in  love, 
whom  I  knew  but  slightly,  but 
who  supposed  me  to  be  mad,  for 
the  purpose  of  asking  her,  first, 
whether  she  considered  herself  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  me  or  not, 
and  secondly,  if  not,  whether  she 
would  have  any  objection  to  the 
world  supposing  that  such  was  the 
case.  Now  my  readers  will  remem- 
ber that  the  sudden  impulse  which 
induced  me  in  the  first  instance  to 
delude  Lady  Broadbrim  into  be- 
lieving that  Lady  Ursula  had  ac- 
cepted me,  arose  from  the  desire  to 
save  her  from  the  tender  mercies 
of  Chundango.  Lady  Ursula  had 
in  fact  owed  the  repose  she  had 
enjoyed  for  the  last  two  months 
entirely  to  her  supposed  engage- 
ment to  me.  The  moment  that  is 
at  an  end  her  fate  becomes  miser- 
able. If  she  will  but  consider  her- 
self drowning,  and  me  the  straw, 
I  shall  only  be  too  happy  to  be 
clutched.  If  I  cannot  propose  my- 
self as  a  husband,  I  will  at  least 
suggest  that  she  should  regard  me 
in  the  light  of  a  straw. 

I  had  got  thus  far  when  I  found 
myself  in  her  presence.  She  looked 
very  pale,  and  there  was  an  expres- 
sion of  decision  about  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  which  I  had  not  before  re- 
marked. It  did  not  detract  from  its 
sweetness,  nor  did  the  slight  tremor 
of  the  upper  lip  as  she  greeted  me 
detract  from  its  force.  It  is  a  great 
mistake  to  suppose  that  a  tremor 
of  the  lip  denotes  weakness  ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  often  arises  from  a 
concentration  of  nervous  energy. 
I  am  not  quite  so  sure  about  a 
tremor  of  the  knees.  That  was 
what  I  suffered  from  at  the  mo- 
ment, together  with  a  very  consid- 
erable palpitation  of  the  heart. 
Now  the  difficulty  at  such  a  mo- 
ment is  to  know  how  to  begin.  I 


1865.] 


Contfmporaneout  Autobiography. — l\n(  1  V. 


have  often  heard  men  say  that 
when  they  have  obtained  an  inter- 
view with  a  great  .statesman  for 
the  purpose  of  asking  a  favour,  and 
he  waits  for  them  to  begin  without 
helping  them  out  with  a  word,  they 
have  experienced  this  dilliculty. 
That  arises  from  the  consciousness 
that  they  are  sacrificing  their  self- 
respect  to  their  "career."  If  they 
would  never  go  near  a  statesman  ex- 
cept when  they  wanted  to  confer  a 
favour  upon  him,  they  would  have 
no  ditiiculty  in  finding  words.  For- 
tunately, the  great  majority  of  our 
public  e/njiloyrt  are  not  yet  harden- 
ed beggars  like  the  Neapolitans, 
and  are  not,  like  them,  dead  to 
any  sentiment  of  shame  upon  these 
occasions,  though  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  they  will  soon  become  so.  The 
responsibility  of  demoralising  the 
servants  of  the  public  lies  entirely 
with  the  heads  of  the  departments. 
In  proportion  as  these  gentlemen  arc 
not  ashamed  of  sacrificing  their  sub- 
ordinates in  orderto  keep  themselves 
in  oth'ee,  will  those  subordinates 
become  as  unblushing  place-hunters 
as  their  masters  are  place  keepers. 
Once  accustom  a  man  to  being  a 
scapegoat,  and  you  destroy  at  a 
blow  his  respect  for  himself  and 
for  the  man  who  otters  him  up.  1 
could  become  very  eloquent  upon 
this  subject,  if  I  was  not  afraid  of 
keeping  I'rsula  waiting  ;  there  are 
few  men  who  need  having  their 
duties  pointed  out  to  them  more 
constantly  than  Cabinet  Ministers. 
Attacks  in  the  House  of  C 'ominous 
do  them  no  good,  as  they  are  gene- 
rally the  result  of  party  tactics,  and 
spring  from  as  unworthy  a  motive 
as  does  the  defence.  Men  who 
have  got  place  don't  pay  much 
attention  to  attacks  from  men  who 
want  it.  Then,  as  1  said  before, 
the  C'hurch  utterly  ignores  its  duties 
in  this  respect.  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  bishop  getting  up  and  pointing  out 
to  her  Majesty's  Ministers  the  ne- 
cessity of  considering  the  interests 
of  the  country  before  their  own  ?  It 
would  be  immediatelysupposed  that 
he  was  bullying  them,  because  he 


wanted  to  be  "  translated,"  and 
this  would  be  considered  the  only 
excuse  for  the  same  want  of  "  good 
taste"  which  I,  who  am  only  desir- 
ous for  their  good,  am  now  di> 
playing.  1  put  it  to  you,  my  Lord-, 
in  all  humility,  do  you  ever  get  up 
in  your  places,  not  in  the  House  of 
1'eers,  but  in  another  House,  and 
point  out  to  the  rulers  of  tin-  coun- 
try that  no  personal  con.-id« -ration 
should  ever  interlere  \sith  their 
doing  the  ri^'ht  thing  at  the  right 
moment  /  Do  you  ever  explain  to 
the  noble  Lords  amoiiK  whom  you 
sit,  that  when  a  committee  i.s 
chosen  from  both  sides  of  the 
House  to  inquire  into  a  simple 
question  of  right  or  wron;:.  the 
members  of  it  are  bound  to  vote 
upon  its  merits  and  according  t" 
their  consciences,  rather  than  ac- 
cording to  the  political  parties  t» 
which  they  belong  f  and  do  you  ever 
ask  yourselves  what  you  would  do 
in  the  same  circumstances  /  Do  you 
ever  tell  the  Heads  of  Departments 
that  they  are  responsible  for  the 
m<>rale  which  pervades  the  ,-pccial 
services  over  which  they  preside  t 
that  the  tone  of  honour,  the  amount 
of  /cal  and  of  disinterestedness 
which  subordinates  display  must 
depend  in  a  great  measure  upon 
the  example  set  them  by  their  chief  \ 
that  you  can  no  more  expect  an 
orchestra  to  play  in  tune  with  a 
leader  devoid  of  a  soul  for  music, 
than  a  department  to  work  well 
without  the  soul  of  honour  at  its 
head  I  Do  you  ever  faithfully  tell 
these  great  men,  that  ju.>t  in  pro- 
portion as  their  position  is  elevated 
so  is  their  power  for  good  or  for 
evil  f  and  when  you  see  their  re- 
sponsibilities  sit  lightly  upon  them, 
do  you  ever  take  them  to  ta>k  for 
trilling  with  the  highc.-t  interests 
of  the  country,  and  .stifling  the 
consciences  of  its  servants  /  It  the 
fact  that  in  your  ecclesiastical  ca- 
pacity you  are  beholden  to  one  or 
other  of  the  political  parties,  makes 
it  delicate  for  you  to  attack  your 
opponent.-,  then  let  the  Liberal 
Kpiscopaey  jealou.-ly  guard  the 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


honour  of  the  Liberal  Cabinets, 
and  the  Tory  Bishops  watch  over 
the  public  morality  of  their  own 
side  so  soon  as  it  shall  come  into 
office. 

Of  course,  I  was  not  thinking  of 
all  this  as  I  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  but  I  had  thought  it  often 
before,  and  feel  impelled  to  men- 
tion it  now.  What  I  actually  did 
was  to  blush  a  good  deal,  stammer 
a  good  deal,  and  finally  make  the 
unpleasant  discovery  that  that  pre- 
sence of  mind  which  my  readers 
will  ere  this  have  perceived  I 
possess  to  an  eminent  degree,  had 
entirely  deserted  me.  I  think  this 
arose  from  the  extreme  desire  I  felt 
that  Lady  Ursula  should  not  at 
that  moment  imagine  that  I  was 
mad.  Perhaps,  my  reader,  it  may 
have  happened  to  you  to  have  to 
broach  the  most  delicate  of  all 
topics  to  a  young  lady  who  regarded 
you  in  the  light  of  a  rather  danger- 
ous lunatic,  and  you  can  therefore 
enter  into  my  feelings.  I  was  not 
sorry  to  find  myself  blushing  and 
stammering,  as  it  might  have  the 
effect  of  reassuring  her,  and  mak- 
ing her  feel  that  for  the  moment 
at  least  I  was  quite  harmless. 

"I  am  glad,  Lord  Frank,"  she 
said,  observing  my  confusion,  "that 
you  have  given  me  this  opportunity 
of  seeing  you,  as  I  am  sure  you 
would  not  willingly  inflict  pain, 
and  should  you  find  that  you  have 
unintentionally  done  so  will  make 
all  the  reparation  in  your  power." 

At  this  moment  I  glanced  signi- 
ficantly at  Broadbrim,  who  left  the 
room. 

"  Unfortunately  it  too  often 
happens,  Lady  Ursula,"  I  said, 
"  that  it  is  necessary  to  inflict  a 
temporary  pain  to  avert  what  might 
become  a  permanent  misery." 

"  I  cannot  conceive,"  replied  she, 
"  to  Avhat  permanent  misery,  as 
affecting  myself,  you  can  allude,  in 
which  your  intervention  should  be 
necessary,  more  especially  when  ex- 
hibited in  a  form  which  places  me  in 
such  a  false  position.  I  need  not  say 
that  the  announcement  which  I  saw 


for  the  first  time  in  a  newspaper 
caused  me  the  greatest  annoyance; 
but  when  I  found  afterwards  that 
my  mother,  my  brother,  and  even 
Lord  Grandon,  had  heard  it  from 
your  own  lips  many  weeks  before, 
and  that  in  fact  you  had  given 
my  mother,  under  a  promise  that 
she  would  not  allude  to  the  subject 
to  me,  such  a  totally  erroneous  idea 
of  what  passed  at  our  interview  at 
Dickiefield, — when  I  thought  of  all 
this,  I  could  only  account  for  it  by 
the  last  revelation  you  made  to  me 
there." 

She  maintained  her  self-posses- 
sion perfectly  until  she  was  obliged 
to  allude  to  my  insanity,  then  she 
dropped  her  eyelids,  and  the  colour 
for  the  first  time  rushed  into  her 
cheeks  as  she  shrank  from  touch- 
ing on  this  delicate  subject.  At 
the  moment  I  almost  felt  inclined 
to  tell  her  that  I  was  as  sane  as 
she  was,  but  refrained,  partly  be- 
cause I  was  not  sure  of  it  myself, 
partly  because  I  did  not  think  she 
would  believe  me,  partly  because, 
after  all,  it  might  be  the  best  jus- 
tification I  could  offer  for  my  con- 
duct, and  partly  because  I  was  not 
quite  ready  to  enter  upon  an  ex- 
planation of  the  ruse  by  which  I 
had  hoped  to  save  her  from  the 
persecution  of  her  mother  to  marry 
Chundango.  This  suddenly  re- 
minded me  of  my  idea  that  she 
was  in  the  position  of  one  drown- 
ing. I  therefore  said,  in  a  careless 
way,  for  the  purpose  of  showing 
her  that  her  allusion  to  my  insanity 
had  produced  no  unfavourable  im- 
pression upon  me — • 

"  Lady  Ursula,  would  you  have 
any  objection  to  regarding  me  in 
the  light  of  a  straw." 

"  A  what !"  said  Lady  Ursula,  in 
a  tone  in  which  amazement  seemed 
blended  with  alarm. 

"  A  straw,"  I  repeated  ;  "  I  as- 
sure you  you  are  drowning,  and 
even  an  unworthy  being  like  my- 
self may  be  of  use  to  you,  if  you 
would  but  believe  it.  Plemember 
Chundango's  conduct  at  Dickiefield 
— remember  the  view  Lady  Broad- 


1SG5.1 


Contemporaneous  AittulsivyrajJiy. — J'art  IV. 


brim  took  of  it,  until  1  interposed, 
ur,  as  1  should  more  accurately  say, 
until  the  current  .swept  me  past  her 
—  reineinber  that  up  to  this  mo- 
inent  .she  has  never  recurreil  to  the 
subject  of  Mr  I'hundango,  who,  al- 
though he  comes  to  the  house  con- 
stantly, now  devotes  himself  en- 
tirely to  Lady  Broadbrim  herself  ; 
and,  allow  me  to  say  it,  you  owe  it 
all  to  a  timely  straw." 

Lady  1'r.siila  seemed  struck  by 
the  graphic  way  in  which  1  put  her 
position  before  her,  and  remained 
silent  for  a  few  moments.  It  had 
evidently  never  occurred  to  her, 
that  I  had  indirectly  been  the  means 
of  securing  her  tranquillity.  She 
little  thought  it  possible  that  her 
mother  could  have  talked  her  mat- 
rimonial prospects  over  with  a  com- 
parative stranger  in  the  mercantile 
terms  which  Lady  Jiroadbrim  had 
used  in  our  interview  at  l)iekiefield. 
And  I  am  well  aware  that  society 
generally  would  consider  such  con- 
duct on  the  part  of  her  Ladyship 
coarse  and  unladylike.  It  .showed 
a  disregard  of  1(8  cvmtna nets  which 
good  society  is  the  first  to  resent. 
Those  who  have  never  secretly  har- 
boured the  designs  which  Lady 
liroadbrim  in  the  agony  of  a  finan- 
cial crisis  avowed,  might  justly  re- 
pudiate her  conduct  ;  but  " con- 
science does  make  cowards  of  us 
all,"  and  fashionable  mothers  will 
naturally  be  the  first  to  censure  in 
Lady  Broadbrim  a  practice  to  which, 
in  a  less  glaring  and  obnoxious 
form,  they  are  so  strongly  addicted. 
If  in  silvery  accents  she  had  con- 
fided her  projects  to  Lady  Mun- 
dane, the  world  would  have  con- 
sidered it  natural  and  ladylike 
enough;  the  coarseness  consisted 
in  her  telling  them  to  me.  () 
generation  of  slave -owners  !  why 
persist  in  deluding  yourselves  into 
the  belief  that  so  long  as  you  buy 
and  sell  your  own  Hesh  and  blood 
in  a  whisper,  there  is  no  harm  in 
it? 

My  gentle  critics,  I  would  strong- 
ly advise  you  not  to  place  me  on 
my  defence  in  these  matters ;  1  have 


every  disposition  to  let  y«>u  down 
as  gently  as  possible,  but  if  yu  play 
tricks  with  the  rope.  1  shall  have 
to  let  you  down  by  the  run.  Why, 
it  was  only  last  year  that  all  the 
world  went  to  Mrs  Corgon  T«»mp- 
kins's  second  ball.  They  no  mure 
cared  than  she  did  that  she  had 
lost  one  of  her  daughters  early  in 
the  season,  just  alter  *\n-  had  given 
the  tir.it.  1  remember  Spill'y  <  iold- 
tip  taking  public  opinion  in  the 
club  about  it,  and  asking  whether 
an  interval  of  tour  month-  was  not 
enough  to  .vitisfy  the  requirements 
of  society  in  the  matter,  as  it  would 
be  so  sad  if,  after  having  made  such 
good  social  running  before  Master, 
Mrs  IJorgon  Tompkins  were  to  lo.-e 
it  all  afterwards  through  an  \\\\- 
fortunate  <•"/<//> /'////o'  of  this  kind. 
Now  1  doubt  whether  Lidy  Broad- 
brim could  surpass  that.  However, 
she  is  capable  of  great  feats,  and  I 
fully  expect  she  will  strike  out  a 
new  line  soon;  there  has  been  a 
lurking  demon  in  her  eye  of  late 
which  alarms  me.  Fortunately  I 
am  not  yet  finally  committed,  finan- 
cially. It  is  true,  it  has  cost  me  a 
few  thousands,  which  1  shall  nc\er 
see  again,  to  tide  the  family  over 
its  difficulties  thus  far,  but  1  can 
still  let  it  down  with  a  crash  if  it 
suits  me. 

"  Lord  Frank, "  said  Lady  l"rsul:i 
after  a  pause,  "  1  have  already  al- 
luded to  the  circumstance  which 
has  induced  me  to  treat  you  with  a 
forbearance  which  I  could  not  have 
extended  to  one  whom  I  regarded 
as  responsible  for  conduct  unwar- 
rantable towards  myself,  and  cer- 
tainly not  to  be  justified  by  any 
possible  advantage  which  1  might 
be  supposed  to  derive  from  it.  1 
consented  to  see  you  now,  because 
1  feel  sure  that  when  you  know 
from  my  own  lips  that  1  wish  you  at 
once  to  deny  the  rumour  you  have 
been  the  means  of  originating,  I 
may  depend  upon  your  doing  so." 

"  May  I  ask,"  I  said,  with  much 
contrition  in  my  tone,  "  what  ex- 
planation you  gave  Lady  Broad- 
brim on  the  subject  i" 


C56 


Piccadilly :  an  Episode  of 


[June, 


"If  you  mean,"  said  Lady  Ursula, 
"  whether  I  accounted  to  mamma 
for  your  conduct  as  I  do  to  myself — 
in  other  words,  whether  I  betrayed 
your  secret — I  have  carefully  re- 
frained from  discussing  the  subject 
with  her.  Fortunately,  after  din- 
ner at  the  Nolands'  last  night, 
Broadbrim,  told  me  that  he  had 
seen  you,  and  that  you  were  coming 
here  to-day,  so  I  assured  mamma 
that  she  would  hear  from  you  the 
true  state  of  the  case ;  though,  of 
course,  I  felt  myself  bound  to  let 
her  understand  that,  owing  to  a 
fact  which  I  was  unable  to  explain, 
she  had  been  completely  misled  by 

you." 

"  And  what  did  Lady  Broadbrim 
say  1 "  I  asked. 

"  She  said  that  had  it  not  been 
for  a  meeting  she  was  obliged  to 
attend  this  morning,  she  would 
have  waited  to  see  you  to-day,  but 
that  she  was  sure  I  laboured  under 
some  strange  delusion,  and  that  a 
few  words  of  explanation  from  you 
would  smooth  everything." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  tell  you 
what  those  few  words  are?"  said  I. 
"  Lady  Broadbrim  little  imagines 
the  real  state  of  the  case,  because 
she  knows  what  you  do  not  know, 
that  I  am  engaged  in  clearing  off 
her  own  pecuniary  liabilities,  and 
making  arrangements  by  which  the 
old-standing  claims  on  the  Broad- 
brim estates  may  be  met.  You 
may  never  have  heard  how  seriously 
the  family  is  embarrassed,  and  how 
unlucky  all  Lady  Broadbrim's  at- 
tempts to  retrieve  its  fortunes  by 
speculation  have  been.  I  could 
only  account  to  her  for  the  pecuniary 
sacrifices  she  knows  I  am  making 
by  allowing  her  to  suppose  that  I 
was  incurring  them  for  your  sake." 
I  could  not  resist  letting  a  certain 
tone  of  pique  penetrate  this  speech, 
and  the  puzzled  and  pained  expres- 
sion of  Lady  Ursula's  face  afforded 
me  a  sense  of  momentary  gratifica- 
tion, of  which  I  speedily  repented. 
As  she  looked  at  me  earnestly,  her 
large  blue  eyes  filled  slowly  with 
tears.  "  Is  she  crying  because  this 


last  speech  of  mine  proves  me 
hopelessly  mad  1 "  thought  I ;  "or 
does  she  feel  herself  in  a  pecuniary 
trap,  and  is  she  crying  because  she 
does  not  see  her  way  out  of  it  1 " 
and  I  felt  the  old  sensation  coming 
over  me,  and  my  head  beginning  to 
swim.  Why,  oh  why,  am  I  de- 
nied that  method  in  my  madness 
which  it  must  be  such  a  comfort  to 
possess  ?  It  is  just  at  the  critical 
moment  that  my  osseous  matter 
invariably  plays  me  a  trick.  I 
seemed  groping  for  light  and 
strength,  and  mechanically  put  out 
my  hand  ;  the  soft  touch  of  one 
placed  gently  in  it  thrilled  through 
my  nerves  with  an  indescribable 
current,  and  instantaneously  the 
horrid  feeling  left  me,  and  I 
emerged  from  the  momentary  tor- 
por into  which  I  had  fallen.  I 
don't  think  Ursula  remarked  it,  for 
she  said,  and  her  eyes  were  now 
overflowing,  in  a  voice  of  surpass- 
ing sweetness,  "  Lord  Frank,  I 
have  discovered  your  real  secret ; 
it  is  no  longer  possible  for  you  to 
conceal  the  noble  motives  which 
have  actuated  you  under  your 
pretended 

"  Hush  !  "  I  said,  interrupting 
her  ;  "  what  I  did,  whether  rightly 
or  wrongly,  I  did  for  the  best. 
Now  I  will  be  guided  by  your 
wishes.  What  am  I  to  do  1 " 

"  Allow  no  worldly  consideration, 
however  unselfish,  either  for  myself 
or  those  dearest  to  me,  to  induce 
you  to  swerve  from  the  course 
which  truth  and  honour  distinctly 
point  out.  Whatever  may  seem 
to  be  the  consequences,  we  are  both 
bound  to  follow  this,  and  we  have 
but  to  feel  that,  if  need  be,  we  are 
ready  to  make  great  sacrifices  to 
receive  the  requisite  faith  and 
strength.  Believe  me,"  she  con- 
cluded, and  her  voice  trembled 
slightly,  "whatever  happens,  I 
shall  feel  that  you  have  given  me 
proofs  of  a  friendship  upon  which 
I  may  depend." 

I  pressed  the  hand  I  still  held, 
and  I  felt  the  touch  was  sacred. 
Ah,  thought  I,  as  I  left  the  room, 


1805.]  Contemporaneous  Autobiography. — I'urt  IV.  cr>7 


and  was  conscious  that  the  gentle 
influence  of  her  J  had  parted  from 
wits  .still  resting  upon  me,  "  that  is 
the  right  kind  of  spirit-medium. 
There  is  a  magnetism  in  that  slen- 
der finger  which  supports  and  puri- 
fies." O  my  hardened  and  material 
readers,  don't  suppose  that  liecause 
I  know  you  will  laugh  at  the  idea 
of  a  purifying  or  invigorating  mag- 
netism I  shall  hesitate  to  write 
exactly  what  I  feel  on  such  matters. 
If  I  refrain  from  saying  a  great 
deal  more,  it  is  not  because  1  shrink 
from  your  ridicule,  but  from  your 
ignorance  ;  you  may  not  believe 
that  the  pearls  exist  ;  I  honestly 
admit  that  they  are  not  yet  in  my 
possession,  but  1  have  seen  those 
who  own  them,  and,  unfortunately, 
also  I  have  seen  the  animals  before 
whom  they  have  been  cast.  And 
you,  my  dear  young  ladies,  do  not 
ignore  the  responsibility  which  the 
influence  you  are  able  to  exercise 
over  young  men  imposes  upon  you. 
You  need  not  call  it  magnetism 
unless  you  like,  but  be  sure  that 
there  is  that  conveyed  in  a  touch 
or  a  glance  which  elevates  or  de- 
grades him  upon  whom  it  is  bestow- 
ed, according  as  you  preserve  the 
purity  and  simplicity  of  your  in- 
most natures.  If  you  would  only 
regard  yourselves  in  the  light  of 
female  missionaries  to  that  be- 
nighted tribe  of  lavender-gloved 
young  gentlemen  who  flutter  about 
you  like  moths  round  a  candle,  you 
would  send  them  away  glowing  and 
happy,  instead  of  singeing  their 
wings.  If,  when  these  butterflies 
come  to  sip,  you  would  give  them 
honey  instead  of  poison,  they  would 
not  forsake  you  as  they  do  now 
for  the  gaudy  flowers  which  are  too 
near  you.  1  know  what  you  have 
to  contend  against — the  scheming 
mothers  who  bring  you  up  to  the 
"  Daughticultural  Show,"  labelled 
and  decorated,  and  put  up  to  com- 
petition as  likely  prize-winners — 
who  deliberately  expose  you  to  the 
first  rush  of  your  first  seasons,  and 
mercilessly  watch  you  as  you  are 
swept  along  by  the  tearing  stream — 


who  sec  you  without  compunction 
cast  away  on  sandbanks  of  worldli- 
ness,  where  you  remain  till  you  be- 
come as  "hard"  and  as  "  fu.st  "  its 
those  you  find  stranded  there  before 
you.  Here  your  minds  become  pro- 
perly, or  rather  improperly,  opened. 
You  hear,  for  the  first  time,  to  your 
astonishment,  young  men  talked 
of  by  their  Christian  or  nicknames 
—  their  domestic  life  canvassed, 
their  eligibility  discussed,  and  the. 
varied  personal  experience-,  through 
which  your  "hard  and  fast"  friends 
have  passed,  related. 

Then,  better  prepared  for  the  rest 
of  the  voyage,  you  start  again,  and 
venture  a  little  on  your  own  ac- 
count. What  bold  .swimmers  you 
are  becoming  now  !  How  you  laugh 
at  and  defy  the  rocks  and  reefs 
upon  which  you  are  ultimately  des- 
tined to  split  !  Already  you  look 
back  with  surprise  to  the  time  when 
almost  everything  you  heard  shock- 
ed you.  What  an  immense  amount 
of  unnecessary  knowledge  you  have 
acquired  since  then,  and  how  reck- 
lessly  you  display  it  !  I  >o  you  think 
it  has  softened  and  elevated  you  I 
l)o  you  think  the  moral  contact 
which  should  he  life  giving  to  those 
who  know  you.  benefits  them  I 

It  is  not  true,  liecause  young  men 
behave  heartlessly,  that  you  must 
flirt  "  in  self-defence,'  as  you  call  it. 
When  a  warfare  of  this  kind  once 
begins,  it  is  difficult  to  fix  the  re- 
sponsibility :  but  it"  one  side  left  off, 
the  occupation  of  the  other  would 
be  gone.  If  you  want  to  revenge 
yourselves  on  these  fickle  youths — 
ttrikt .'  as  they  do  in  the  manu- 
facturing districts.  Conceive  the 
wholesome  panic  you  would  cause, 
if  every  girl  in  I/nidon  bound  her- 
self not  to  flirt  for  the  entire  sea- 
son ! 

Unless  you  do  something  of  this 
kind  soon,  you  will  reverse  the 
whole  system  of  nature.  The  men 
will  be  the  candles,  and  you  the 
moths.  They  will  W  the  flowers, 
and  you  the  butterflies.  If  all  the 
brothers  in  London  persist  in  trying 
to  imitate  their  sisters,  and  all  the 


658 


Piccadilly. — Part  IV. 


[June, 


sisters  ape  their  brothers,  what  a 
nice  confusion  we  shall  arrive  at. 
The  reason  I  preach  to  you  and  not 
to  them  now,  is,  because  I  think  I 
have  a  better  chance  with  the  mind 
of  a  masculine  young  woman  than 
a  feminine  young  man.  If  you  only 
knew  what  a  comfort  it  would  be 
to  talk  sense  instead  of  that  inces- 
sant chaff,  you  would  read  a  little 
more.  I  don't  object  to  your  riding 
in  the  Park — the  abominable  consti- 
tution of  society  makes  it  almost 
the  only  opportunity  of  seeing  and 
talking  to  those  you  like  without 
being  talked  about ;  but  you  need 
not  rush  off  for  a  drive  in  the  car- 
riage immediately  after  lunch,  just 
because  you  are  too  restless  to  stay 
at  home. 

First,  the  Park  and  young  men, 
then  lunch,  then  Marshall  and 
Snelgrove,  then  tea  and  young  men 
again,  then  dinner,  drums,  and 
balls,  and  young  men  to  three  A.M. 
That  is  the  tread-wheel  you  have 
chosen  to  turn  without  the  smallest 


profit  to  yourself  or  any  one  else. 
If  I  seem  to  speak  strongly,  it  is 
because  my  heart  yearns  over  you. 
I  belonged  once  to  the  lavender- 
gloved  tribe  myself,  and  though  I 
have  long  since  abandoned  the 
hunting-grounds  of  my  youth,  I 
would  give  the  world  to  see  them 
happy  and  innocent.  Moreover,  I 
know  you  too  well  to  imagine  that 
I  have  written  a  word  which  will 
offend  you.  Far  from  it.  We 
shall  be  warmer  and  closer  friends 
ever  after ;  but  I  am  strongly 
afraid  Mamma  will  disapprove. 
She  will  call  '  Piccadilly'  "  highly 
improper,"  and  say  that  it  is  a  book 
she  has  not  allowed  any  of  "her 
girls  "  to  read.  I  don't  want  to 
preach  disobedience  ;  but  there  are 
modes  well  known  to  my  fair  young 
friends  of  reading  books  which 
Mamma  forbids,  and  I  trust  that 
they  will  never  read  one  against 
her  wish  which  may  leave  a  more 
injurious  impression  upon  their 
minds  than  '  Piccadilly.' 


18G5.] 


Xottt  and  y<ttt<jnt  from 


NOTES    AND    NOTIONS    FROM    ITALY. 


1.0  stf 

Ku  :i 


ml 


.lint.'-  a  R.ilir«« 


THKSE  arc  days  of  sorrow  ami 
mourning  in  the  undent  capital 
of  the  warlike  subalpine  kingdom. 
Turin  veils  her  face  and  casts  ashes 
on  her  head,  for  her  glory  is  about 
to  £o  forth  from  her  gates  without 
prospect  of  return.  Other  cities 
have  had  misfortunes  grievous  to 
endure  ;  plague  and  pestilence  have 
depopulated  them,  barbarians  have 
sacked  and  burned,  waters  have 
overwhelmed,  and  earthquakes 
have  overthrown  them  ;  but  from 
disasters  and  ruin  they  rose  again, 
prouder  and  more  stately  than 
before,  and  past  misfortune  was 
soon  forgotten  in  the  vigour  of 
revival  and  the  sunshine  of  success. 
Turin  has  no  such  hope  to  console 
her  desolation.  Harder  to  bear 
than  the  greatest  of  those  calami- 
ties is  the  fate  that  now  befalls  her. 
After  being  the  head  of  the  corner, 
it  is  doubly  cruel  to  be  cast  down 
and  rejected  by  the  builder.  After 
having  been  for  centuries  the 
chosen  of  kings  and  courts  and 
senates,  it  is  grievous  to  dwindle 
into  the  insignificant  residence  of 
a  provincial  aristocracy.  All  these 
losses,  all  this  humiliation,  incurred 
by  no  fault,  but  due  to  merit, 
—  the  ungracious  guerdon  of 
loyalty,  valour,  and  self-sacrifice. 
It  is  because  Piedmont  has  been 
ever  loyal  to  its  kings,  valiant  in 
the  field,  stout-hearted  in  adversity, 
and  persevering  in  its  enterprises, 
that  Turin  now  finds  itself  on  the 
eve  of  decapitalisation.  Virtue, 
says  the  moralist,  is  its  own  re- 
ward ;  and  amongst  men  such  may 
be  the  case,  but  here  is  a  flagrant 
proof  that  it  is  not  always  so  with 
cities. 

The  Piedmontcse  have  been  call- 
ed the  Knglish  of  Italy,  and  they 
have  certainly  long  been  greatly  in 
advance;  of  the  rest  of  the  country, 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  PXCVI. 


thanks  to  freedom,  religious  and 
civil,  and  to  its  natural  conse- 
quence, unrestricted  and  profitable 
intercourse  with  nations  more  ad- 
vanced in  civilisation.  The  refuge, 
alter  l1--^.  of  many  of  the  most 
enlightened  and  intelligent  men  of 
other  parts  of  Italy,  Turin's  in- 
crease in  si/e  and  prosperity  has 
also  borne  testimony  to  the  bene- 
fits of  constitutional  government. 
Whilst  deploring  the  disastrous 
change  now  impending  over  her, 
one  cannot  but  wonder  at  the  per- 
sistent conviction  the  Turin.-e 
have  cherished,  that  their  city 
would  continue  to  lie  the  capital 
of  Italy  whole  and  united.  This 
might  have  been  possible,  had  the 
peninsula  accrued  to  the  hoiiM- of 
Savoy  by  right  of  conqtie>t.  Con- 
sidering the  way  in  which  the 
kingdom  of  Italy  has  been  formed, 
it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  that 
its  numerous  famous  cities  should 
be  content,  one  and  all.  to  waive 
their  claims  and  doff  their  bonnets 
before  a  trad  it  ion  less  town  in  a 
remote  corner  of  the  kingdom, 
with  inhabitant^  only  semi  Italian, 
and  whose  habitual  di.-cour-e  is  in 
a  harsh  and  barbarous  patois.  Such 
an  expectation  could  hardly,  one 
would  think,  survive  calm  reflec- 
tion. IV  fore  IJome,  it  is  true. 
Turin  bowed  her  head  and  declared 
her  readiness  to  resign  her  suprem- 
acy. I'.ut  the  transfer  to  the 
Capitol  was  a  remote  contingency; 
who  could  tell  what  time  would 
elapse  ere  the  tricolor  should 
wave  over  the  city  of  the  C'a-sars  f 
Turin  has  been  called  upon  for  an 
earlier  sacrifice,  and,  great  though 
it  be,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
some  compensation  has  already 
been  afforded.  It  is  no  small  glory 
to  have  been  the  armed  hand, 
civilised  and  liberating,  which  h;w 
2  v 


6GO 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


drawn  together  the  severed  por- 
tions of  the  fairest  of  European 
lands,  which  has  combined  into 
one  state  Tuscany  and  the  Sicilies, 
Lombardy  and  the  Romagna,  ex- 
tending to  them  all  the  benefits  of 
example,  and  inspiring  even  the 
ignorant  and  degraded  Neapolitan 
with  a  sense  of  his  inferiority  and 
a  desire  for  improvement.  One  of 
the  most  striking  features  of  the 
change  that  has  taken  place  in 
Southern  Italy  is  the  progress  of 
education — many  schools  now  open 
and  well  attended,  where  lately 
scarcely  one  was  to  be  found. 
This  is  satisfactory  to  reflect  up- 
on, but  still,  for  Piedmont,  and 
especially  for  Turin,  the  change 
of  capital  is  hard  to  bear,  the 
more  so  as  it  was  decided  only 
two  years  ago  that,  until  Rome 
should  be  acquired,  Turin  was  the 
most  fitting  seat  of  government. 
If  Tuscany  be  renowned  in  the 
annals  of  poetry  and  art,  Piedmont 
is  no  less  celebrated  for  the  mili- 
tary virtues  and  exploits  of  its 
princes  and  people.  We  live  in  an 
age  of  steel  and  steam,  when  the 
sword  is  more  often  in  request  than 
the  lyre  and  the  easel,  especially  in 
a  country  whose  very  existence  is 
still  disputed,  and  whose  nearest 
neighbour  is  a  powerful  foe.  It 
may  be  urged  that  the  arsenal 
rather  than  the  picture-gallery 
claims  the  presence  of  a  soldier- 
sovereign.  Cialclini's  arguments  in 
favour  of  the  strategical  advantages 
of  Florence  find  opponents  amongst 
Italian  generals  not  less  experienced 
than  himself,  and  whose  military 
education  has  been  more  regular 
than  his.  In  short,  the  Piedmontese 
have  much  to  urge  against  the 
change,  and  it  is  natural  that  they 
should  dispute  its  propriety  and  jus- 
tice. The  contrivers  of  the  Conven- 
tion, the  Minghetti  Ministry,  might 
have  found  it  difficult  fully  to  pre- 
pare the  minds  of  the  people  of  this 
city  for  the  loss  of  rank  about  to 
befall  it ;  but  they  should  at  least 
have  endeavoured  to  break  the 
news  to  them  gently,  and  to  spare 


them  the  shock  of  a  sudden  an- 
nouncement. If  they  thought 
themselves  justified  in  concluding 
a  convention  of  which  the  change  of 
capital  was  a  condition,  without  con- 
sulting Parliament  as  to  whether 
that  condition  were  a  proper  one, 
they  should  have  taken  measures 
to  conciliate  public  opinion.  But 
nothing  of  the  kind  was  done — not 
so  much  as  a  newspaper  article  in 
any  of  the  numerous  journals  then 
subsidised  with  the  funds  of  the 
State.  It  is  still  a  matter  of  dis- 
pute how  the  news  got  out.  As 
many  believe,  the  present  Se- 
cretary of  Legation  at  Paris,  a 
protege  of  Cavour's,  and  who  in 
September  last  was  doing  duty  at 
the  Italian  Foreign  Office,  commu- 
nicated' it  to  a  friend  of  his,  the 
editor  of  a  Turin  morning  paper. 
The  Secretary  and  the  editor  are 
both  Jews,  and  a  considerable  in- 
timacy existed  between  them.  Ac- 
cording to  another  and  more  accre- 
dited version,  Minghetti  himself, 
with  characteristic  levity  and  want 
of  foresight,  authorised  the  publi- 
cation of  the  change  of  capital, 
which  was  suddenly  announced  by 
the  halfpenny  journal  referred  to. 
One  morning  the  Turinese  read  at 
every  street  corner  the  totally  un- 
expected intelligence  that  their  capi- 
tal was  to  be  reduced  to  a  provincial 
town.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
mention  the  story  circulated  at  cer- 
tain Turinese  tea-tables,  to  the  effect 
that  the  King's  favourite,  the  well- 
known  Rosina,  to  whom  he  is  re- 
ported to  be  privately  married, 
taunted  an  uncivil  shopkeeper  with 
the  coming  change.  By  whomso- 
ever first  betrayed,  the  news  came 
out  abruptly,  and  the  shock  was 
electric.  But  there  was  no  danger 
of  serious  disturbances  as  its  con- 
sequence, and  it  was  the  fault  of 
the  authorities,  of  the  poltroonery 
of  some  and  the  folly  of  others, 
that  Turin's  streets  were  stained 
with  blood.  "  Who  would  have 
supposed,"  a  member  of  the  late 
Cabinet  was  heard  to  say,  "  that 
the  Turinese  would  have  risen  in 


ISC  5. 


fi\>m 


insurrection  ?"  They  did  nothing 
of  tlu-  sort  ;  there  was  not  an  at- 
tempt at  a  barricade,  and  not  a 
firearm  wa.s  raptured  from  the  riot- 
ers, if  such  they  may  he  railed, 
who  were  chiefly  mere  lads  urged  on 
l>y  a  small  number  of  mischievous 
democratic  agents,  and  whose  ut- 
most misdeeds  consisted  in  a  few 
shouts  and  volleys  of  stones.  In 
the  days  of  ( 'avour  a  more  serious 
demonstration  was  met  l>y  a  glance 
from  tin-  window,  a  smile,  and  the 
jest,  "  My  Turinese  are  merry  to- 
night." P.ut  Cavour  was  of  differ- 
ent stuff  from  the  Minghettis,  1'e- 
ru/./.is,  and  Spa  vent  as.  Such  mea- 
sures ax  were  taken  were  calculated 
rather  to  provoke  and  irritate  than 
to  soothe. 

Instead  of  allowing  the  efferves- 
cence to  subside  of  itself,  as  it 
would  have  done,  gendarmes  were 
suffered  and  encouraged  to  tire  on 
the  people.  Numerous  victims  tes- 
tified to  the  combined  cowardice, 
incapacity,  and  recklessness  of  hu- 
man life  which  distinguished  some 
of  the  men  highest  in  authority  at 
that  disastrous  conjuncture.  The 
shameful  and  most  unnecessary 
massacres  of  the  L'lst  and  L'lM  of 
September  will  long  be  remembered 
with  indignation  and  rage  in  Turin, 
where  they  cost  the  Ministers  their 
places  and  the  King  his  popularity. 

Turning  from  these  m«  lancholy 
memories,  let  us  enter  a  room  whose 
aspect  is  probably  familiar  to  not  a 
few  who  read  these  pages.  A  spa- 
cious oblong  hall,  overloaded  with 
decoration  in  the  most  superlative 
modern  Italian  style.  The  walls 
disappear  under  colour  and  gilding, 
corpulent  Cupids  clamber  and  gam- 
bol over  them  in  all  directions,  rest- 
ing upon  arabesques  and  clinging  to 
garlands,  whilst  verdant  dragons 
rear  themselves  amongst  wreaths  of 
roses.  The  arched  embrasures  of  the 
windows,  which,  owing  to  the  near 
approach  of  adjacent  walls,  admit, 
at  the  brightest  season,  only  a  sub- 
dued light,  are  profusely  gilt,  and 
partly  tilled  with  crimson  draperies. 
The  decorators  were  evidently  re- 


solved to  leave  no  plain  surface- 
whereon  to  rest  the  eye  :  walls  and 
ceiling  alike  are  crowded  with 
figures,  flowers,  fanciful  border-, 
and  elaborate  adornments,  until  the 
beholder  is  da/zled  and  bewildered, 
and  sutlers  his  weary  ga/e  to  fall 
upon  the  floor,  or  to  stray  through 
the  window  to  the  tim>-  -tained  and 
weather-worn  walls.  balo>nir^.  and 
external  >taiiva-e-  of  the  unpretend- 
ing dwellings  <>utM«le.  <  inly  a  pro- 
le.»ional  gilder  could  estimate  the 
amount  of  the  precious  metal  that 
has  been  expended  upon  those  walls 
and  cornices  ;  the  carmine  upon  the 
cheeks  of  the  ( 'upids  would  supply 
the  whole  mr i >.<  </>•  l.'tll't  of  the 
Teatro  llegio  for  a  long  season  ; 
rumour  tells  of  the  enormous  sums 
the  scores  of  thousands  of  frane-. 
that  have  been  disbursed  to  the 
cunning  artists  and  artificers  who 
have  made  this  great  saloon  the 
gaudiest  in  Kurope.  The  triumph 
of  their  art,  the  //''  )>t>tt  it/(r<i  of 
their  achievements,  is  displayed  up- 
on the  ceiling,  where  all  the  gods 
of  Olympus  .ire  assembled  at  their 
revels  ;  where  .lupitcr  quaffs  nectar 
from  the  hand  of  Hebe,  whilst  jeal- 
ous .luno  bends  her  brows,  and  the 
bird  of  .love,  red  lightning  in  its 
clutch,  seems  to  menace  the  mor- 
tals a-vM'inhlcd  below.  It  is  towards 
six  of  the  clock  ;  dinner  is  in  full 
progress  at  Tnmibetta's  ;  the  ses- 
sion is  at  its  height  ;  the  hotel  is 
full  to  it.s  very  roof,  partly  with 
passing  foreigners,  but  still  more 
with  the  senators  and  deputies 
who  have  come  together  from  all 
parts  of  Italy.  1  >own  the  centre 
of  the  vast  room  runs  the  long  f>tl,fr 
il'lii'its,  prolonged  by  cross  tables  at 
the  further  end,  and  showing  not  .1 
single  vacant  place.  The  hall  is 
sufficiently  wide  to  allow  of  rows 
of  small  tables  along  each  of  it* 
sides,  and  at  these  dine  solitary 
guests,  or  groups  of  from  two  to 
four  persons.  The  gilt  chandeliers 
suspended  from  the  nntf  and  dis- 
tributed profusely  round  the  room 
flame  with  gas,  whilst  a  huge  vase 
in  the  middle  of  the  table  supports 


662 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


a  system  of  waxlights.  It  is  the 
busiest  hour  of  the  day  ;  culinary- 
furnaces  are  in  full  blast ;  a  regi- 
ment of  slim  black-coated  waiters 
glide  swiftly  and  noiselessly  about 
the  room,  or  hover  round  the  table 
d'hote,  watchful  for  the  wants  of 
the  guests.  If  you  have  been  long 
enough  in  Turin  to  acquire  some 
knowledge  of  the  carte  du  pays, 
the  company  assembled  furnishes 
materials  for  amusing  study  and 
observation.  Neglecting  the  often- 
described  English  groups,  imme- 
diately recognisable  by  the  beards 
of  the  gentlemen  and  the  flat, 
smooth  hair  of  the  ladies,  former- 
ly a  foreign,  but  now  exclusively 
an  English  style,  let  us  limit  our- 
selves to  the  Italian  element. 
One  finds  plenty  of  names  of  an- 
cient fame,  some  of  them  borne  by 
men  of  mark.  Here  are  scions  of 
old  nobility  from  Milan,  Florence, 
and  Genoa,  whose  patronymics 
figure  in  many  a  gorgeous  page 
of  Italian  history,  crowded  with 
narratives  of  war  and  enterprise  of 
revel  and  tourney.  One  almost 
wonders  to  see  what  humdrum 
prosaic  personages  these  inheritors 
of  great  names  and  far-descended 
titles  in  many  instances  are,  and  to 
find  the  sages  and  warriors  of  the 
middle  ages  dwindled  into  prosy 
deputies  and  puny  carpet-knights. 
Here,  from  Naples,  are  princes  by 
the  half-score,  many  of  whom  would 
be  puzzled  to  show  the  whereabout 
of  their  principalities,  but  who  are 
doubtless  great  men  in  their  own 
land,  although  they  may  scarcely 
have  been  heard  of  out  of  it.  Now 
and  then  one  hears  a  name  which 
brings  a  flood  of  associations  to 
one's  memory.  Here,  for  example, 
sits  a  calm  and  gentlemanlike 
senator  from  Florence  whose  name 
is  Strozzi,  and  one  is  carried  back 
to  the  days  of  Cosmo  di  Medici, 
the  implacable  enemy  of  his  great 
ancestor  Filippo,  the  Rothschild  of 
the  middle  ages,  who  died  for  the 
liberties  of  Florence  after  thrice 
enduring  the  torture.  Near  the 
gentle  and  refined-looking  bearer 


of  this  great  name  sits  a  young 
man  with  an  eminently  Italian 
physiognomy,  Gherardesca,  direct 
descendant  of  that  Ugolino  who 
perished  with  his  two  sons  and  two 
grandsons  in  the  Tower  of  Famine 
at  Pisa,  Further  on,  in  a  little  old 
man,  you  see  the  owner  of  those 
fairy  islands  in  Lake  Maggiore, 
Isola  Bella  and  Isola  Madre,  where 
one  feels  transported  to  the  luxu- 
riant tropics;  he  too  boasts  of  a 
great  ancestor,  the  saintly  Carlo 
Borromeo.  There  has  been  a  hot 
discussion  in  the  Lower  Chamber  to- 
day, and  the  conversation  at  table, 
at  least  among  a  dozen  deputies, 
chiefly  relates  to  it,  and  is  of  a 
most  animated  character.  Yonder 
sits  one  who  knows  everybody, 
and  takes  a  leading  part  in  the 
talk ;  an  old  man  seemingly,  but 
looking  older  than  he  really  is  ; 
a  pleasing  face,  with  weak  eyes, 
often  blinking  as  if  distressed 
by  light  to  which  they  had  long 
been  unused;  a  gentle,  genial, 
suffering-  expression  which  enlists 
sympathy,  and  almost  excites  com- 
passion. He  takes  much  snuff ;  his 
voice  is  weak  and  hoarse,  and  fre- 
quently broken  by  a  deep  cough. 
It  is  not  with  impunity  that  eleven 
years  are  passed  in  Neapolitan  pri- 
sons. Carlo  Poerio,  condemned 
on  the  evidence  of  suborned  wit- 
nesses, was  fettered  to  a  galley- 
slave,  and  wore  a  chain  weigh- 
ing fifteen  English  pounds,  like  a 
common  felon.  One  wonders  to 
see  no  bitterness  in  the  benign  face 
of  the  prisoner  of  Montesarchio, 
but  one  discerns  in  the  placid  lin- 
eaments more  capability  of  patient 
endurance  than  energy  or  mental 
power.  The  amiable  and  loquaci- 
ous old  gentleman  glides  gently 
down  the  vale  of  age.  He  would 
be  better  at  Naples  inhaling  its 
soft  breezes  than  in  this  harsh 
and  cloudy  climate,  but  he  is 
used  to  self-sacrifice,  and  duty 
detains  him  at  Turin.  Not  far 
from  him  sits  Lacaita,  also  from 
Naples,  but  well  known  in  Eng- 
land, which  he  dearly  loves  and 


18G5.1 


and 


from  I(ul>/. 


warmly  admires.  He  is  a  .striking 
example  of  the  admirable  results 
of  English  principles,  habits,  and 
thoughts,  engrafted  upon  tin- warm, 
impressionable,  and  perceptive  na- 
ture of  the  .southern  Italian.  NYar 
him  sit  several  Tuscan  deputies, 
in  whom  the  keen  observer  re- 
marks a  decree  of  mental  balance 
and  calm  judgment  generally  deli- 
cient  in  the  more  impulsive  ami 
volatile  Neapolitans.  Tho-e  gen- 
tlemen.with  characteristic  courtesy, 
Mippre>s  all  outward  signs  of  joy 
and  exultation  at  the  transfer  of 
the  capital  to  their  beautiful  Flo- 
rence.  Here  is  an  Italian  ad- 
miral, fat,  fair,  and  bald  ;  and 
near  to  him  a  slender,  handsome 
aide-de-camp  of  one  of  the  princes 
of  the  blood.  His  friends  point 
him  out  as  the  mirror  of  honour, 
the  personification  of  modern  chiv- 
alry ;  and  the  passing  stranger  is 
struck  by  the  ideal  beauty  of  the 
face  and  the  wondrous  depth  of 
those  large  lustrous  e\v>.  There 
are  not  a  few  ex-ministers  at  the 
table,  and  amongst  them  the  late 
Premier  Minghetti,  a  well-inten- 
tioned man  of  some  clcvernos,  but 
by  no  means  of  the  stun"  of  which 
prime-ministers  are  generally  made, 
and  whose  sanguine  temperament 
and  administrative  incapacity  have 
done  a  great  deal  to  plunge  Italy 
into  her  present  difficulties.  Some 
of  the  groups  at  the  side-tables  are 
not  without  interest.  Kvery  day  a 
solitary  old  man,  with  long  white 
hair  and  feeble  gait, comes  noiseless- 
ly into  the  room,  and  places  himself 
at  the  same  small  tal  le,  command 
ing  a  view  of  all  the  guests;  but 
though  he  wears  spectacles  to  assist 
his  dim  sight,  he  does  not  seem  to 
heed  the  animated  groups  inces- 
santly passing  before  him.  The 
pale  high  forehead  and  the  delicate 
oval  face,  with  its  pointed  white 
beard,  recall  a  portrait  by  Vandyke, 
and  in  this  venerable  gentleman, 
the  type  of  an  Italian  courtier,  we 
see  an  aged  likeness  of  Charles  I. 
Family  misfortunes  have  left  him 
impoverished  and  alone,  and  he 


may  be  seen  every  evening  at 
the  theatre,  a  touching  pi'-ture  of 
dignified,  retined,  and  lonely  old 
age. 

Pass  we  to  the  next  table.  Tln-rv 
two  men  .-catcd  opposite  to  each 
other  are  dining  heartily  and  cheer- 
fully, chatting  and  >miling  like  per- 
sons who  are  at  no  los-,  for  topics 
interesting  alike  tob,,th.  One  is 
dark  and  soldieily  looking,  with 
shining  black  hair  cut  rather  -hort. 
and  beginning  to  wear  away  at  the 
crown,  \\ith  >ha\en  cheeks  and 
black  mustache  and  beard.  His 
no>e  i>  prominent.  hi>  .-tyle  of  physi- 
ognomy handsome  but  rathercoarsc, 
his  exprc.vMon  energetic  and  decid- 
ed rather  than  amiable  and  . 1- 

tempered,  his  complexion, habitually 
tlorid  and  .-unburnt.  has  now  a  dull 
red  llush,  due  probably  to  dinner 
and  the  heat  of  the  room.  His 
companion  is  a  .-lender  man  with 
rather  small  features,  tanned  by 
weather,  quiet  and  gentlemanlike 
in  manner.  He  wear-  a  long  coat 
buttoned  high,  with  a  gold  chain 
meandering  out.-ioV  it  ;  he  has  no 
mustaches,  and  the  general  style 
of  his  dros.  taken  in  conjunction 
with  the  collar  of  thick  grcyi-h 
whisker  that  completely  surrounds 
his  face,  gives  him  much  the  look  of 
an  Englishman — at  le.i.-t  as  many 
Englishmen  appeared  some  ten 
years  ago.  In-fore  the  practice  of 
wearing  the  full  beard  became  so 
generally  adopted  amongst  them. 
In  fact,  as  a  Frenchman  was  one 
day  heard  to  remark  of  this  gentle- 
man. "  11  a  1'air  plus  Anglais  <|iie 
les  Anglais,"  and  might  l>e  put  in 
the  same  category  with  a  well- 
known  Anglomaniac  Austrian  dip- 
lomatist, who,  having  been  vitu- 
perated a.s  an  Englishman  by  a 
street  boy  he  Imd  accidentally  run 
against,  gave  the  lad  a  dollar  for 
the  compliment.  Persons  who  have 
seen  them  will  probably  recognise 
in  the  above  pen  ami-ink  portraits 
the  most  rising  general  and  the 
most  distinguished  admiral  Italy 
possesses,  and  will  write  under 
the  sketch  the  names  of  I'ialdini 


C64 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


and  Persano.  The  former  lately 
won  parliamentary  fame  by  a  speech 
which  took  the  country  by  sur- 
prise, few  having  suspected  the 
oratorical  powers  of  the  dashing 
and  successful  soldier.  The  speech, 
which  had  manifestly  been  studied, 
was  a  clever  and  effective  produc- 
tion, and  it  won  the  more  applause 
because  it  proclaimed  truths  which 
others  had  feared  to  utter,  and  be- 
cause it  was  spoken  in  a  parliament 
where  long-winded  talkers  abound, 
but  where  eloquence  is  exceedingly 
rare.  Not  far  from  the  two  officers, 
the  late  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs, 
Visconti  Venosta,  dines  opposite  to 
Jacini,  the  present  Minister  of  Pub- 
lic Works,  who  is  about  to  leave 
for  Florence  on  business  connected 
with  the  coming  change  of  capital. 
Venosta  is  a  tall  fair  man  from  the 
Valteline,  who  looks  more  like  a 
German  than  an  Italian.  He  is 
remarkably  quiet  in  manner  and 
sober  in  gestures  for  one  born  south 
of  the  Alps.  His  character  stands 
high  for  disinterestedness  and  pa- 
triotism ;  and  although  not  respon- 
sible for  the  errors  of  his  former 
colleagues,  he  has  chivalrously  taken 
upon  himself  a  share  of  the  odium 
cast  upon  them,  and  manfully  de- 
fended them  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies.  His  abilities  are  good, 
and  he  made  one  of  the  best  speeches 
delivered  in  the  Lower  House  on 
the  subject  of  the  change  of  capital. 
There  are  persons  in  Turin  who 
think  it  not  unlikely  that  at  no 
distant  date  he  will  again  hold  the 
seals  of  office,  possibly  in  a  govern- 
ment of  which  Cialdini  will  also  be 
a  member. 

The  sole  beauty  of  Turin  is  its 
glorious  Alpine  range,  which  is 
sometimes  covered  with  snow  as 
early  as  October.  Later  in  the 
year,  when  the  heavy  fogs  roll 
away  from  the  city,  the  stranger  is 
startled  to  see  a  towering  bulwark 
of  snow  rising  between  him  and 
northern  Europe.  Marvellous  and 
entrancing  are  the  effects  of  sunlight 
upon  these  undulating  masses  when 
seen  on  the  rare  occasion  of  a  clear 


brilliant  day;  and  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  only  four  hours  in  the 
railway  will  bear  one  away  from 
these  frozen  peaks  to  Genoa  on 
the  radiant  Mediterranean  and  to 
the  palm  -  trees  of  the  Riviera. 
Turin  seems  Italian  only  to  those 
who  have  just  crossed  the  mountain 
barrier;  to  the  traveller  from  the 
south,  Piedmont  appears  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  Italy.  Few  linger 
in  her  capital  longer  than  to  repose 
after  the  passage  of  the  Mont  Cenis, 
or  to  prepai'e  to  encounter  it.  Yet 
Turin  can  boast  of  a  few  collections 
which  would  be  deemed  well  worth 
inspection  anywhere  but  on  the 
borders  of  the  promised  land  of  the 
sight-seer.  The  Egyptian  Museum 
is  a  treasure  to  the  learned ;  there 
is  an  interesting  and  extremely 
well-arranged  armoury,  and  the 
gallery  of  paintings  contains  some 
choice  specimens  of  Rembrandt, 
Paul  Veronese,  and  Albani,  and 
even  claims  the  possession  of  a 
genuine  Raphael,  the  Madonna 
della  Tenda;  but  comparatively 
few  visit  them.  The  eager  tourist, 
bound  for  Florence  and  Rome,  re- 
serves his  enthusiasm  for  their  re- 
nowned galleries,  whilst  those  who 
are  going  home  are  satiated  with  art, 
and  are  thankful  to  spare  the  aching 
eyes  and  overloaded  brain.  The 
style  of  Turin  is  essentially  prosaic 
and  uninteresting;  and,  although 
its  arcades  are  a  purely  Italian  feat- 
ure, it  does  not  look  like  the  thresh- 
old of  that  picturesque  and  beau- 
tiful country,  whose  pre-eminent 
loveliness  has  ever  been  her  dis- 
tinction and  misfortune.  Still  one 
must  mount  into  remote  antiquity 
to  find  the  origin  of  Turin,  which 
derives  its  name  from  the  Taurini, 
a  Ligurian  tribe.  The  vicissitudes 
of  ages  have  swept  away  all  traces 
of  the  occupation  by  the  Romans, 
except  a  wall  which  is  flanked  by 
two  towers,  and  forms  part  of  a 
building  now  known  as  II  Palazzo 
dei  due  Torre;  formerly  it  served 
as  a  gate  of  the  town,  and  was 
named  the  Porta  Palatina ;  while 
from  a  tradition  which  cannot  be 


1865.] 


ami  buttons    rom 


traced,  the  common  people  call  it 
the  1'risun  of  Ovid.  Turin  was  a 
marquisate  during  the  middle  ages, 
but  was  so  often  sacked  and  ravaged 
that  only  one  specimen  of  medieval 
architecture  remains,  the  I'ala/./.o 
Madama,  in  the  centre  of  the  Piazza 
Caatello.  Much  of  the  old  simpli- 
city  of  this  building  was  destroyed 
a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago  by 
the  mother  of  Yittorio  Aniedeo, 
whose  residence  it  was.  With  the 
vicious  taste  of  the  period,  she  de- 
corated the  .severe  old  pile  with 
what  the  Italians  call  a  "majestic 
facade  of  marble  columns  and 
Corinthian  pilasters,  and  entirely 
built  up  two  of  the  towers.  The 
eastern  side  escaped  renovation, 
and  the  eye.  wearied  with  the  eter- 
nal uniformity  of  the  streets  and 
squares  of  Turin,  reposes  gratefully 
upon  the  discoloured  moss  grown 
wall  and  the  two  picturesque  medi- 
eval towers  which  remain.  The 
whole  building  narrowly  escaped 
destruction  early  in  the  present 
century.  A  gallery  which  connect- 
ed it  with  the  Royal  Palace  was 
pulled  down,  and  it  was  proposed 
to  level  the  Palazzo  Madama  and 
fill  up  the  venerable  moat,  in  order 
to  lay  the  square  completely  open. 
Fortunately  Napoleon  had  the  good 
taste  to  oppose  such  an  act  of  bar- 
barism, and  the  Senate  of  the  king- 
dom now  meets  in  the  great  hall, 
while  the  reception-rooms  have  been 
turned  into  a  temporary  picture- 
gallery  for  the  collection  already 
alluded  to.  Although  Turin, as  we 
have  said,  has  little  pretensions  in 
the  way  of  art  or  antiquity,  it 
is  close  to  the  loveliest  valleys  and 
mountains  in  the  world,  where  the 
blue  skies  of  the  south  combine 
with  the  grand  scenery  of  Switzer- 
land. If  the  near  neighbourhood 
of  the  mountains  freezes  the  city 
in  winter,  and  brings  fog.  rain,  and 
drizzle  in  autumn,  it  facilitates  the 
most  delightful  excursions  in  spring 
and  summer  among  the  scarcely 
known  valleys  which  lie  at  the  foot 
of  the  Piedmontese  Alps  ;  and  the 
lover  of  nature  will  always  associ- 


ate Turin,  in  spite  of  in  own  un- 
attnu.-tivene.ss,  with  his  pie. tautest 
recollections  of  Italy. 

The  time  is  p;ust,  however,  for  tin- 
exclusive  contemplation  of  scen«-ry 
or  .study  of  art.  It  must  be  a  nar- 
row mind  which  c.in  bound  its  .«.\  m 
pa  tides  at  this  time  within  such"  re- 
stricted limit.-.  Other  and  greater 
intciv.-ts  have  .sprung  up  in  the 
land  so  long  looked  upon  as  a  mere 
museum  for  the  studious.  A  whole 
nation  has  arisen  from  tin-  sleep  of 
centuries,  a  slumber  mistaken  for 
death,  eager  to  give  the  lie  to  the 
detractors  who  pronounced  it  ut- 
terly defunct,  and  tit  only  to  supply 
Kurope  with  singers  and  .-ceii--- 
pai ntere. 

Kven  the  capabilities  of  the  race 
have  been  doubted.  So  low  had 
the  modern  Italians  .-unk  in  the 
scale  of  nations,  that  the  />".«M//I/I/V 
of  their  regeneration  has  been  ques- 
tioned, and  much  has  been  written 
to  prove  that  they  are  utterly  etlcte, 
that  having  reached  their  highest 
development  they  have  fulfilled 
their  appointed  destiny,  and.  worn 
out,  will  gradually  fade  away  before 
the  advances  of  younger  and  more 
vigorous  members  of  the  human 
family.  This  view,  however,  is 
chiefly  taken  by  mere  Votaries  of 
art,  who  hold  all  other  progress 
cheaply,  who  estimate  the  great- 
ness of  nations  according  to  their 
artistic  development,  and  who  grow 
eloquent  when  they  descant  upon 
the  famous  times  of  the  Medici, 
forgetful  or  regardless  that  Italy's 
most  glorious  period  of  painting 
and  sculpture  was  also  that  of  the 
grossest  superstition  and  most  de- 
graded moral  and  social  condition. 
Her  patrons  were  often  profligate 
tyrants,  and  the  narrowest  bigotry 
was  sometimes  the  source  of  her 
artist's  purest  inspirations.  In  fact, 
since  faith  in  her  Church  has  de- 
clined, no  source  of  inspiration 
seems  to  have  remained  to  her. 
Her  religion  and  her  rulers  reduced 
her  to  a  lethargy  in  which  she 
quietly  dozed  on  for  centuries,  while 
the  foreigner  made  her  a  battle- 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


field,  and  fought  about  and  dismem- 
bered her  at  his  pleasure.  Mean- 
while other  and  less  gifted  nations 
have  outstripped  her  in  her  own 
arts.  Her  people  are  not  less  en- 
dowed by  nature  than  formerly, 
but  there  is  no  culture,  no  elevated 
standard  of  excellence,  no  spur  to 
perfection.  Taste  abounds;  every- 
body has  it ;  it  is  the  birthright  of 
the  whole  people  and  an  inalien- 
able part  of  their  nature,  but  they 
turn  it  to  no  account,  and  one  comes 
to  the  land  of  myrtles  and  roses  to 
find  no  gardens,  and  to  the  birth- 
place of  song  to  find  no  music.  In 
proportion  as  nature  has  been 
bountiful,  man  has  been  heedless. 
How  far  representative  institutions 
will  tend  to  develop  the  peculiar 
capabilities  of  the  race,  remains  to 
be  seen  ;  but  we  may  reasonably 
expect  a  degree  of  moral  excellence 
and  material  prosperity  that  have 
never  existed  before,  and  that  seem 
unfortunately  opposed  to  the  con- 
ditions most  favourable  to  art. 
Italians,  however,  must  not  be  judg- 
ed by  the  severe  English  standard. 
Their  temperament  is  essentially 
artistic  and  sensuous  ;  it  repudi- 
ates toil,  and  demands  time  for 
pure  sensation.  They  are  vehe- 
ment, impulsive,  and  morbidly  sen- 
sitive, shrinking  from  a  single  word 
of  censure,  and  greedy  of  praise. 
He  who  would  be  accounted  their 
friend  must  never  find  a  fault,  but 
approve  without  qualification.  This 
weakness  is  particularly  visible  in 
their  political  life.  They  are  not 
content  with  the  acknowledgment 
of  all  Europe  that  they  have  done  a 
great  deal;  they  like  to  be  told  that 
they  have  attained  perfection.  Their 
craving  for  flattery  and  dread  of 
blame  have  destroyed  all  criticism. 
The  Italians  deal  only  in  eulogy, 
and  their  language  has  shared  in 
the  general  decline  ;  it  has  lost  its 
vigour,  become  wordy,  illogical,  and 
inexact — the  natural  result  of  the 
purposeless  lives  and  tame  insin- 
cerity of  those  who  have  used  and 
moulded  it  since  the  days  of  Dante. 
The  amalgamation  of  the  various 


Italian  states,  however,  has  already 
produced  a  change,  which  may  be 
detected  in  the  discussions  in  the 
Chambers.  A  new  and  more  vigor- 
ous dialect  is  being  created  by  the 
general  adoption  of  words  hitherto 
confined  to  this  or  that  province. 
Doubtless  the  very  character  of  the 
language  will  undergo  a  transforma- 
tion to  meet  the  exigencies  of  new 
thoughts  and  principles.  With  re- 
spect for  truth  will  come  exactitude 
of  expression ;  promptitude  and 
businesslike  habits  will  beget  terse- 
ness and  vigour,  to  the  exclusion  of 
voluminous  and  inflated  phrases  of 
little  or  no  signification. 

A  great  deal  has  been  done  to 
promote  the  education  of  the  lower 
classes  of  Italians,  and  in  the  south- 
ern provinces,  where,  in  1860,  only 
one  hundred  and  thirteen  in  a  thou- 
sand could  read,  the  proportion  is 
rapidly  rising.  Unfortunately  there 
is  not  as  yet  an  equal  improvement 
amongst  the  upper  classes.  Inter- 
course with  other  nations  will  of 
necessity  enlighten  them  in  time, 
but  the  whole  system  of  education 
must  be  changed,  and  a  different  esti- 
mate set  upon  the  value  of  mental 
cultivation,  ere  Italian  noblemen, 
as  a  class,  can  take  their  place  among 
men  of  enlightened  minds  and  no- 
ble aspirations  in  other  countries  ; 
while  nothing  can  be  more  inane 
and  frivolous  than  the  lives  of  the 
women,  who,  themselves  subject  to 
priestly  authority,  too  often  exercise 
a  baneful  influence  over  the  men  of 
their  families.  The  early  youth  of 
a  girl  of  the  upper  class  is  passed  in 
a  convent  or  under  harassing  and 
unnecessary  restrictions.  Scarcely 
any  intercourse  is  permitted  with 
young  people  of  the  opposite  sex  ; 
in  fact,  to  secure  a  good  marriage, 
a  young  lady  ought  to  be  kept  al- 
most in  complete  seclusion.  Mean- 
while, it  often  happens  that  a  high- 
spirited  girl  employs  her  whole  in- 
telligence in  deceiving  her  mother 
and  evading  her  vigilance.  Matches 
are  sometimes  made  by  signs  in  the 
streets,  to  the  amazement  of  the 
parents,  to  whom  it  has  never  oc- 


1865.1 


>t(s  (t)nl  Xotiotu/rom 


curred  to  substitute  principles  for 
espionage.  As  may  be  expected, 
once  freed  by  marriage  fn>m  the 
thraldom  of  girlhood,  a  career  of 
folly,  and  often  of  vice,  is  run  by 
women  naturally  gifted  with  every 
capability  of  making  good  wives, 
good  mothers,  and  exemplary  mem- 
bers of  society,  had  they  but  had  a 
rational  training  and  a  fair  >hare  of 
enjoyment  before  they  \\rre  mar- 
ried to  a  man  chosen  by  their  family, 
and  utterly  indifferent  to  themselves. 
The  strong  love  of  Italians  for  chil- 
dren often  exercises  a  beneficial  in- 
fluence, and  many  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman  is  absolutely  aiul 
entirely  devoted  to  her  children 
with  an  abnegation  of  self  seldom 
equalled,  and  never  surpassed,  in 
the  homes  of  domestic  Kngland. 
If  there  be  no  children,  the  theatre 
is  the  only  resource  ;  the  husband 
prefers  his  cafe,  or  devotes  himself 
to  a  reigning  belle  in  another  box  ; 
so  the  wife  is  escorted  by  his  friend 
— hence  the  origin  of  the  now  some- 
what unfashionable  appendage  i>t 
the  cavaliere  fri-ii'iitf.  One  is  star- 
tled to  hear  well-known  scandalous 
stories  of  the  leaders  of  society, 
who,  scarcely  repentant  of  the  sins 
of  their  youth,  spend  their  morn- 
ings in  devotion  and  their  evenings 
in  receptions  or  the  never-palling 
theatre.  The  tone  in  which  immo- 
rality is  spoken  of  indicates  only  too 
truly  the  low  standard  of  the  whole 
country;  yet  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  even  in  this  particular  there 
has  been  some  improvement  in  the 
last  fifty  years.  However,  there  is 
little  or  no  mental  culture  ;  for- 
merly, at  Naples,  the  women  of  the 
middle  class  were  kept  ignorant 
upon  principle  ;  they  were  not 
taught  to  write,  lest  they  should 
communicate  with  their  lovers.  In 
Northern  Italy  they  have  always 
been  more  advanced,  and  it  is  a 
curious  fact  that,  in  Turin,  where 
the  language  is  chiefly  compounded 
of  Italian  and  Provencal,  two  old 
romances  of  chivalry  are  reprinted 
every  year,  and  are  the  favourite 
literature  of  the  people.  Among 


the  higher  class  these  roinan<v*  are 
unknown  ;  no  book  ever  cumbers 
the  tables  except  a  'Journal  de-. 
Modes,'  or  an  occasional  French 
novel.  Art  and  literature  are  never 
spoken  of  in  society,  and  a  refer- 
ence to  a  Tauehnitz  novel  would 
give  a  lady  the  dreaded  reputation 
of  a  /'</.<  /-A  </. 

A  *trni!L'  line  of  demarcation 
exists  among  the  men.  Tin-  man 
of  seienee  or  letter^  docs  not,  as 
with  us,  mingle  in  general  society, 

but  keeps  to  his  cla-s.  and  .-hriliks 
from  the  unlearned  and  un_renial 
:'ri-tocrat.  It  is  not  pride  anil  cx- 
clusiveiievs  that  here  .-und'-r  fla-- cs 
as  in  (Jermany,  for  the  Italim 
nobleman  is  affable  to  everybody, 
and  the  high-born  lady  chat-  \\itli 
her  coachman,  and  calls  her  maid 
"/'<///<<  miii.''  rneonireiiiality  is 
the  real  barrier  that  divides  - 

One  of  the  wor-t  >ymptoms  in 
Italy  at  the  present  moment  is  the 
violent  admiration  of  everything 
French.  In  a  nation  aspirin-  to  be 
free  and  constitutional,  h--r  repre- 
sentatives constantly  quote  French 
history  and  French  precedent-  even 
in  the  Chambers,  but  rarely  allude 
to  those  of  Filmland,  who-.-  in>titu- 
tions  they  pmfe-s  to  imitate.  It 
might  have  been  well  for  Italy 
if.  before  attempting  con-titution- 
al  government,  she  had  passed 
through  the  ordeal  of  an  enlighten- 
ed despotism  under  a  ruler  who 
would  have  governed  her  resolutely 
for  her  good,  until  she  wa.s  trained 
into  governing  herself.  F.ven  the 
hated  Austrians  have  left  beneficial 
effects  behind  them  in  Lombarxly, 
in  the  cleanliness  of  the  streets 
and  the  superior  decency  of  public 
habits.  In  truth,  one  i.s  hourly 
amazed  and  disgusted  by  the  eoar.se 
and  filthy  practices  of  a  people  cer- 
tainly not  deficient  in  refinement 
of  nature,  and  singularly  endued 
with  courtesy  and  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  others  ;  but  strange 
inconsistencies  meet  one  at  every 
turn.  Most  of  the  books  written 
alxnit  Italy  give  only  one  .side  of 
the  picture ;  her  fatal  beauty  be- 


668 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


\vilders  the  judgment ;  the  deceit 
and  falsehood  of  her  children  are 
pardoned  for  the  sake  of  their  grace 
and  attractiveness  ;  their  rags  and 
dirt  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  a 
country  where  so  many  come  only 
to  seek  pictorial  effects.  People 
travel  less  in  quest  of  truth  than 
of  enjoyment,  and  when  distance 
lends  her  usual  enchantment,  even 
the  drawbacks  which  could  not  be 
ignored  when  absolutely  present, 
fade  from  the  memory  altogether. 
The  result  has  been  deplorable  for 
Italy.  She  has  become  accustomed 
to  extravagant  eulogium,  and  spoil- 
ed by  indiscriminate  praise ;  and 
she  refuses  to  believe  that  her  pres- 
tige is  entirely  due  to  the  glory  of 
the  past,  and  to  that  marvellous 
natural  beauty  which  owes  nothing 
to  man,  and  which  man,  with  all 
his  vices  and  corruptions,  is  still 
powerless  to  impair. 

The  Italians  have  been  consid- 
ered the  moral  antipodes  of  the 
Anglo-Saxons;  yet  there  are  strong 
points  of  resemblance  between  the 
races,  and  as  strong  dissimilarities 
between  the  former  and  their  Gallic 
neighbours.  Simple,  natural,  and 
absolutely  free  from  all  attempts  at 
theatrical  effect  in  their  language 
and  manners,  they  are  singularly 
sympathetic,  and  one  feels  for  their 
failings  much  the  same  indulgence 
extended  to  those  of  children.  In- 
deed it  ought  never  to  be  forgotten 
that  the  tyranny  and  corruption  of 
the  old  governments  either  kept 
the  people  in  tutelage  like  children, 
or  degraded  them  almost  below  the 
dignity  of  manhood.  It  is  much  to 
be  desired  that  a  strong  English  in- 
fluence, political  and  social,  should 
counteract  the  insidious  French 
tendencies  which  daily  grow  more 
evident,  and  are  much  deplored  by 
right-minded  Italians  themselves. 
An  English  education  engrafted 
upon  the  Italian  character  pro- 
duces an  admirable  combination. 
A  few  young  men  affect  the  English 
style,  speak  the  language  fluently, 
and  have  even  acquired  the  true 
insular  tranquillity  of  utterance. 


But  when  the  most  successful  imi- 
tator rises  in  his  place  in  the  Sen- 
ate or  Chamber,  there  is  a  startling 
transformation.  The  words  pour 
forth  with  wonderful  volubility,  in 
clear,  distinct,  and  vibrating  tones, 
and  the  rapid  and  graceful  gestures, 
especially  of  the  animated  Neapoli- 
tans, almost  distract  the  attention 
of  the  foreigner  from  the  subject 
of  the  speech.  It  must  be  the 
vehement  utterance  and  constant 
gesticulation  of  the  Italian  orator 
that  so  soon  fatigue  him,  and  ren- 
der a  long  discourse  a  far  greater  ef- 
fort to  him  than  it  is  found  to  be  by 
more  phlegmatic  speakers.  Every 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  he  re- 
quires a  "  riposo,"  a  pause  of  a  few 
minutes,  and  plentiful  recourse  is 
had  to  sugar-and-water  at  intervals 
during  the  whole  speech.  A  loud, 
distinct  utterance  is  the  habit  of 
the  whole  people ;  in  the  south  it 
often  rises  into  a  squall,  and  even 
among  the  higher  classes  harsh  and 
hoarse  voices  grate  painfully  upon 
the  fastidious  ear.  Not  many  years 
ago,  an  English  gentleman,  unac- 
quainted with  this  peculiarity,  re- 
marked at  a  large  party,  composed 
of  the  elite  of  the  Neapolitan 
capital,  "  If  I  did  not  know  I  was 
in  the  best  society  in  Naples,  I 
should  think  myself  in  Bedlam/3 

In  those  days  there  were  other 
little  peculiarities  which  probably 
no  longer  exist.  Young  men  of 
fashion  had  vague  ideas  of  geo- 
graphy, and  one  asked  an  English 
lady,  "  which  was  the  largest  place, 
England  or  London  1 "  King  Ferdi- 
nand would  probably  have  preferred 
that  the  youth  had  never  heard  of 
either.  A  man  of  wealth  and  high 
position  at  Court,  who,  after  some 
trouble,  had  obtained  permission 
to  travel,  shipped  himself  on  board 
a  French  steamer,  and  when  told 
that  she  was  three  hundred  horse 
power,  innocently  asked  where  the 
horses  were?  Ten  years  have 
wrought  vast  changes  even  in  that 
darkest  corner  of  the  peninsula. 
An  older  man,  and  a  compatriot  of 
the  courtier  cited  above,  observed 


1865.] 


and  Notion*  from 


CC'J 


l>ut  a  few  weeks  ago,  in  his  place  in 
the  Senate,  "  Hallways,  .steamboats, 
the  electric  telegraph,  and  a  free 
press,  have  made  the  civilised  world 
like  one  family.  No  new  discovery, 
no  truth,  can  long  he  the  privilege  of 
one  people  only."  King  Ferdinand 
knew  this  so  well  that,  although  he 
could  not  prevent  foreigners  from 
entering  his  country,  he  took  care 
to  keep  his  own  subjects  at  home. 
1'eople  who  lived  in  the  province* 
had  often  to  maini-uviv  for  a  year 
to  get  leave  to  visit  Naples,  and 
longer  journeys  were  exceptions  in- 
deed. Kven  energetic  Jlritish  tra- 
vellers were  sometimes  worn  out 
by  the  fatigue,  bustle,  and  worry 
attendant  upon  an  expedition  to 
Naples  and  its  environs.  From  the 
hour  of  landing,  beset  by  beggars, 
unceasingly  importuned  for  money 
by  officials,  living  in  an  atmosphere 
of  noise,  and  a  state  of  perpetual 
warfare  with  guides  and  hackney- 
coachmen,  life  became  insupport- 
able. Many  have  been  driven  away 
by  this  combination  of  annoyances, 
added  to  the  want  of  comfort,  and 
the  absence  of  the  appliances  of 
civilisation,  rapidly  increasing  in 
every  other  city  where  English  con- 
gregate. In  truth,  whilst  all  other 
places  progressed,  Naples  stood  still, 
and  lived,  like  Italy  in  general,  upon 
her  pa.st  reputation.  Kven  public 
safety  w;us  little  cared  for  in  those 
days.  In  lNr>7  a  young  Knglish- 
man  was  attacked  in  the  Chiaja. 
at  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Possibly 
the  object  was  only  plunder,  but 
the  young  man  resisting,  the  ruf- 
fians .stabbed  him.  Passers-by 
heard  and  saw  the  attack,  but  not 
a  soul  ventured  to  interfere.  The 
unfortunate  man  dragged  himself 
to  a  house  kept  by  an  Knglish- 
woman,  where  he  was  sheltered 
and  cared  for.  He  died  in  a 
week.  His  Majesty  having  just 
before  proclaimed  an  amnesty  <»n 
the  auspicious  event  of  the  birth  of 
a  prince,  about  two  hundred  com- 
mon felons  had  been  released  from 
the  galleys,  and  the  police  were  too 
much  engaged  in  looking  after  poli- 


tical offenders,  and  in  dispersing 
groups  of  three  or  four  person.*,  to 
have  time  to  attend  to  mere  mur- 
derers and  robbers. 

Subsequently  to  the  Revolution 
of  1  Hio,  quantities  of  police  records 
were  .sold  as  waste  paper;  and  some 
ol  these,  discovered  in  a  shop  in 
the  island  of  ( 'apri,  came  into  the 
hands  of  person  •>  to  whom  tin  ir 
contents  related.  A  young  Kngli-h 
lady,  who  h;id  been  fur  three  \.  >i 
resident  in  Naples,  found  ill  them, 
to  In  r  ama/einent,  a  minute  reeord 
of  most  of  her  movements  and 
acts,  during  the  greater  part  of 
that  time.  Amongst  her  friends 
and  acquaintances  were  some  on 
whom  the  authorities  looked  with 
suspicion,  and  thus  it  doubth-.-s 
was  that  she  had  been  subjected 
to  a  surveillance  whose  closeness 
must  have  given  the  police  an 
amount  of  trouble  certainly  not 
compensated  by  the  results  ob- 
tained. To  her  amusement  and 
gratification  the  faded  memories  of 
many  a  pleasant  excursion  and  ad- 
venture were  revived  by  entries  like 
the  following:  ".June  1^T>7. — La 
Signorina,  with  her  father  and  the 
notorious  I  )on  K.,  sailed  to  ('apri 
in  the  Knglish  war-steamer,  which 
called  for  them  at  Sorrento.  Be- 
fore landing  the  whole  party  went 
to  fit ri".«ir?  in  the  lUue  Grotto." 
Whilst  chronicling  these  trifles, 
matters  of  real  importance  to 
them  and  to  the  <  lovcrnment  con- 
stantly escaped  the  observation  of 
these  purblind  police  spies.  The 
notorious  l)on  K.  above  mentioned 
was  a  benevolent  foreigner,  an 
enthusiast  for  the  Italian  cause, 
whose  h>ng  acquaintance  with 
Naples,  with  its  ways  and  its  people, 
sometimes  enabled  him  to  inter 
pose  between  persecuted  liberals 
and  the  tyranny  of  the  (Jovern- 
ment.  In  that  same  year  of  1*57 
an  incident  occurred  which  gave 
unbounded  satisfaction  to  him  und 
to  the  lady  in  question,  and.  if  the 
police  ever  became  acquainted  with 
it,  it  was  only  <//'»>'*  <-i>uj> — too  late 
to  avail  them,  and  no  mention  of 


670 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


the  affair  was  likely  to  be  made  in 
their  records.  Two  Neapolitans, 
men  of  education  and  independent 
means,  incurred  the  suspicions  or 
the  ill-will  of  the  police.  This  was 
no  uncommon  occurrence  at  that 
time  in  Naples.  Men  of  irreproach- 
able character  were  not  unfrequent- 
ly  pitched  upon  by  the  sbirri  for 
persecution  on  political  grounds. 
It  mattered  not  that  no  shadow  of 
proof  existed  against  them,  that 
neither  by  word  nor  deed  had  they 
manifested  disaffection  to  the  exist- 
ing order  of  things.  They  were 
known  or  believed  to  sympathise 
with  the  Liberal  party ;  or  perhaps 
they  led  retired  lives,  avoided  the 
cafes,  and  were  suspected  of  read- 
ing and  even  of  thinking ;  in  this 
latter  case  they  were  certainly  dan- 
gerous members  of  society  and  pro- 
per prison  inmates.  Shut  them  up 
by  all  means  ;  they  need  not  know 
of  what  they  are  accused — advise 
them  not  to  ask.  Alas !  how  many 
innocent  men  rotted  away  their 
lives  in  the  dark  mouldy  dungeons 
of  Ischia  or  the  Yicaria — victims, 
perhaps,  to  some  real  offender  who 
had  secured  his  own  safety  by  zeal 
in  denouncing  the  guiltless.  Tyr- 
anny in  Italy  has  not  seldom  been 
indebted  for  its  secret  information 
to  that  base  pusillanimity  which 
seeks  to  secure  immunity  from  sus- 
picion by  the  betrayal  of  confidence, 
or  by  affording  false  information. 

In  the  case  of  the  two  gentle- 
men above  referred  to,  a  false 
friend  had  pointed  them  out  as 
hostile  to  the  Government.  Hav- 
ing fortunately  received  timely 
warning,  they  had  contrived  for 
two  whole  years  to  elude  the  vigil- 
ance of  the  police  by  incessant 
change  of  place,  repeatedly  escap- 
ing over  the  roofs  of  houses  during 
domiciliary  visits.  This  wretched 
existence  had  become  unendurable, 
and  at  all  hazards  they  resolved  to 
attempt  an  escape  from  the  country. 
In  the  Bay  of  Naples  there  lay  a 
foreign  man-of-war  soon  leaving  for 
Malta.  Were  it  possible  to  get  on 
board  they  would  be  in  safety,  and 


Don  E.  was  appealed  to  as  inter- 
cessor in  this  case  of  real  distress. 
It  was  said  he  was  a  countryman 
of  the  captain  of  the  frigate,  but 
whether  that  were  true  or  not,  it  is 
certain  they  were  one  day  seen  in 
earnest  confabulation  on  the  quar- 
terdeck of  the  .  It  was  easy 

to  satisfy  the  commander  that  the 
persons  desirous  of  a  passage  under 
the  protection  of  his  flag  were  no 
criminals,  but  victims  of  the  most 
groundless  persecution.  A  few 
hours  after  the  captain  came  on 
shore  to  bid  his  friends  good-bye, 
and  called  upon  Don  E.  This 
visit  was  mentioned  in  the  police 
diary,  but  only  as  numbers  of  others 
were,  and  the  entry  was  unaccom- 
panied by  comments  indicating 
that  any  suspicion  or  importance 
was  attached  to  it.  We  may  pre- 
sume that  the  police  never  knew 
that  a  council  of  war  was  held  in 
the  drawing-room  of  that  house 
upon  the  Chiaja,  and  that,  before 
the  captain  left,  the  English  lady,  on 
whom  so  special  a  watch  was  kept, 
laughingly  selected  from  a  basket  of 
visiting-cards  upon  the  table  those 
of  a  stanch  partisan  of  the  Govern- 
ment, and  cutting  them  in  halves 
with  certain  peculiar  zigzags  of  the 
scissors,  handed  two  of  the  pieces 
to  the  departing  sailor.  That  night 
it  still  wanted  some  hours  to  moon- 
rise  when  a  small  boat  with  muffled 
oars  glided  into  the  deep  gloom 
below  the  side  of  the  frigate.  A 
minute  afterwards  two  strangers 
stood  upon  her  deck,  bowed  to  an 
officer  who  advanced  to  meet  them, 
and  silently  presented  him  with 
the  counterparts  of  the  cards  he 
had  received  that  morning.  He 
nodded,  and  the  new-comers  went 
below.  For  a  few  minutes  the 
officer  paced  the  deck,  apparently 
deep  in  thought,  and  then  ordered 
a  boat  to  be  lowered.  There  was 
a  grand  ball  that  night  at  the  Acca- 
demia  Reale,  under  the  same  roof 
as  the  Royal  Palace,  and  at  mid- 
night Captain  made  his  ap- 
pearance there.  He  sought  the 
English  lady,  and  whispered,  "They 


1865.] 


ami  X»t  ions  from  Italy. 


are  on  board  ;  I  sail  in  nn  hour, 
and  have  come  only  to  show  my- 
self." "  If  those  around  us  did 
but  know,"  said  the  lady,  glancing 
at  the  awful  Minister  of  Police 
then  ] >a»sing  with  a  Neapolitan 
general  well  known  for  his  hatred 
of  the  Liberal  party,  "  we  should 
both  be  arrested. "  lint  nobody 
ever  did  know.  15y  daybreak  the 
frigate  was  miles  away  from  the 
beautiful  bay.  making  for  scorched 
and  sun-browned  Malta.  The  dili- 
gent police  continued  to  .scour  the 
lanes,  and  prowl  into  garrets  and 
over  the  roofs  ;  but  their  prey  had 
escaped,  and  their  persecutors  never 
knew  how  they  had  been  outwitted. 
Meanwhile  the  fugitives  received 
money  under  feigned  names  in 
Malta,  until  the  downfall  of  l>our- 
bon  rule  in  1K>0  released  them 
and  hundreds  of  others  from  exile, 
and  many  from  a  captivity  worse 
than  death. 

During  that  period  of  espionage 
and  tyranny  at  Naples  brigand- 
age, always  the  curse  of  the 
country,  was  kept  within  mode- 
rate limits.  Though  robbery  in 
every  other  form  was  universal, 
the  highways  were  comparatively 
safe,  at  least  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  the  capital ;  and 
even  in  Sicily,  under  the  iron  rule 
of  the  Minister  of  1'olice,  the 
dreaded  Maniscalco,  one  might  tra- 
vel securely  from  one  end  of  the 
island  to  the  other.  It  did  not  suit 
King  Ferdinand  to  permit  brig- 
andage on  a  large  scale,  as  his  pre- 
decessors had  often  done  :  but  by 
isolating  his  provinces  and  rigidly 
repressing  every  attempt  at  pro- 
gress or  communication  from  with- 
out, he  did  much  to  perpetuate  a 
condition  of  society  eminently  fa- 
vourable to  its  existence.  His 
moral  appreciation  of  the  vocation 
may  be  surmised  from  the  almost 
incredible  fact  that  he  pensioned 
a  well-known  leader  and  his  band, 
and  assigned  them  a  retreat  in  the 
island  of  Ischia.  They  had  com- 
mitted the  error  of  being  too  dar- 
ing, and  violating  the  outward 


decency  which  the  King  prided 
himself  upon  maintaining  through- 
out his  dominions.  The  traditional 
and  picturesque  bandit  disappear- 
ed for  a  time  from  the  beaten  track, 
and  the  most  adventurous  travellers 
seldom  caught  a  glimpse  of  him. 
During  the  least  perilous  period, 
however,  of  the  late  King's  reign,  a 
party  of  Knglish  ladies  met  with  a 
ludicrous  adventure  on  the  dreary 
road  w  Inch  skirts  the  I  Julf  of  S  ilcr- 
110,  leading  from  that  city  to  P.e-;- 
tum.  A  lew  miles  from  the  Temples 
the  carriage  was  stopped  by  a  party 
ot  horsemen,  to  all  appearance 
mounted  gensdarmes.  Saluting 
the  ladies  respectfully,  the  leader 
informed  them  that  they  were  ap- 
pointed by  the  Government  toe-rort 
all  travellers  to  Pa-stum  and  back 
at  a  charge  of  ten  piastres.  The 
unprotected  ladies  thought  it  a  most 
considerate,  though  rather  expen- 
sive, arrangement,  and  thankfully 
accepted  the  escort  of  the  gallant 
bind.  How  vividly  that  wild  and 
beautiful  drive  comes  back  to  mem- 
ory after  the  lapse  of  long  y 
The  broad  smooth  road  coasting 
the  slumbering  Mediterranean;  the 
sapphire  sea  tlecked  with  graceful 
lateen  sails.  Salerno  lies  In-hind, 
backed  by  a  moss  -  grown  ruined 
ca.stle.  At  the  farthest  point  is  s,..-n 
Vietri ;  whence  maybe  trace. 1  i  faint 
white  line  creeping  along  the  lace 
of  the  cliffs  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  gulf,  broken  here  and  there  by 
slender  campanile  and  clusters  of 
human  habitations.  Amalti,  gleam- 
ing high  against  the  towering  cliffs, 
closes  that  unrivalled  road,  so  often 
painted  from  the  cave  of  the  ( 'ap- 
uccini  Monastery,  which,  rising 
above  the  town,  commands  the 
whole  bay.  Yet  higher  still,  perch- 
ed on  the  loftiest  mountain -sum- 
mit, sits  Positano  ;  to  the  left  Scari- 
catoia,  even  more  unapproachable; 
at  their  feet  lie  the  verdant  little 
Syren  isles,  while  in  the  distance 
Capri  reposes  upon  the  a/.ure  waters 
like  a  lion  couchant  guarding  the 
Hay  of  Naples.  To  the  tourist's  left 
rises  a  range  of  mountains  bound- 


G72 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy, 


[June, 


ing  the  malaria  -  stricken  plain, 
along  which  the  swift  little  horses, 
harnessed  three  abreast,  jingling 
with  bells  and  decked  with  nod- 
ding plumes,  canter  merrily.  Un- 
der the  shade  of  the  mountains 
are  seen  villages — Battipaglia  and 
Eboli — the  latter  an  ominous  name. 
There,  thirty  years  ago,  a  young 
English  bride  and  bridegroom  were 
murdered  by  seven  brigands.  Mur- 
ray tells  the  story,  and  their  coun- 
trymen look  with  a  shuddering 
interest  towards  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy.  How  thankfully  the  ladies 
at  this  point  saw  themselves  sur- 
rounded by  their  military  guard 
may  be  imagined!  The  soi-disant 
officials  punctually  performed  their 
part  of  the  agreement ;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  ladies  had  returned  to 
Naples  and  told  the  story,  that 
they  had  the  least  idea  that  they 
had  been  the  heroines  of  an  adven- 
ture with  real  brigands,  who  had 
hit  upon  this  polite  and  novel  mode 
of  pursuing  their  calling.  Brigand- 
age then  wore  its  mildest  aspect. 
It  is  in  times  of  political  excite- 
ment that  external^  agencies  excite 
mere  highwaymen  into  the  com- 
mission of  the  most  atrocious 
cruelties.  In  thinly  inhabited  dis- 
tricts, where  roads  and  large 
towns  are  few  and  hiding-places 
plenty,  banditti  are  the  natural 
product  of  the  soil;  and,  even  in 
families  of  a  superior  class,  a  little 
excess  of  severity  on  the  part  of 
a  father  towards  a  son  sent  the 
latter  to  enlist  with  the  brigands 
as  commonly  as  impatience  of  re- 
straint in  former  days  drove  the 
wild  English  boy  to  sea.  Even  now 
brigandage  is  by  no  means  entirely 
confined  to  the  Neapolitan  pro- 
vinces. At  the  present  moment  a 
daring  robber  infests  the  country 
round  Lake  Thrasymene.  His 
name  is  Cinicchia,  and  he  began 
his  career  of  crime  by  stabbing  his 
own  brother  in  the  presence  of  a 
number  of  persons  who  cared  not 
to  interfere  in  the  family  quarrel. 
He  fled  from  justice  and  took  to  the 
road,  or  it  perhaps  should  rather 


be  said  to  the  woods,  and  for 
years  he  has  lived  by  levying  black- 
mail upon  all  who  have  aught  to 
give,  excepting  only  one  or  two 
powerful  families,  whose  interces- 
sion in  his  behalf  he  hopes  to  se- 
cure by  this  forbearance.  He  is  a 
celebrity  in  his  way,  and  the  dis- 
trict he  haunts  abounds  in  tales  of 
his  audacious  exploits.  Not  long 
ago  the  steward  of  a  rich  absentee 
landlord  was  making  up  accounts 
with  an  agent,  and  came  upon  an 
entry  of  twenty  crowns  set  down 
as  "  paid  to  Cinicchia."  "  What 
next  ] "  cried  the  steward ;  "  this  can 
never  pass."  "What  can  I  do1?" 
piteously  inquired  the  agent  ; 
"  when  Cinicchia  demands  money, 
Cinicchia  will  have  it."  The  bailiff 
still  demurred.  Suddenly  he  was 
startled  by  a  knock  at  the  house 
door,  and  a  loud  voice  called  his 
name  and  summoned  him  to  de- 
scend and  open.  The  bailiff  turned 
pale  and  stood  irresolute.  "You  had 
better  come,"  said  the  voice,  "  and 
bring  two  hundred  crowns  with 
you.  I  know  you  have  the  money 
in  the  house.  I  am  Cinicchia." 
The  frightened  bailiff  hesitated  no 
longer,  but  went  down  with  the 
two  hundred  crowns,  which  he 
charged  to  his  employer's  account 
with  the  agent's  twenty.  All  at- 
tempts to  catch  this  robber  have 
hitherto  been  in  vain.  He  never 
sleeps  under  a  roof,  continually 
changes  his  lurking-places,  and  his 
loaded  revolver  is  ever  in  his 
hand.  Notwithstanding  his  impu- 
nity and  success — for  he  is  known 
to  have  amassed  large  sums — he  is 
weary  of  an  outlaw's  existence,  and 
lately  made  overtures  to  the  autho- 
rities, through  one  of  the  families 
he  had  never  molested.  He  de- 
clared his  wish  to  retire  from  busi- 
ness, and  asked  to  be  allowed  to 
settle  three  thousand  crowns  upon 
his  family  and  embark  for  Ame- 
rica, where  he  proposed  reverting 
to  his  original  trade  of  a  mason. 
The  Government  was  willing  to 
consent,  but  imposed  the  condition 
that  he  should  give  up  his  asso- 


1S65.1 


from 


ciates.  With  the  proverbial  honour 
of  his  class,  he  refused  to  he  guilty 
of  a  (ntilimrnto  :  ami  as,  11)1011  the 
other  hand,  none  will  In-tray  so 
loyal  a  robber,  he  will  proba- 
bly die  in  his  hud,  although  he 
never  sleeps  in  one.  Cinicrhia 
is  not  habitually  cruel,  and  dmil>t 
less  he  l>urns  candles  to  the  Ma- 
donna, gives  alms  to  the  pour,  and 
is  looked  upon  l>y  his  countrymen 
;w  a  hero  driven  from  society, 
through  having  had  the  "  misfor- 
tune" to  kill  a  man.  Tin-  scene  of 
his  exploits  is  amongst  the  most 
interesting  in  Italy,  Wing  the  rich 
and  picturesque  country  surround- 
ing Perugia,  a  city  of  Ktruscan 
origin,  beautifully  situated  on  a 
height,  and  famous  as  the  birth- 
place of  Raphael's  master,  1  Vrugino. 
About  twenty  years  ago  the  ancient 
tomb  of  the  Volumni  family  was 
accidentally  discovered  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  memories  of  more 
recent,  though  still  of  classic,  date 
are  evoked  by  Lake  Thrasymene. 
Forests  of  oak  iloiirish  in  its  vicin- 
ity, and  grand  mountains  encircle 
it.  For  a  .short  distance  the  road 
from  Perugia  passes  along  the 
swampy  margin  of  its  waters,  and 
near  the  battle-field  where  Hannibal 
vanquished  Flaminius  and  the 
Roman  legions,  when  the  contend- 
ing armies  fought  so  furiously  that 
they  were  not  conscious  of  a  great 
earthquake  which  levelled  many 
Italian  cities,  changed  the  course 
of  rivers,  lowered  the  tops  of 
mountains,  and  even  drove  back 
the  sea.  The  lake  itself  periodi- 
cally retreats  from  its  shores,  and 
leaves  a  strip  of  land  uncovered  tor 
some  years,  the  waters  returning  as 
they  receded,  slowly  and  impercep- 
tibly. There  is  an  interesting  his- 
torical incident  connected  with  that 
strip  of  land.  When  Pope  Pius  V. 
was  a  simple  monk,  he  lived  on 
the  border  of  the  lake,  and  had  a 
neighbour  named  Fiorenzi.  In 
process  of  time  the  monk  was  offer- 
ed a  cardinal's  hat.  but  lie  was  so 
poor  that  he  could  not  raise  the 
necessary  money  without  the  help 


of  his  well  to  do  neighbour,  who 
lent  him  twelve  hundred  crowns  to 
take  him  to  Koine  and  pay  the  fees. 
When  the  cardinal  reached  the 
dignity  of  the  tiara,  he  sent  fur 
his  friend  Fion-n/i.  made  him  a 
gentleman  of  the  chamber  and  a 
marquis,  but  never  rej.ii.l  tin- 
money  he  had  borrowed.  Perhaps 
the  Papal  treasury  \v.ts  l,,\v  ;  .it  any 
rate  Ins  Holiness  hit  up»n  a  novel 
expedient.  He  granted  hi-;  qiion- 
<\  i:n  neighbour  the  strip  c.l  l.ind 
round  the  lake  from  which  the 
waters  recede,  and  though  an  un- 
certain source  of  income,  a,  m  iv 
be  .-upposed.  it  still  yields  >..me 
eiu'ht  or  nine  hundred  crown*  a 
year  to  the  family — that  is.  when 
not  under  water;  and  Pius  V.  c.m- 
not  be  said  to  have  repudiat'-d  his 
debt. 

These  desultory  reminiscences 
have  led  us  far  away  from  Turin, 
which  claims  a  few  parting  words. 
Already  abandoned  by  royalty. 
In-fore  the.-e  lines  appear  in  print 
the  expiring  capital  will  have  been 
stripped  of  all  the  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance of  government.  The 
other  Italian  cities  cannot  be  >aid 
to  have  shown  themselves  duly 
grateful  to  Turin  and  its  brave 
inhabitants.  Six  years  ago  they 
looked  hither  hopefully  and  en- 
treatingly  for  succour  :  their  <loire 
has  been  accomplished,  their  libera- 
tion wrought,  and  now  they  rejoice 
at  the  downfall  of  the  ladder  that 
enabled  them  to  ri<e.  What  would 
Italy  at  this  moment  be  but  for 
Piedmont  f  Still  split  into  petty 
states,  she  would  lie  prostrate  and 
powerless  at  the  feet  of  her  Aus- 
trian and  Bourbon  rulers.  The 
ancient  provinces,  as  they  now 
are  called,  are  the  sinews  of  Italy. 
The  great  statesman,  the  scene 
of  whose  birth  and  death  are 
marked,  by  the  pious  care  of  the 
municipality,  on  the  corner  house 
of  the  Via  Cavour,  in  Turin, 
achieved  that  which,  to  Furope, 
seemed  the  dream  of  a  visionary. 
Out  of  what  had  long  been  termed 
a  mere  geographical  expression,  he 


G74 


Notes  and  Notions  from  Italy. 


[June, 


constructed  a  living  Italy.  It  ill 
becomes  the  provinces  that  owe 
their  emancipation  to  his  foresight 
and  sagacity,  and  to  the  sacrifice 
of  the  oldest  jewel  of  the  Sar- 
dinian crown,  to  rejoice  in  the 
hour  of  Turin's  desolation.  Little 
sympathy  has  been  shown  for  the 
suffering  city.  The  maladroit 
Ministers,  who  might  have  soothed 
the  wounded  and  satisfied  all  par- 
ties, doggedly  refused  the  slight 
concession  asked  of  them.  The 
previous  Cabinet,  whose  negligence 
and  incapacity  led  to  the  tragedy 
of  September,  sat  silent,  all  the 
session  through,  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies.  They  may  have  felt  it 
impossible  to  justify  themselves, 
and  may  have  been  unwilling  to 
admit  culpability ;  but  it  would 
have  cost  them  nothing  to  utter  a 
few  words  of  regret,  a  single  ex- 
pression of  sorrow,  for  the  blood- 
shed which,  in  Turin,  will  always 
be  considered  to  lie  at  their  door. 
To  have  done  so,  although  it  could 
not  altogether  cancel  the  past, 
would  have  insured  tranquillity 
and  resignation  for  the  present  and 
for  the  future.  As  it  was,  and  as 
might  be  expected,  angry  passions, 
which  had  smouldered  for  a  time 
whilst  justice  was  hoped  for,  be- 
came again  aroused.  Emissaries 
from  without,  the  party  of  action 
and  the  party  of  the  Pope,  com- 
bined with  malcontent  Turinese  to 
make  useless  and  irritating  demon- 
strations. In  their  exasperation 
some  talked  of  annexation  to 
France,  whilst  others  declared 
themselves  eager  to  join  Switzer- 
land. Are  these  Italians  ?  Are 
these  countrymen  of  the  patriot 
statesman  who  was  consoled,  upon 


his  dying  bed,  by  the  conviction 
that  the  unity  of  Italy  was  secured  ? 
Would  they  suffer  a  movement  of 
paltry  local  jealousy  to  endanger 
the  edifice,  still  incomplete,  whose 
fall  would  overwhelm  them  and 
give  a  shock  to  the  cause  of  free- 
dom throughout  the  world  ?  It 
would  be  unfair  to  blame  the  whole 
of  Turin  for  the  disturbances  which 
resulted  in  driving  the  King  pre- 
maturely to  Florence.  But  it  can- 
not be  forgotten  that  the  municipal 
council  not  only  declined  royal 
hospitality,  but  refused,  for  several 
days,  to  express,  in  the  name  of 
the  town,  regret  for  a  most  in- 
sulting demonstration  made  at  the 
very  gates  of  the  palace.  Victor 
Emmanuel  has  been  accused  of 
want  of  feeling  in  giving  a  ball  at 
all,  considering  the  mournful  events 
of  September,  and  the  gloomy 
prospects  of  the  ancient  capital  of 
his  dynasty.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  been  politic  to  give  to  public 
charities  the  sum  proposed  to  be 
spent  in  festivity,  but  that  course 
also  would  have  provoked  com- 
plaint, and,  indeed,  it  was  one  of 
those  cases  in  which  it  was  impos- 
sible to  please  everybody.  What- 
ever the  failings  and  faults  of  the 
King,  to  himself  personally  the 
change  of  capital  is  a  greater 
sacrifice  than  to  any  one  of  his 
subjects.  Turin's  best  friends 
must  regret  that  at  the  eleventh 
hour  she  should  have  proved  for- 
getful of  that  loyalty  and  self-re- 
spect which,  if  maintained  to  the 
last,  would  have  secured  to  her  the 
reverence  ever  accorded  to  those 
who  suffer  and  sacrifice  much  for  a 
noble  and  patriotic  cause. 
TURIN,  April  1865. 


1865.1 


Marjoribankt. — 


MISS     M  ARIOKI  BA  N  KS. —  PART      V. 


TIIK  arrival  (»f  Mr  Archdeacon  P.e- 
verley  in  Carlingfonl  was,  fur  many 
reasons,  an  event  of  importance  to 
the  town,  and  especially  to  society, 
which  was  concerned  in  anything 
that  drew  new  and  pleasant  people 
to(Jrange  Lane.  For  one  thing,  it 
occurred  just  at  the  time  when  that 
first  proposal  of  elevating  Carling- 
ford  into  a  bishopric,  in  order  to 
relieve  the  present  bishop  of  the 
district  of  a  part  of  his  immense  dio- 
cese, had  just  been  mooted  ;  and 
supposing  this  conception  to  be  ever 
carried  out,  nobody  could  have  been 
more  eligible  as  first  bishop  than 
the  Archdeacon,  who  was  in  the 
prime  of  life,  and  a  very  successful 
clergyman.  And  then,  not  to  speak 
of  anything  so  important,  his  pre- 
sence was  a  great  attraction  to  the 
country  clergy,  especially  as  he  had 
come  to  hold  a  visitation.  Hesides 
that,  there  were  private  reasons  why 
some  of  the  families  in  (Irange 
Lane  should  be  moved  by  the  ar- 
rival of  the  Archdeacon.  Not 
withstanding  all  this,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  deny  that  Mrs  Chiley.  his 
hostess,  and  even  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  herself,  regarded  the  manner 
of  his  first  appearance  with  a  rer- 
tain  displeasure.  If  he  had  only 
had  the  good  sense  to  stay  at  home, 
and  not  come  to  seek  his  entertain- 
ers !  To  be  sure  it  is  awkward  to 
arrive  at  a  house  and  find  that  every- 
body is  out ;  but  still,  as  Mrs 
Chiley  justly  observed,  the  Arch- 
deacon was  not  a  baby,  and  he 
might  have  known  better.  "  Com- 
ing to  you  the  very  first  night,  and 
almost  in  his  travelling  things,  to 
take  the  cream  off  everything,"  the 
old  lady  Haiti,  with  tears  of  vexation 
in  her  eyes;  "and  after  that,  what 
have  we  to  show  him  in  Carling- 
ford,  Lucilla  I"  As  for  Miss  Mar 
joribanks,  she  was  annoyed,  but 
she  knew  the  wealth  of  her  own  re- 
voL.  xi'Vii. — NO.  i>xevi. 


sources,  and  she  was  not  in  despair, 
like  her  old  friend.  "  They  never 
know  any  better,"  she  s:iid,  sympa- 
thetically. "  Dear  Mrs  (  'liiley,  there 
was  nothing  cl<e  to  be  >  \pe,-ted  ; 
but.  at  the  .-aine  time,  I  di.n't  think 
thing-*  are  >o  very  bad, "  -aid  Lucilla  ; 
fur  -lie  had  naturally  a  confidence  in 
herself  of  which  even  Mrs  Chiley's 
admiring  faith  fell  short.  The 
Archdeacon  him-elf  took  it  quite 
cheerfully.  a>  if  it  was  the  ni"-t 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  "  1 
have  no  doubt  it  was  a  very  plea- 
sant party,  if  one  con  hi  have  got 
the  key  note,"  he  said,  in  his  I'.road 
Church  way,  as  if  there  was  no- 
thing more  to  lie  said  oil  the  sub 
ject.  and  Lucilla's  Thur-day  u  as 
the  merest  ordinary  assembly.  For 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he 
was  llroad  (  'hurch.  even  though  his 
antecedents  had  not  proclaimed  the 
fact.  He  had  a  way  of  talking  on 
many  subjects  which  alarmed  his 
hostess.  It  was  not  that  there  was 
anything  objectionable  in  what  In- 
said — for,  to  be  Mire,  a  clergyman 
and  an  archdeacon  may  say  a  great 
many  things  that  ordinary  people 
would  not  like  to  venture  on. — but 
still  it  was  impos-ible  to  tell  what 
it  might  lead  to  ;  for  it  is  not  every- 
body who  knows  when  to  stop,  ns 
Mr  P.cverley  in  his  position  might 
be  expected  to  do.  It  was  the  cus- 
tom of  good  society  in  Carlingford 
to  give  a  respectful  assent,  for 
example,  to  Mr  1  Jury's  extreme 
Low  -  ( 'hurchism  —  as  if  it  were 
profane,  as  it  certainly  was  not 
respectable,  to  differ  from  the 
Hector — and  to  give  him  as  wide 
a  field  as  possible  for  his  mis- 
sionary operations  by  keeping  out 
of  the  way.  I'.nt  Mr  F.evcrlcy  had 
not  the  least  regard  for  respecta- 
bility. n..r  for  that  respect  for  reli- 
gion which  consists  in  keeping  ns 
clear  of  it  as  possible  ;  and  the  way 
i'  / 


676 


Miss  MarjoribanJcs. — Part  V. 


[June, 


in  which  he  spoke  of  Mr  Bury's 
views  wounded  some  people's  feel- 
ings. Altogether,  he  was,  as  Mrs 
Chiley  said,  an  anxious  person  to 
have  in  the  house ;  for  he  just  as 
often  agreed  with  the  gentlemen 
in  their  loose  ways  of  thinking,  as 
with  the  more  correct  opinions  by 
which  the  wives  and  mothers  who 
had  charge  of  Their  morality  strove 
hard  to  keep  them  in  the  right  way ; 
and  that  was  the  reverse  of  what 
one  naturally  expected  from  a  cler- 
gyman. He  was  very  nice,  and  had 
a  nice  position ;  and,  under  all  the 
circumstances,  it  was  not  only  a 
duty  to  pay  attention  to  him,  but  a 
duty  from  which  results  of  a  most 
agreeable  character  might  spring ; 
but  still,  though  she  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  kind,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  say  that  it  was  out 
of  personal  predilection  that  Mrs 
Chiley  devoted  herself  to  her  guest. 
She  admitted  frankly  that  he  was 
not  like  what  clergymen  were  in 
her  time.  For  one  thing,  he  seemed 
to  think  that  every  silly  boy  and 
girl  ought  to  have  an  opinion  and  be 
consulted,  as  if  they  had  anything 
to  do  with  it — which  was  just  the 
way  to  turn  their  heads,  and  make 
them  utterly  insupportable.  On 
the  whole,  perhaps,  the  old  lady 
was  more  charitable  to  Mary  Chiley, 
and  understood  better  how  it  was 
that  she,  brought  up  in  sound 
Church  principles,  did  not  get  on 
so  well  as  might  be  desired  with 
her  husband's  family,  after  a  week 
of  the  Archdeacon.  And  yet  he 
•was  a  delightful  person,  and  full  of 
information,  as  everybody  admitted ; 
and,  to  be  sure, if  Carlingford  should 
be  erected  into  a  bishopric,  as  would 
be  only  right — and  if  Mr  Beverley 
should  happen  to  be  appointed 
bishop,  as  was  highly  probable — 
then  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to 
think  that  one  had  been  kind  to 
him.  At  the  same  time,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  he  showed  a  great 
want  of  tact  in  coming  to  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  Thursday,  and  thus 
brushing,  as  it  were,  the  very  cream 
off  his  introduction  to  Grange 


Lane.  And  Mrs  Chiley  still  sighed 
a  little  over  Mr  Cavendish,  and 
thought  within  herself  that  it  was 
not  his  fault,  but  that  designing, 
artful  creature,  who  was  enough  to 
lead  any  man  wrong.  For  it  was 
very  clear  to  the  meanest  capacity 
that  nobody  could  ever  call  the 
Archdeacon  "  my  dear,"  as,  with 
all  his  faults,  it  had  been  possible 
to  call  Mr  Cavendish.  And  by  this 
line  of  thought  Mrs  Chiley  was 
led  to  regret  Mr  Cavendish,  and  to 
wonder  what  had  become  of  him, 
and  what  family  affairs  it  could  be 
that  had  taken  him  so  suddenly 
away. 

A  great  many  people  in  Carling- 
ford were  at  that  moment  occupied 
by  the  same  wonders  and  regrets. 
Some  people  thought  he  was  fright- 
ened to  find  how  far  he  had  gone 
with  that  Miss  Lake,  and  had  left 
town  for  a  little  to  be  out  of  the 
way ;  and  some  thought  he  must 
have  been  speculating,  and  have 
lost  money.  To  tell  the  truth,  it  was 
very  strange  that  he  should  have 
disappeared  so  suddenly, — just  at 
the  moment  too,  when  old  Mr  Chil- 
tern  had  one  of  his  bad  attacks  of 
bronchitis,  which  Dr  Marjoribanks 
himself  had  admitted  might  carry 
him  off  any  day.  Nothing  could 
be  more  important  to  the  future 
interests  of  young  Cavendish  than 
to  be  on  the  spot  at  this  critical 
moment,  and  yet  he  had  disap- 
peared without  telling  anybody  he 
was  going,  or  where  he  was  going, 
which  was  on  the  whole  a  perfectly 
unexplainable  proceeding.  His  very 
servants,  as  had  been  ascertained 
by  some  inquiring  mind  in  the 
community,  were  unaware  of  his 
intention  up  to  the  very  last  mo- 
ment; and  certainly  he  had  not 
said  good-bye  to  anybody  before 
leaving  Dr  Marjoribanks's  garden 
on  that  Thursday  evening.  Mr 
Woodburn,  who  was  not  a  person 
of  very  refined  perceptions,  was  the 
only  man  who  found  his  disappear- 
ance quite  natural.  •  "  After  mak- 
ing such  a  deuced  ass  of  himself,  by 
George !  what  could  the  fellow  do  1 " 


18C5.] 


Mitts  Marjonbankt. — /'art  V. 


C77 


said  his  brother-in-law,  who  natural- 
ly enjoyed  the  discomfiture  of  so 
near  a  connection  ;  niul  tliis  was  iu> 
doubt  a  providential  circumstance 
for  Mrs  Woodburn,  who  was  thus 
saved  from  the  necessity  of  explain- 
ing or  accounting  for  her  brother's 
unexpected  disappearance  :  l>ut  it 
failed  to  satisfy  the  general  com- 
munity, who  did  not  tliink  Mr 
Cavendish  likely  to  give  in  at  the 
first  Mow  even  of  so  distinguished 
an  antagonist  as  Miss  Marjoribanks. 
Some  of  the  more  charitable  inha- 
bitants of  ({range  I^nne  concluded 
that  it  must  be  the  sudden  illness 
of  some  relative  which  had  called 
him  away  ;  but  then,  though  he 
was  well  known  to  be  one  of  the 
Cavendishes,  neither  he  nor  his 
sister  ever  spoke  much  of  their  con- 
nections ;  and,  on  the  whole,  public 
opinion  fluctuated  between  the  two 
first  suggestions  —  which  seemed 
truest  to  nature  at  least,  whether 
or  not  they  might  be  fully  corrobo- 
rated by  fact — which  were,  either 
that  Mr  Cavendish  had  taken  fright, 
as  he  might  very  naturally  have 
done,  at  the  advanced  state  of  his 
relations  with  Barbara  Lake  :  or 
that  he  had  speculated,  and  lost 
money.  In  either  case  his  depar- 
ture would  have  been  natural 
enough,  and  need  not,  perhaps, 
have  been  accomplished  with  quite 
so  much  precipitation  ;  butstill  such 
a  community  as  that  in  Grange  Lane 
was  in  circumstances  to  compre- 
hend how  a  young  man  might  take 
fright  and  leave  home,  either  be- 
cause of  losing  a  lot  of  money,  or 
getting  entangled  with  a  drawing- 
master's  daughter.  The  immediate 
result,  so  far  as  society  was  con- 
cerned, was  one  for  which  people 
did  not  know  whether  to  be  most 
glad  or  sorry.  Mrs  Wood  burn, 
who  kept  half  the  people  in  (Jrange 
Lane  in  terror  of  their  lives,  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  her  inspiration  now 
her  brother  was  away.  She  did 
not  seem  to  have  the  heart  to  take 
off  anybody,  which  was  quite  a 
serious  matter  for  the  amusement 
of  the  community.  To  be  sure 


some  people  were  thankful,  as  sup- 
posing  themselves  exempted   from 
caricature  ;  but  then  unfortunately, 
as  h;us   been   said,   the  people  who 
were  most  afraid  for  Mrs  Woodbiirn 
were   precisely  those  who  were  un- 
worthy of  her  trouble,  and  had  no- 
thing  about  them   to  give  occupa- 
tion to  her  graphic  powers.     As  for 
Miss  Marjoribanks,  who  had  .sup- 
plied  one   of  the  mimic's  most  ef- 
tcctivc    studies,    .she    Was   M>    milch 
disturbed  by  the  failure  of  this  ele- 
ment  of    entertainment    that     her 
legislative  mind  instantly  bestirred 
itself  to  make  up  for  the  loss.      "  1 
have   ahvay>   thought   it  so  strange 
that    I    never    had     any    sense    of 
humour, "    Lucilla    said  ;    "  hut    it 
would  not  do,  y«>u  know,  if  all   the 
world    was   like   me  ;    and   society 
would  be  nothing  if  everybody  did 
not  exert  themselves  to  the  best  of 
their  abilities."  There  was  a  mourn- 
ful intonation  in  Lucilla's  voice  a> 
she  said  this;   for,  to  tell  the  truth, 
since  Mr  Cavendish's  departure  >he 
had  been  dreadfully  sensible  of  tin- 
utter    absence    of    any    man     who 
could  tlirt.      As  for  Osmond  I'.rown 
and   the   other   boys  of   his   age,  it 
might  be   possible  to    train    them, 
but    at   the   best   they  were   only  a 
provision  for  the  future,  and  in  the 
mean  time  Miss  Marjoribanks  could 
Hot   but     be    sensible    of    her    loss. 
She  lamented  it  with  such  sincerity 
that  all  the  world  thought  her  the 
most   perfect  actress   in   existence. 
"  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  any 
of   you."    Lucilla  would   say.    con- 
templating with  the  eye  of  an  artist 
the   young  men    of   Grange    L.me 
who   were   her  raw   material.     "  I 
daresay    you   will    all    fall   in  love 
with  somebody  sooner  or  later,  and 
be   very   happy  and  good    for  no- 
thing ;   but   you  are  no  assistance 
in  any  way  to  society.     It  is   Mr 
Cavendish  I  am  sighing  for,"  said 
the  woman  of  genius,  with  the  can- 
dour of   a  great  mind  :   and   even 
Mrs    Wood  burn    was    beguiled   out 
of  her  despondency  by  a  study  so 
unparalleled.     All  this  time,  how- 
ever, Lucilla  had  not  forgotten  tho 


678 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


last  look  of  her  faithless  admirer 
as  lie  faced  round  upon  her  when 
Mr  Archdeacon  Beverley  came  into 
the  room.  She  too,  like  everybody 
else,  wondered  innocently  why  Mr 
Cavendish  had  gone  away,  and 
when  he  was  coming  back  again  ; 
but  she  never  hinted  to  any  one 
that  the  Archdeacon  had  anything 
to  do  with  it  ;  for  indeed,  as  she 
said  to  herself,  she  had  no  positive 
evidence  except  that  of  a  look  that 
the  Archdeacon  had  anything  to 
do  with  it.  By  which  it  will  be 
seen  that  Miss  Marjoribanks's  pru- 
dence equalled  her  other  great 
qualities.  It  would  be  wrong  to 
say,  however,  that  her  curiosity 
was  not  excited,  and  that  in  a  very 
lively  way;  for,  to  be  sure,  the  vague 
wonder  of  the  public  mind  over  a 
strange  fact,  could  never  be  com- 
pared in  intensity  to  the  surprise 
and  curiosity  excited  by  something 
one  has  actually  seen,  and  which 
gives  one,  as  it  were,  a  share  in  the 
secret, — if  indeed  there  was  a  secret, 
which  was  a  matter  upon  which 
Lucilla  within  herself  had  quite 
made  up  her  mind. 

As  for  the  Archdeacon,  the  place 
which  he  took  in  society  was  one 
quite  different  from  that  which  had 
been  filled  by  Mr  Cavendish,  as, 
indeed,  was  natural.  He  was  one 
of  those  men  who  are  very  strong 
for  the  masculine  side  of  Christi- 
anity; and  when  he  was  with  the 
ladies,  he  had  a  sense  that  he  ought 
to  be  paid  attention  to,  instead  of 
taking  that  trouble  in  his  own  per- 
son. Miss  Marjoribanks  was  not 
a  woman  to  be  blind  to  the  advan- 
tages of  this  situation,  but  still,  as 
was  to  be  expected,  it  took  her  a 
little  time  to  get  used  to  it,  and  to 
make  all  the  use  of  it  which  was 
practicable  under  the  circumstances 
— which  was  all  the  more  difficult 
since  she  was  not  in  the  least 
"viewy"  in  her  own  person,  but 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  old- 
fashioned  orthodox  way  of  having 
a  great  respect  for  religion,  and  as 
little  to  do  with  it  as  possible, 
which  was  a  state  of  mind  largely 


prevalent  in  Carlingford.  But  that 
was  not  in  the  least  Mr  Beverley's 
way  of  thinking.  It  was  when 
Lucilla's  mind  was  much  occupied 
by  this  problem  that  she  received 
a  visit  quite  unexpectedly  one  morn- 
ing from  little  Rose  Lake,  who  had 
just  at  that  time  a  great  deal  on 
her  mind.  For  it  may  easily  be 
supposed  that  Mr  Cavendish's  sud- 
den departure,  which  bewildered 
the  general  public  who  had  no 
special  interest  in  the  matter,  must 
have  had  a  still  more  overwhelm- 
ing effect  upon  Barbara  Lake,  who 
had  just  been  raised  to  the  very 
highest  pinnacle  of  hope,  closely 
touching  upon  reality,  when  all 
her  expectations  collapsed  and  came 
to  nothing  in  a  moment.  She 
would  not  believe  at  first  that  it 
could  be  true;  and  then,  when  it 
was  no  longer  possible  to  resist  the 
absolute  certainty  of  Mr  Caven- 
dish's departure,  her  disappoint- 
ment found  vent  in  every  kind  of 
violence — hysterics,  and  other  man- 
ifestations of  unreason  and  self- 
will.  Rose  had  been  obliged  to 
leave  the  Female  School  of  Design 
upon  her  papa's  over  -  burdened 
shoulders,  and  stay  at  home  to 
nurse  her  sister.  Perhaps  the  little 
artist  was  not  the  best  person  to 
take  care  of  a  sufferer  under  such 
circumstances ;  for  she  was  neither 
unreasonable  nor  self-willed  to 
speak  of,  though  perhaps  a  little 
opinionative  in  her  way — and  could 
not  be  brought  to  think  that  a 
whole  household  should  be  dis- 
turbed and  disordered,  and  a  young 
woman  in  good  health  retire  to  her 
room,  and  lose  all  control  of  herself, 
because  a  young  man,  with  whom 
she  had  no  acquaintance  three 
months  before,  had  gone  out  of 
town  unexpectedly.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  want  of  feeling  on  the  part 
of  the  unsympathetic  sister.  She 
gave  out  that  Barbara  was  ill,  and 
kept  up  a  most  subdued  and  anxi- 
ous countenance  down-stairs,  for 
the  benefit  of  the  children  and  the 
maid-of-all-work,  who  represented 
public  opinion  in  Grove  Street; 


18G5.] 


Mi** 


t.  —  J'art   )'. 


hut  when  Kose  went  into  hrr 
.sister's  room,  where  Barbara  kept 
the  blinds  down,  ami  had  her  face 
.swollen  with  crying,  it  wa.s  with  a 
very  stern  eountetiance  that  her 
little  mentor  regarded  the  invalid. 
"  I  do  not  ask  yon  to  have  a  sense 
of  duty,"  Kose  said,  with  a  certain 
line  disdain,  "  l>ut  at  least  y«n 
might  have  a  jtroper  pride."  This 
wa.s  all  she  took  the  trouble  to  say  ; 
luit  it  must  l>e  admitted  that  a 
great  deal  more  to  the  same  etlWt 
might  be  read  in  her  eyes,  which 
were  generally  so  dewy  and  .soft, 
luit  which  could  Hash  on  occasion. 
And  then  a.s  the  week  drew  on  to- 
wards Thursday,  and  all  her  repre- 
sentations proved  unavailing  to  in- 
duce Barbara  to  get  up  and  prepare 
herself  for  her  usual  duties,  the 
scorn  and  vexation  and  impa- 
tience with  which  the  dutiful  little 
soul  met  her  sister's  sullen  deter- 
mination that  "she  wa.s  not  aide  " 
to  fulfil  her  ordinary  engagements, 
roused  Hose  up  to  a  great  resolu- 
tion. For  her  own  part  she  wa.s 
one  of  the  people  who  do  not  un- 
derstand giving  in.  "What  <li> 
you  mean  l>y  lying  there!"  .-he 
said,  pounding  Barbara  down  small 
and  cutting  her  to  pieces  with  in- 
fallible good-sense  and  logic  ;  "  will 
that  do  any  good  ?  You  would 
try  to  look  better  than  usual,  and 
sing  better  than  usual,  if  you  had 
any  proper  pride.  /  did  not  fall 
ill  when  my  flounce  was  passed, 
over  at  the  exhibition.  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  very  evening  about 
the  combination  for  my  veil.  I 
would  die  rather  than  give  in  if  1 
were  you.'1 

"  Your  flounce  !  "  sobbed  Barbara 
— "oh  you  unfeeling  insensible 
thing  ! — as  if  your  h-heart  had  any- 
thing to  do  with — that.  I  only  went 
to  s-spite  J,ucilla — and  1  won't  go 
— no  more — oh,  no  more — now  lies 
been  and  deserted  me.  You  can't 
understand  my  feelings — g-go  away 
and  leave  me  alone." 

"  Barbara,"  said  Kose,  with  so- 
lemnity, "  1  would  forgive  you  if 
you  would  not  be  mean.  1  don't 


understand  it  in  om-  of  >,*.  If  Mr 
Cavendish  has  ^'oiie  away,  it  shows 
that  he  does  not  care  for  you  ;  and 
you  would  scorn  him,  and  .sci.rn  to 
show  you  were  thinking  of  him,  if 
you  had  any  proper  pride." 

But  all  the  answer  Barbara  gave 
was  to  turn  away  with  a  jerk  oi 
annoyance  the  old  easy  chair  in 
which  she  was  lying  buried,  with 
her  hands  thru-t  up  into  her  black 
hair,  and  her  eyes  all  n-d  :  upon 
which  llo.se  left  her  to  (airy  out 
her  own  iv.-olutioii.  Hie  was 
prompt  in  all  her  movements,  and 
.-he  Wasted  no  time  on  reconsidera- 
tion. She  went  down  into  (Jrange 
Lane,  her  little  head  erect,  and  her 
bright  eyes  regard  in;:  the  world  with 
that  air  of  frank  recognition  and 
acknowledgment  which  l{o>e  felt 
she  owed  as  an  arti>t  to  IK  r  fellow- 
creatures.  They  w«ire  all  good  sub- 
jects more  or  less,  and  the  consci- 
oii.-ness  that  she  could  draw  them 
and  immortalise  tln-m  gave  her  the 
same  seii.-e  of  confidence  in  tin  ir 
friendliness,  and  her  <>\MI  pciic.  t 
command  of  the  situation,  a-  a 
young  princess  might  have  felt 
who.se  rank  protected  her  like  an 
invi.-ible  buckler.  Kose.  too.  walk- 
ed erect  and  open  eyed,  in  the  con- 
fidence of  A-/-  rank,  \\hich  made 
her  everybody's  equal.  It  was  in 
this  frame  of  mind  that  -he  arrived 
at  I)r  Marjoribanks'a  house,  and 
found  Lucilla,  who  was  very  glad 
to  see  her.  Miss  Majori banks  was 
pondering  deeply  on  the  Arch- 
deacon at  that  moment,  and  her 
little  visitor  seemed  as  one  sent  by 
heaven  to  help  her  out.  For  to 
tell  the  truth,  though  Lucilla  un- 
derstood all  about  Mr  Cavendish, 
and  men  of  his  description,  ami 
how  to  manage  them,  and  take  full 
use  of  their  powers,  even  her  com- 
manding intelligence  felt  the  lack 
of  experience  in  respect  to  such  11 
case  as  that  of  the  Archdeacon,  who 
required  a  different  treatment  to 
draw  him  out.  She  was  thinking 
it  over  intently  at  the  moment  of 
Ivose's  arrival,  for  Lucilla  was  not 
a  person  to  give  up  the  advantages 


680 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


of  a  novel  position  because  she  did 
not  quite  understand  it.  She  felt 
within  herself  that  there  was  no 
doubt  a  great  effort  might  be  pro- 
duced if  she  could  but  see  how  to 
do  it.  And  it  was  Thursday  morn- 
ing, and  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 

"  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about 
Barbara,"  said  Rose.  "  She  is  not 
fit  to  come  out  this  morning.  I 
told  her  it  was  very  ungrateful  not 
to  make  an  effort  after  you  had 
been  so  kind  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to 
say  she  has  not  a  strong  sense  of 
duty ;  and  I  don't  think  she  would 
be  able  to  sing  or  do  anything  but 
look  stupid.  I  hope  you  will  not 
think  very  badly  of  her.  There  are 
some  people  who  can't  help  giving 
in,  I  suppose,"  said  Rose,  with  an 
impatient  little  sigh. 

"  And  so  this  is  you,  you  dear 
little  Rose!"  said  Lucilla,  "and  I 
have  never  seen  you  before  since  I 
came  home — and  you  always  were 
such  a  pet  of  mine  at  Mount  Plea- 
sant !  I  can't  think  why  you  never 
came  to  see  me  before  ;  as  for  me, 
you  know,  I  never  have  any  time. 
Poor  papa  has  nobody  else  to  take 
care  of  him,  and  it  always  was  the 
object  of  my  life  to  be  a  comfort  to 
papa." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  who  was  a 
straightforward  little  woman,  and 
not  given  to  compliments.  "  I  have 
a  great  deal  to  do  too,"  she  said, 
"  and  then  all  my  spare  moments 
I  am  working  at  my  design.  Papa 
always  says  that  society  accepts 
artists  for  what  they  can  give,  and 
does  not  expect  them  to  sacrifice 
their  time,"  Rose  continued,  with 
her  little  air  of  dignity.  To  be  sure 
Miss  Marjoribanks  knew  very  well 
that  society  was  utterly  unconscious 
of  the  existence  of  the  Lake  family; 
but  then  there  is  always  something 
imposing  in  such  a  perfectly  inno- 
cent and  superb  assumption  as  that 
to  which  the  young  Preraphaelite 
had  just  given  utterance  ;  and  it 
began  to  dawn  upon  Lucilla  that 
here  was  another  imperfectly  un- 
derstood but  effective  instrument 
lying  ready  to  her  hand. 


"  I  should  like  to  see  your  de- 
sign," said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  gra- 
ciously. "  You  made  such  a  pretty 
little  wreath  for  the  corner  of  my 
handkerchief  —  don't  you  remem- 
ber 1 — all  frogs'  legs  and  things.  It 
looked  so  sweet  in  the  old  satin 
stitch.  What  is  the  matter  with 
poor  Barbara  ?  I  felt  sure  she  would 
catch  cold  and  lose  her  voice.  I 
shall  tell  papa  to  go  and  see  her.  As 
for  to-night  it  will  be  a  dreadful 
loss  to  be  sure,  for  I  never  could 
find  a  voice  that  went  so  well  with 
mine.  But  if  you  are  sure  she  can't 
come " 

"  When  people  have  not  a  sense 
of  duty,"  said  Rose,  with  an  indig- 
nant sigh,  "  nor  any  proper  pride, 

Some  are  so  different.  Barbara 

ought  to  have  been  some  rich  per- 
son's daughter,  with  nothing  to  do. 
She  would  not  mind  being  of  no 
use  in  the  world.  It  is  a  kind  of 
temperament  I  don't  understand," 
continued  the  little  artist.  All 
this,  it  is  true,  was  novel  to  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  who  had  a  kind  of 
prejudice  in  favour  of  the  daughters 
of  rich  persons  who  had  nothing  to 
do  ;  but  Lucilla's  genius  was  broad 
and  catholic,  and  did  not  insist  up- 
on comprehending  everything,  and 
it  was  at  this  moment  that  a  new 
idea  flashed  upon  her  with  all  the 
rapidity  of  an  intuition.  She  gave 
Rose  a  sudden  scrutinising  look, 
and  measured  her  mentally  against 
the  gap  she  had  to  fill.  No  doubt 
it  was  an  experiment,  and  might 
fail  signally;  but  then  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks was  always  at  hand  to  cover 
deficiencies,  and  she  had  that  con- 
fidence in  herself  and  her  good- 
fortune  which  is  necessary  to  every- 
body who  greatly  dares. 

"  You  must  come  yourself  this 
evening,  you  dear  old  Rose,"  said 
Lucilla.  '*  You  know  I  always  was 
fond  of  you.  Oh  yes,  I  know  you 
can't  sing  like  Barbara.  But  the 
Archdeacon  is  coming,  who  under- 
stands about  art ;  and  if  you  would 

like  to  bring  your  design •  My 

principle  has  always  been,  that  there 
should  be  a  little  of  everything  in 


1865.] 


Marjoribaids. — Part  V. 


CM 


society,"  suiil  Miss  Marjoribnnka. 
"  I  dart-say  you  will  feel  a  little 
strange  at  first  with  not  knowing 
the  people,  but  that  will  soon  pass 
off — anil  you  must  come." 

When  she  had  said  this,  Lucill.i 
bestowed  upon  little  Rose  a  friend- 
ly schoolfellow  kiss,  putting  her 
hands  upon  the  little  artist's  shoul- 
ders, and  looking  her  full  in  the 
face  as  she  did  so.  "  I  am  sure 
you  can  talk,''  said  Miss  Marjori- 
banks.  She  did  not  say  "  CJo  away 
now,  and  leave  me  to  my  arrange- 
ments ;  "  but  Hose,  who  wa.s  quiek- 
witted,  understood  that  the  salute 
was  a  dismissal,  and  she  went  away 
accordingly,  tingling  with  pride  and 
excitement  and  pleasure  and  a  kind 
of  pain.  The  idea  of  practically 
exemplifying,  in  her  own  person, 
the  kind  of  demeanour  which  so- 
ciety ou.nht  to  expect  from  an  artist 
had  not  occurred  to  Rose  ;  but  des- 
tiny having  arranged  it  so,  she  was 
not  the  woman  to  withdraw  from 
her  responsibilities.  She  said  to 
herself  that  it  would  be  shabby  for 
her  who  was  known  to  have  opin- 
ions on  this  subject,  to  shrink  from 
carrying  them  out  ;  and  stimulated 
her  courage  by  recourse  to  her  prin- 
ciples, as  people  do  who  feel  them- 
selves bound  to  lay  sacrifices  on  the 
altar  of  duty.  Notwithstanding 
this  elevated  view  of  the  emer- 
gency, it  must  be  admitted  that  a 
sudden  thought  of  what  she  would 


wear  had  flushed  to  Rose's  very 
finger-tips,  with  a  heat  and  tingle 
of  which  the  little  heroine  was 
ashamed.  For,  to  be  sure,  it  was 
Thursday  morning,  and  there  was 
not  a  moment  to  lie  lo.st.  How- 
ever, after  the  fir*t  thrill  which  this 
idea  had  given  her,  Rose  bethought 
herself  once  more  of  her  principles, 
and  stilled  her  beating  heart.  It 
was  not  for  her  to  think  of  what 
she  was  to  put  on,  she  who  had  so 
often  proclaimed  the  exemption  of 
"a  family  of  artists"  from  the 
rules  which  weigh  .so  hard  upon 
the  common  world.  "  We  have  a 
rank  of  our  own,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, but  with  that  tremor  which 
always  accompanies  the  transfer- 
ence of  a  purely  theoretical  and 
even  fantastic  rule  of  conduct  into 
practical  ground  —  "We  are  every 
body's  e<|iial.  and  we  are  nobody's 
equal — and  when  papa  begins  to 
be  appreciated  a.s  he  ought  to  be, 
and  Willie  has  made  a  Name — 
This  was  always  the  point  at  which 
Rose  broke  off,  falling  into  reverie 
that  could  not  be  expre.-sed  in 
words  ;  but  she  had  no  leisure  to 
remark  upon  the  chance  "  composi- 
tions "  in  the  street,  or  the  ctfect.s 
of  light  and  shade,  as  she  went 
home.  A  sudden  and  heavy  re- 
spon>ibility  had  fallen  upon  her 
shoulders,  and  she  would  have 
scorned,  herself  had  she  deserted 
her  post. 


I  II.M'ir.K    XVIII. 


It  may  be  imagined  that  Rose 
Lake  was  not  the  only  person  who 
looked  forward  with  excitement  to 
the  evening  of  this  Thursday,  which 
was  to  he,  properly  speaking,  the 
Archdeacon's  first  appearance  in 
Carlingford.  To  be  sure  he  had 
dined  at  the  Rectory,  and  also  at 
Sir  John  Richmond's,  besides  that 
there  had  been  somebody  to  din- 
ner at  Colonel  C'hiley's  table  al- 
most every  day  ;  but  then  there 
were  only  county  people  at  Sir 
John's,  and  Mr  Bury's  guests  nat- 


urally counted  for  very  little  in 
(!  range  Lane; — indeed,  it  was  con- 
fidently reported  that  the  Rector 
had  invited  Mr  Tufton  of  Salem 
Chapel  to  meet  the  Archdeacon, 
and  that,  but  for  the  Dissenting 
minister  having  more  sense  and 
knowing  his  place,  that  unseemly 
conjunction  would  have  taken  place, 
to  the  horror  of  all  right-thinking 
people.  So  that  I  >r  Marjoribanks's 
wa.s  in  reality  the  first  house  where 
he  had  any  chance  of  seeing  .society 
in  Carlingford.  It  would  perhaps 


G82 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


be  using  too  strong  a  word  to  say 
that  Miss  Marjoribanks  was  anxi- 
ous about  the  success  of  her  arrange- 
ments for  this  particular  evening  ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  the  circumstances 
were  such  as  to  justify  a  little  an- 
xiety. Mr  Cavendish  was  gone, 
who,  to  do  him  justice,  was  al- 
ways agreeable,  and  his  depar- 
ture disturbed  the  habitual  par- 
ty; and  Mrs  Woodburn  had  lost 
all  her  powers,  as  it  seemed,  and 
sat  at  Dr  Marjoribanks' s  left  hand, 
looking  j  List  like  other  people,  and 
evidently  not  to  be  in  the  least  de- 
pended on  ;  and  Lucilla  was  aware 
that  Barbara  was  not  coming,  which 
made,  if  nothing  else,  a  change  in 
the  programme  of  the  evening.  No 
music,  nobody  to  do  the  flirting, 
nor  to  supply  the  dramatic  by-play 
to  which  Grange  Lane  had  become 
accustomed  ;  and  a  new  man  to  be 
made  use  of,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  be  pleased  and  fascinated,  and 
made  the  instrument  of  fascinating 
others.  A  young  woman  of  powers 
inferior  to  those  of  Miss  Marjori- 
banks would  have  sunk  under  such 
a  weight  of  responsibility,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  that  Lucilla  was  a 
little  excited.  She  felt  that  every- 
thing depended  upon  her  courage 
and  self-possession.  If  she  but  lost 
her  head  for  a  moment  and  lost  com- 
mand of  affairs,  everything  might 
have  been  lost ;  but  then  fortunate- 
ly she  knew  herself  and  what  she 
could  do,  and  had  a  modest  confi- 
dence that  she  would  not  lose  her 
head  ;  and  thus  she  could  still  eat 
her  dinner  with  the  composure  of 
genius,  though  it  would  be  wrong 
to  deny  that  Lucilla  was  a  little 
pale. 

And  then,  as  if  all  these 
things  had  not  been  enough  to  dis- 
courage the  lady  of  the  house,  an- 
other discordant  element  was  added 
by  the  presence  of  Mr  Bury  and 
his  sister,  whom  it  had  been  neces- 
sary to  ask  to  meet  the  Archdeacon. 
The  Rector,  though  he  was  very 
Low-Church,  had  no  particular  ob- 
jections to  a  good  dinner — but  he 


had  a  way  of  sneering  at  "  the  flesh," 
even  while  taking  all  due  pains  to 
nourish  it,  which  roused  Dr  Mar- 
joribanks's  temper.  Sometimes  the 
Doctor  would  launch  a  shaft  of  medi- 
cal wit  at  his  spiritual  ruler,  which 
Mr  Bury  had  no  means  of  parrying. 
"  I  have  no  doubt,"  Dr  Marjori- 
banks would  say,  "  that  an  indi- 
gestion is  an  admirable  way  of 
mortifying  the  flesh,  as  our  excel- 
lent Hector  says.  Fasting  was  the 
suggestion  of  a  barbarous  age;  it 
must  have  kept  those  anchorite  fel- 
lows in  an  unchristian  strength  of 
stomach.  And  it's  far  more  philoso- 
phical to  punish  the  offending  body, 
as  Mr  Bury  does,  by  means  of  made 
dishes ;"  and  when  he  had  thus  dis- 
turbed his  reverend  guest's  enjoy- 
ment, the  Doctor  would  go  on  with 
great  relish  with  his  dinner.  This, 
however,  was  not  the  only  danger  to 
which  the  peace  of  the  party  was 
exposed.  For  the  Rector,  at  the 
same  time,  regarded  Mr  Beverley 
with  a  certain  critical  suspicious- 
ness,  such  as  is  seldom  to  be  en- 
countered except  among  clergymen. 
He  did  not  know  much  about  his 
clerical  superior,  who  had  only  re- 
cently been  appointed  to  his  arch- 
deaconry; but  there  was  something 
in  his  air,  his  looks  and  demeanour, 
which  indicated  what  Mr  Bury  con- 
sidered a  loose  way  of  thinking. 
When  the  Archdeacon  made  any 
remark  the  Rector  would  pause  and 
look  up  from  his  plate  to  listen  to 
it,  with  his  fork  suspended  in  the 
air  the  while — and  then  he  would 
exchange  glances  with  his  sister, 
who  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table.  All  this,  it  may  be  suppos- 
ed, was  a  little  discomposing  for 
Lucilla,  who  had  the  responsibility 
of  everything,  and  who  could  now 
look  for  no  assistance  among  the 
ordinary  members  of  her  father's 
party,  who  were,  as  a  general  rule, 
much  more  occupied  with  the  din- 
ner than  with  anything  else  that 
was  going  on.  In  this  state  of 
affairs  Miss  Marjoribanks  was  very 
glad  when  the  Archdeacon,  who  oc- 
cupied the  post  of  honour  by  her 


1865.] 


M arjoribankt. — J'<ir(  V. 


side,  made  a  lively  new  beginning 
in  the  conversation.  It  had  not 
to  cw\\  jtcigytd  before — not  precisely 
flagged — hut  still  there  were  indi- 
cations of  approaching  exhaustion, 
such  <us  can  always  l>e  perceived 
half-a-niile  off  l»y  anybody  who  has 
any  experience  in  society ;  and  when 
the  Archdeacon  took  up  the  ball 
with  all  the  liveliness  of  a  man  who 
is  interested  in  a  special  question, 
it  will  not  he  ditiicult  to  any  lady 
who  has  ever  been  in  such  circum- 
stances to  realise  to  herself  Miss 
Marjorihanks's  sense  of  gratitude 
and  relief. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Mr  Beverlcy, 
"  I  meant  to  ask  if  any  one  knew 
a  man  whom  1  am  sure  1  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  first  day  1  was  in 
Carlingford.  1'erhaps  it  was  in 
the  morning  after  1  arrived,  to  be 
precise.  1  can't  recollect  exactly. 
If  he  lives  about  here,  he  ought  to 
be  known,  for  he  is  a  very  clever 
amusing  sort  of  fellow.  I  don't 
know  if  Carlingford  is  more  blessed 
than  other  country  towns  with  peo- 
ple of  that  complexion,"  said  the 
Archdeacon,  turning  to  Lucilla  with 
a  smile.  lie  was  in  no  hurry, 
though  he  was  a  little  curious. 
The  subject  was  not  exciting  to  him  ; 
and  to  be  sure  nothing  could  be  fur- 
ther from  his  thoughts  than  that 
there  was  anybody  at  the  table  who 
might  have  turned  sick  with  anxiety 
and  suspense,  and  felt  the  pause, 
he  made  a  horrible  kind  of  torture. 
He  paused  and  turned  to  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks  with  the  smile  which  is 
a  kind  of  challenge  when  it  is  ad- 
dressed to  a  young  lady,  and  meant 
to  lead  to  a  lively  little  combat  by 
the  way.  As  for  Lucilla.  she  was 
conscious  of  an  immediate  thrill  ot 
curiosity,  but  still  it  was  curiosity 
unmingled  with  any  excitement, 
and  she  had  no  particular  objection 
to  respond. 

"  Kverybody  is  nice  in  Carling- 
ford," said  Miss  Marjorihanks  ; 
"some  people  are  always  finding 
fault  with  their  neighbours,  but  I 
always  get  on  so  well  with  every- 
body— 1  suppose  it  is  my  luck, 


said  Lucilla  ;  which,  to  be  sun-,  w.is 
not  precisely  an  answer  to  the 
Archdeacon's  question.  And  tin-re 
was  somebody  at  the  table  all  the 
time  who  could  have  fallen  upon 
her  and  beaten  her  for  putting  otf 
the  revelation  which  trembled  on 
the  lips  of  Mr  Uevcrley,  and  yet 
would  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  to  silence  the  Archdeacon, 
and  felt  capable  of  rushing  at  him 
like  a  fury  and  tearing  his  tongue 
out,  or  suffocating  him,  to  stop  the 
next  words  that  he  was  going  to 
say;  and  yet  the  same  inconsistent 
person  was  furious  with  Lucilla 
for  postponing  this  utterance  a 
little  :  and  all  the  while,  so  abso- 
lute are  the  restraints  of  society, 
everybody  at  Dr  Marjorihanks's 
table  sat  eating  their  dinner,  one 
precisely  like  another,  as  if  there 
had  been  no  such  thing  as  mystery 
or  terror  in  the  world. 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to 
believe  in  the  perfection  of  human 
society."  said  the  Archdeacon,  going 
on  in  the  same  strain;  "I  would 
much  rather  pin  my  faith  to  the 
amiable  dispositions  of  one  younj,' 
lady  who  always  finds  her  neigh- 
bours agreeable — and  I  hope  she 
makes  no  exception  to  the  rule,  ' 
said  the  Broad -Churchman  in  a 
parenthesis,  with  a  smile  and  a 
bow — and  then  he  raised  hi*  voice 
a  little  :  "  The  man  I  speak  of  is 
really  a  very  amusing  fellow,  you 
know,  and  very  well  got  up.  and 
calculated  to  impo>e  upon  ordinary 
observers.  It  is  quite  a  curious 
story  :  he  was  a  son  of  a  trainer 
or  something  of  that  sort  about 
Newmarket.  Old  Lord  Monnioiith 
took  an  extraordinary  fancy  to  him. 
and  had  him  constantly  about  his 
place — half  brought  him  up  indeed, 
along  with  his  grandson,  you  know. 
He  always  was  a  handsome  fel- 
low, and  picked  up  a  little  polish  ; 
and  really,  for  people  not  quite  used 
to  the  real  thing,  wa.s  as  nearly  like 
a  gentleman — 

"Come,  now,  I  don't  put  any 
faith  in  that,"  said  Mr  Woodhurn. 
"  1  don't  pretend  to  be  much  of  a 


C84 


Miss  MarjoribanJcs. — Part  V. 


[June, 


one  for  fine  company  myself,  but  I 
know  a  gentleman  when  I  see  him ; 
a  snob  always  overdoes  it,  you 
know " 

"  I  never  said  this  man  was  a 
snob/'  said  the  Archdeacon,  with  a 
refined  expression  of  disgust  at  the 
interruption  flitting  over  his  fea- 
tures; "  on  the  contrary,  if  he  had 
only  been  honest,  he  would  have 
been  really  a  very  nice  fellow " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr  Bury, 
"  excuse  me  for  breaking  in — per- 
haps I  am  old-fashioned,  but  don't 
you  think  it's  a  pity  to  treat  the  ques- 
tion of  honesty  so  lightly  1  A  dis- 
honest person  has  a  precious  soul 
to  be  saved,  and  may  be  a  most 
deeply  interesting  character;  but  to 
speak  of  him  as  a  very  nice  fellow, 
is — pardon  me — I  think  it's  a  pity; 
especially  in  mixed  society,  where 
it  is  so  important  for  a  clergyman 
to  be  guarded  in  his  expressions," 
said  the  Hector.  When  Mr  Bury 
began  to  speak,  everybody  else  at 
table  ceased  talking,  and  gave 
serious  attention  to  what  was  going 
on,  for  the  prospect  of  a  passage  of 
arms  between  the  two  clergymen 
was  an  opportunity  too  captivating 
to  be  lost. 

"  I  hope  Mr  Bury's  dishonest 
friends  will  pardon  me,"  said  the 
Archdeacon  ;  "  I  mean  no  harm  to 
their  superior  claims.  Does  any- 
body know  the  man  here,  I  won- 
der?— his  name  was  Kavan,  I  think, 
or  something  like  that — an  Irish 
name.  I  assure  you  he  was  a  very 
good-looking  fellow — dark,  good 
features,  nearly  six  feet  high " 

"  Oh  please  don't  say  any  more," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  and  she 
could  not  quite  have  explained 
why  she  interrupted  these  personal 
details ;  "  if  you  tell  me  what  he  is 
like  I  shall  fancy  everybody  I  meet 
is  him  ;  Mr  Centum  is  dark,  and  has 
good  features,  and  is  nearly  six  feet 
high — never  mind  what  he  is  like 
—  you  gentlemen  can  never  de- 
scribe anybody  ;  you  always  keep 
to  generals;  tell  us  what  he  has 
done." 

Somebody  drew  a  long  breath 


at  the  table  when  the  Archdeacon 
obeyed  Miss  Marjoribanks's  injunc- 
tion. More  than  one  person  caught 
the  sound,  but  even  Lucilla's  keen 
eyes  could  not  make  out  beyond 
controversy  from  whom  it  proceed- 
ed. To  be  sure,  Lucilla's  mind  was 
in  a  most  curious  state  of  tumult 
and  confusion.  She  was  not  one  of 
the  people  who  take  a  long  time  to 
form  their  conclusions ;  but  the 
natural  conclusion  to  which  she  felt 
inclined  to  jump  in  this  case  was 
one  so  monstrous  and  incredible 
that  Miss  Marjoribanks  felt  her 
only  safeguard  in  the  whirl  of 
possibilities  was  to  reject  it  alto- 
gether, and  make  up  her  mind  that 
it  was  impossible  ;  and  then  all  the 
correspondences  and  apparent  cor- 
roborations  began  to  dance  and 
whirl  about  her  in  a  bewildering 
ring  till  her  own  brain  seemed  to 
spin  with  them.  She  was  as  much 
afraid  lest  the  Archdeacon  by  some 
chance  should  fall  upon  a  really  in- 
dividual feature  which  the  world  in 
general  could  identify,  as  if  she  had 
had  any  real  concern  in  the  matter. 
But  then,  fortunately,  there  was  not 
much  chance  of  that ;  for  it  was  one 
of  Lucilla's  principles  that  men  never 
can  describe  each  other.  She  list- 
ened, however,  with  such  a  curious 
commotion  in  her  mind,  that  she 
did  not  quite  make  out  what  he  was 
saying,  and  only  pieced  it  up  in 
little  bits  from  memory  afterwards. 
Not  that  it  was  a  very  dreadful 
story.  It  was  not  a  narrative  of 
robbery  or  murder,  or  anything 
very  alarming ;  but  if  it  could  by 
any  possibility  turn  out  that  the 
man  of  whom  Mr  Beverley  was 
speaking  had  ever  been  received  in 
society  in  Carlingford,  then  it  would 
be  a  dreadful  blow  to  the  commu- 
nity, and  destroy  public  confidence 
for  ever  in  the  social  leaders.  This 
was  what  Lucilla  was  thinking  in 
her  sudden  turmoil  of  amazement 
andapprehension.  And  then  all  this 
time  there  was  another  person  at 
table  who  knew  all  about  it  twenty 
times  better  than  Lucilla,  and  knew 
what  was  coming,  and  had  a  still 


1665.] 


Mist  MarjvrUiankt. — J'art  J'. 


more  intense  terror  lest  some  per- 
sonal detail  might  drop  from  the 
Archdeacon's  lips  which  the  public 
in  gem-nil  would  recognise.  Not- 
withstanding, Mr  Beverley  went  on 
quite  composedly  with  his  story, 
never  dreaming  for  a  moment  that 
anybody  was  disturbed  or  excited 
by  it.  "  He  has  a  mark  on  his  face," 
the  Archdeacon  said — but  here  Miss 
Marjorihanks  gave  a  little  cry.  and 
held  up  both  her  hands  in  dismay. 

"Ikm't  tell  us  what  marks  he 
has  on  his  face/'  said  Lueilla.  "  1 
know  that  J  shall  think  every  man 
who  is  dark,  and  has  good  features. 
and  is  six  feet,  must  be  him.  1 
wonder  if  it  could  be  my  cousin 
Tom;  he  has  a  little  mark  on  his 
face — and  it  would  be  just  like  his 
dreadful  luck,  poor  fellow.  Would 
it  be  right  to  give  up  one's  own 
cousin  if  it  should  turn  out  to  be 
Tom  I'1  said  Miss  Marjoribunk.s. 
The  people  who  were  sitting  at  her 
end  of  the  table  laughed,  but  there 
was  no  laughing  in  Lucilla's  mind. 
And  this  fright  and  panic  were  poor 
preparatives  for  the  evening,  which 
had  to  be  got  through  creditably 
with  so  few  resources,  and  with 
such  a  total  reversal  of  the  ordi- 
nary programme.  Miss  Marjori- 
banks wa.s  still  tingling  with  curio- 
sity and  alarm  when  she  rose  from 
the  table.  If  it  should  really  come 
to  pass  that  an  adventurer  had  been 
received  into  the  best  society  of  ( 'ar- 
lingford,  and  that  the  best  judges 
had  not  been  able  to  discriminate 
between  the  false  and  true,  how 
could  any  one  expect  that  (Jrange 
Lane  would  continue  to  confide  its 
most  important  arrangements  to 
such  incompetent  hands  ! 

Such  was  the  dreadful  question 
that  occupied  all  Lucilla's  thoughts. 
So  far  as  the  adventurer  himself 
was  concerned,  no  doubt  he  de- 
served anything  that  might  come 
upon  him  ;  but  the  judgment  which 


might  overtake  the  careless  *hi-p- 
herds  who  had  admitted  the  wolf 
into  the  fold  was  much  mop-  in  \li-s 
Marjoribanks's  mind  than  any  ques- 
tion of  abstract  justice.  So  that  it 
was  not  entirely  with  a  philanthro- 
pical  intention  that  she  stopped 
Mr  Heverley  and  put  an  end  to  his 
dangerous  details.  Now  she  came 
to  think  ot  it,  she  began  to  remem- 
ber that  nobmii/ nf' fier  <i<--jttnin(an<-c 
had  any  mark  on  his  face  ;  but  still 
it  was  best  not  to  inquire  too 
<  losely.  It  was  thus  with  a  pre- 
occupied  mind  that  she  went  up  to 
the  drawing-room,  feeling  le-s  in 
spirits  for  her  work  than  mi  any 
previous  occasion.  It  was  the  tirst 
of  the  unlucky  nL'hts,  which  every 
woman  of  Lucilla's  large  and  public- 
spirited  views  must  calculate  upon 

as  inevitable  now  and  then.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  the  Kic!ini"iids 
naturally  were  absent,  and  so  \\erc 
the  Miss  Browns,  who  were  staying 
there  on  a  visit — for  it  was  alter 
the  engagement  between  Lydia*and 
John  ;  and  Mr  Cavendish  was  away 
(though  perhaps  under  the  circum- 
stances that  was  no  disadvantage); 
and  Mrs  Woodburn  was  silenced  ; 
and  even  Barbara  Lake  had  failed 
her  patroness. 

"  You  are  not  in  spirits  to  night, 
Lucilla,  my  poor  dear, "  said  Mrs 
Chiley,  as  they  went  up  stairs  ;  and 
the  kind  old  lady  cast  a  fierce  glance 
at  Mrs  Woodburn,  who  was  going 
before  them  with  Miss  Bury,  ;is  if 
it  could  be  her  fault. 

"hear  Mrs  Chiley."  said  Miss 
Marjoribanks,  "  I  am  in  perfect 
spirits  ;  it  is  only  the  responsibility, 
you  know.  1'oor  Barbara  is  ill,  and 
we  can't  have  any  music,  and  what 
if  people  should  be  bored  I  When 
one  has  real  friends  to  stand  by  one 
it  is  different."  said  Lucilla.  with 
an  intonation  that  was  not  intended 
for  Mrs  Chiley,  "and  I  ultmys 
stand  by  my  friends.'' 


•  It  may  1*>  mentioned  hi- re  that  this  was  an  mgap-nu-nt  that  nuno  of  the 
friends  approved  of,  and  that  it  was  the  grrat^t  |">s.Mil.lc  comfort  to  Mi*«  M»r- 
jorikinks's  mind  that  nhc  had  nothing  t»>  ilo  with  it-  either  one  way  or  another, 

an  she  said. 


G86 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


If  she  meant  anything  by  what 
she  said  there  was  no  time  to  en- 
large upon  it,  for  they  were  just  at 
the  drawing-room  door,  where  all 
the  heavy  people  were  waiting  to 
be  amused.  Mrs  Chiley  held  her 
young  friend  back  for  a  moment 
with  those  unreasonable  partisan 
ideas  of  hers,  which  were  so  differ- 
ent from  Lucilla's  broad  and  states- 
manlike way  of  contemplating 
affairs. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  bold  thing  is 
not  coming,"  said  the  kind  old  lady; 
"  she  deserves  to  be  ill,  Lucilla. 
But  don't  go  and  over-excite  your- 
self, my  poor  dear.  People  must 
just  amuse  themselves  in  their  own 
way.  They  are  very  well  off,  I  am 
sure,  with  this  pretty  room  and  a 
very  nice  cup  of  tea,  and  each  other's 
things  to  look  at.  Never  mind  the 
people,  but  go  and  find  a  nice  corner 
and  have  a  chat  with  the  Archdeacon 
when  he  comes  up-stairs.  I  arn 
sure  that  is  what  he  would  like. 
And  you  know  he  is  the  stranger, 
and  the  person  to  be  studied/'  said 
the  designing  old  woman.  As  for 
Lucilla,  she  made  no  categorical 
response  ;  she  only  opened  the  door 
a  little  wider  for  Mrs  Chiley's  en- 
trance, and  arranged  the  ribbons  of 
the  old  lady's  cap,  as  she  followed 
her  into  the  room,  in  a  caressing 
way. 

"I  daresay  we  shall  do  very 
well,"  Lucilla  said,  feeling  her 
courage  rise  within  her  in  face 
of  the  emergency;  and  thus  she 
went  her  way  into  the  gay  mob 
who  were  waiting  for  her,  and  who 
had  not  the  least  idea  when  Miss 
Marjoribanks  made  her  appearance 
among  them  that  she  had  anything 
on  her  mind. 

But  the  first  group  that  met  Lu- 
cilla's eye  as  she  went  into  the 
drawing-room  was  one  which  made 
her  start  a  little,  self-possessed  as 
she  was.  This  group  was  composed 
of,  in  the  first  place,  Barbara  Lake 
in  her  crumpled  white  dress,  which 
she  had  not  had  any  heart  to  think 
of,  and  which  was  just  as  she  had 
taken  it  off  last  Thursday  evening. 


Barbara  herself  showed  to  as  little 
advantage  as  her  dress  did.  There 
was  no  expectation  about  her  to 
brighten  her  up.  Her  heavy  black 
eyebrows  lowered  like  a  dead  line 
of  resistance  and  defiance,  and  her 
eyes  gleamed  underneath  sullenly 
oblique  and  dangerous.  Her  hair 
was  hastily  arranged,  her  complexion 
muddy  and  sombre,  her  eyelids  red. 
It  was  as  easy  to  see  that  she  had 
been  crying,  and  that  disappoint- 
ment and  spite  and  vexation  had 
had  the  greatest  share  in  her  tears, 
as  if  all  the  party  had  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  little  house  in  Grove 
Street  and  had  heard  the  tempest 
going  on.  Though  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  was  unable 
to  go,  when  her  going  was  merely 
a  necessary  loyalty  to  Lucilla,  the 
fact  that  Rose  had  been  invited 
acted  with  a  wonderfully  stimulat- 
ing effect  upon  her  sister.  Then 
she  began  to  think  that,  perhaps, 
after  all,  he  might  have  come  back, 
and  that  to  be  out  of  the  way  and 
leave  the  field  clear  to  Lucilla  was  all 
that  her  enemies  wanted — for  poor 
Barbara  could  not  but  think  that 
she  must  have  enemies.  And  the 
mere  idea  that  Rose  was  asked 
roused  her  of  itself.  "  I  don't  know 
what  she  could  mean  by  asking  you, 
unless  it  was  to  spite  me,"  said  the 
sullen  contralto.  "  Oh  yes,  I  dare- 
say she  will  be  very  glad  to  get  rid 
of  me;  but  I'll  go  to  spite  her," 
Barbara  cried,  with  a  flash  from 
under  her  lowering  brows  ;  and  it 
was  this  amiable  motive  which  had 
brought  her  out.  She  thought,  if 
by  any  chance  Mr  Cavendish  might 
happen  to  be  there,  that  the  sight 
of  her  all  crumpled  and  suffering 
would  be  eloquent  to  his  heart,  for 
the  poor  girl's  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  "  the  gentlemen  "  was 
naturally  very  small.  Thus  she 
made  her  appearance  with  her  dis- 
appointment and  rage  and  vexation 
written  on  her  face,  to  serve  as  a 
beacon  to  all  the  young  women  of 
Carlingford,  and  show  them  the  ne- 
cessity of  concealing  their  feelings. 
Mrs  Chiley,  who  felt  that  Barbara 


1865.] 


Miss  Murjnribankt. — /'art  I'. 


deserved  it,  and  was  resolved  not 
to  pity  her,  seixed  the  opportunity, 
and  delivered  quite  a  little  lecture 
to  a  group  of  girls  on  the  subject 
of  the  forsaken. 

"A  disappointment  may  happen 
to  any  voting  person,"  Mrs  Chiley 
said,  "and  so  long  as  it  is  not  their 
fault  nobody  could  Maine  them  : 
but,  my  dears,  whatever  you  do, 
don't  show  it  like  that.  It  makes 
me  ashamed  for  my  sex.  And  only 
look  at  Lucilla  !  "  said  the  old  lady, 
who,  to  tell  the  truth,  instead  of 
looking  ashamed,  looked  triumph- 
ant. And.  to  he  sure.  Miss  Mar 
joribanks  had  regained  all  her  pris- 
tine energy,  and  looked  entirely 
like  herself. 

What  was  still  more  extraor- 
dinary, however,  was,  that  Mrs 
Woodbnrn  had  quite  emerged 
from  her  momentary  ((uietude.  and 
was  in  a  corner,  as  usual,  with  a 
group  of  people,  round  her.  from 
whom  stifled  bursts  of  laughter 
were  audible.  "  1  am  frightened 
out  of  my  life  when  1  see  that  wo- 
man," said  one  of  the  ({range  Lane 
ladies,  who  was  the  very  imper>oii- 
ation  of  commonplace,  and  utterly 
unworthy  the  mimic's  while.  "  She 
is  taking  some  of  us  otV  at  this  mo- 
ment. I  am  quite  sure. 

"  My  dear,  she  is  very  amusing." 
said  Mrs  Chiley,  drawing  her  lace 
shawl  round  her  shoulders  with  that 
little  jerk  which  MrsWoodburn  exe- 
cuted to  perfection.  "  1  am  quite 
easy  in  my  mind,  for  my  part.  There 
can't  be  much  to  take  off  in  an  old 
woman  that  is  old  enough  to  lie  all 
your  grandmothers  ;  and  I  am  quite 
pleased  for  Lucilla's  sake.''  And 
then.it  is  true,  the  girls  laughed. and 
tried  hard  to  hide  that  they  were 
laughing,  for  they  had  all  heard  Mrs 
Woodhurn  give  that  very  speech 
•with  inimitable  success.  Hut  it 
was  in  reality  the  Archdeacon 
of  whom  the  mimic  was  giving  a 
private  rehearsal  at  that  moment. 
She  was  doing  it  with  a  little  exag- 
geration, and  colouring  strongly, 
which  perhaps  was  owing  to  an  im- 
perfect acquaintance  with  the  sub- 


ject, and  perhaps  to  tin-  little  excite- 
ment which  accomp  mit-d  the  throw 
ing  off  of  the  cloud  which  h.id  en- 
veloped her.  To  be  sure,  nobody 
knew  why  she  .should  have  IK-CII 
under  a  cloud,  for  married  sUt.-rt 
don't  generally  lose  their  spirits  in 
consequence  of  a  brothers  tempor- 
ary absence  ;  but  still  the  general 
eye  perceived  the  < -h  m_'.-.  "  Now 
you  look  a  little  like  yourself 
attain,  snme  one  said  to  her. 
"  \  ou  might  have  been  out  of  town, 
like  Mr(  'avcndish.  for  anything  one 
has  heard  of  you  for  a  week  past." 

"  1  have  been  studying  very 
closely,  Mrs  Woodburn  said  ;  "  it 
is  MI  important  to  <;et  the  key- 
note :"  and  this  was  how.  more 
than  by  anything  lie  said  or  did 
himself,  that  Mr  P.everley 's  ways.,t 
expressing  himself  became  familiar 
to  the  mind  of  ( Jranjje  Lane. 

All  this  time  little  Kose  Lake  had 
been  standing  by  the  t  ible  near  her 
sister,  not  feeling  very  comfortable, 
if  the  truth  must  be  told.  Rose  had 
been  obliged  to  solve  the  important 
question  of  what  she  was  to  put  on, 
by  the  simple,  but  not  quite  >ati.-fac- 
tory,  expedient  of  wearing  what  she 
had.  as  so  many  people  have  to  do. 
And  her  dress  was,  to  say  the  least, 
rather  a  marked  contrast  to  the  other 
dresses  round  her.  For  when  one 
is  an  artist,  and  belongs  to  a  family 
of  artists,  one  is  perhaps  tempted  to 
carry  ones  ideas  of  what  is  ab- 
stractly graceful  even  into  the  sa- 
cred conventionalities,  of  jK-rsonal 
attire  ;  and  it  is  sad  to  l>e  obliged  to 
confess  that  the  success  is  generally 
much  less  apparent  than  one  might 
have  expected  it  to  be.  :us  many  an 
unfortunate  painter  swife  has  found 
out  to  her  cost.  Among  all  the 
(Jrange  Line  girls  there  was  not 
one  who  would  have  looked,  as 
Miss  Mar  joribanks  herself  said,«  i<vr 
than  Kose  if  she  had  been  dressed 
like  other  people.  To  be  sure,  there 
were  several  handsomer,  such  :us  Bar- 
bara, for  instance,  who  possessed  a 
kind  of  beauty,  but  who  was  as  far 
from  being  MI«V  as  can  be  conceived ; 
but  then  what  can  be  done  with  a 


688 


Miss  Marjorilaiiks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


girl  who  goes  out  for  the  evening  in 
a  black  dress  trimmed  with  red,  and 
made  with  quaint  little  slashings  at 
the  shoulders  and  round  the  waist 
of  an  architectural  character1?  Rose's 
opinions  in  respect  to  effective  orna- 
mentation were,  as  has  been  said, 
very  strongly  marked  for  so  young 
a  person  ;  and  though  she  was  per- 
fectly neat,  and  not  a  crumple  about 
her,  still  it  must  be  confessed  that 
her  costume  altogether  suggested, 
even  to  Lucilla,  who  was  not  imagi- 
native, one  of  the  carnival  demons 
that  she  had  seen  in  Italy.  When 
she  went  up  to  her  young  visitor, 
veiling  her  altogether,  for  the  mo- 
ment, in  her  own  clouds  of  white, 
Miss  Marjoribanks  made  a  furtive 
attempt  to  put  some  of  the  tags  out 
of  the  way ;  but  this  was  an  im- 
practicable effort.  "  It  was  so 
nice  of  you  to  come  on  such  short 
notice,"  Lucilla  said,  putting  her 
hand  affectionately  on  Hose's  shoul- 
der ;  but  her  eyes  would  wander 
while  she  was  speaking  from  her 
little  schoolfellow's  face  to  her 
dreadful  trimmings  ;  "  and  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  Barbara  is  better.  But 
you  shan't  be  troubled  to-night,  for 
we  are  not  going  to  have  any  music. 
I  am  sure  you  are  not  able  to  sing," 
said  Miss  Marjoribanks,  addressing 
the  elder  sister ;  and  all  this  time 
she  was  insidiously  fingering  Rose's 
tags,  which  were  far  too  firmly  se- 
cured to  yield  to  any  such  legerde- 
main. And  then,  as  was  natural, 
Lucilla  had  to  go  away  and  attend 
to  her  other  guests  ;  and  the  other 
people  in  the  room  were  too  busy 
with  their  own  talks  and  friends 
to  pay  any  attention  to  Rose,  even 
had  she  not  been  sister  to  Bar- 
bara, whom  nobody  felt  disposed 
to  notice.  Rose  had  brought  a 
large  portfolio  with  her,  containing 
not  only  the  design  in  which  her 
own  genius  was  launching  forth,  but 
also  some  drawings  which  the  little 
artist  set  much  less  store  by,  and 
one  surreptitious  sketch,  which  was 
by  Willie,  who  had  not  yet  made  a 
name.  She  thought,  in  her  inno- 
cence, poor  child,  as  is  natural  to 


youthful  professors  of  art  or  lit- 
erature, that  such  matters  form 
the  staple  of  conversation  in 
polite  society,  and  that  every- 
body would  be  pleased  and  proud 
to  have  heard  of  and  seen,  just 
before  his  debut,  the  works  of  the 
coming  man.  "  I  have  brought 
some  drawings,"  she  said  to  Lucilla, 
putting  her  hand  upon  the  port- 
folio ;  and  Lucilla  had  said  "  You 
dear  little  Rose,  how  nice  of  you  !  " 
— but  that  was  all  that  had  as  yet 
passed  on  the  subject.  Miss  Mar- 
joribanks regarded  with  eyes  of 
painful  interest  the  young  Pre- 
raphaelite's  tags,  but  she  paid  no 
regard  to  the  portfolio,  and  never 
even  asked  to  see  its  contents. 
Rose,  to  be  sure,  might  have  sat 
down  had  she  pleased,  but  she  pre- 
ferred to  keep  her  place  standing  by 
her  sister's  side,  with  her  hand  upon 
the  portfolio,  listening  to  all  the 
people  talking.  It  was  rather  a  dis- 
enchanting process.  All  of  them 
might  have  seen  the  portfolio  had 
they  liked,  and  yet  they  went  on 
talking  about  the  most  unimportant 
matters  ; — where  they  were  going, 
and  what  they  were  to  wear,  and 
what  new  amusements  or  occupa- 
tions had  been  planned  for  the 
morrow — which  two  words  indeed 
seem  to  mean  the  same  thing  ac- 
cording to  the  Carlingford  young 
ladies.  As  Rose  Lake  stood  and 
listened,  a  few  of  her  childish  illu- 
sions began  to  leave  her.  In  the 
first  place,  nobody  said  a  syllable 
either  about  art,  literature,  or  even 
music,  which  gave  the  lie  to  all 
her  previous  conceptions  of  conver- 
sation among  educated  people — and 
then  it  began  slowly  to  dawn  upon 
Rose,  that  a  life  like  her  own,  full 
of  work  and  occupation,  which  she 
had  been  used  up  to  this  moment 
to  think  a  very  good  life,  and  quite 
refined  and  dignified  in  comparison 
with  most  of  the  lives  she  knew  of, 
was  in  reality  a  very  shabby  and 
poor  existence,  of  which  a  young 
woman  ought  to  be  ashamed  when 
she  came  into  society  in  Grange 
Lane.  When  this  discovery  began 


1805.] 


J/«w  Miirjtiribanki. — J'art  I". 


C-9 


to  dawn  upon  tlie  little  artist,  it 
made  her  very  dot  and  uncomfort- 
able for  the  first  moment,  as  may 
be  supposed.  She  who  had  thought 
of  the  Female  School  of  Design  as 
of  a  C'areer,  and  considered  herself 
a  little  in  the  light  of  one  of  the 
pioneers  of  society  and  benefactors 
of  her  kind  !  but  in  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  drawing-room  the  Career 
seemed  to  change  its  character ; — 
and  then  Hose  began  to  think  that 
now  she  understood  Barbara.  It 
was,  on  the  whole,  a  painful  little 
bit  of  experience  :  and  the  more 
humbled  she  felt  in  herself,  the 
more  did  her  little  heart  swell  with- 
in her,  with  the  innocent  pride 
grown  bitter,  and  the  happy  com- 
placency of  her  scruples  turned  into 
a  combative  self  assertion,  which 
is  not  an  uncommon  process  with 
people  who  have  cherished  ideas 
about  the  rank  of  artists.  The 
world  did  not  care  in  the  least  for 
her  being  an  artist,  except  perhaps 
in  so  far  an  that  fact  gave  a  still 
more  absurd  explanation  to  her 
absurd  dress  ;  and  then  she  had 
never  been  to  a  ball,  and  was  not 
going  to  any  ball,  nor  to  the  picnic 
on  Saturday,  nor  to  Mrs  Centum's 
on  Monday,  nor  to  ride,  nor  to 
drive,  nor  to  do  anything  that  all 
these  young  people  were  doing  ;  and 
naturally  the  sensation  produced 
was  not  a  very  agreeable  one  ;  fur, 
to  be  sure,  she  was  only  seventeen, 
and  it  went  to  her  heart  to  be  su 
altogether  out  of  accord  with  every- 
thing she  heardof  in  this  new  world. 
Thus  she  stood,  losing  more  and 
more  the  easy  grace  of  her  first  at- 
titude, and  getting  morose  and  still' 
and  constrained,  with  a  sense  of  be- 
ing absurd.  This  perhaps  was  why 
Barbara  dad  always  stopped  her 
when  she  began  to  speak  of  their 
rank  as  artists.  Barbara  had  been 
more  far-sighted  than  herself,  and 
dad  but  followed  tde  lead  of  the 
world.  This  was  the  lesson  Rose 
was  learning  as  she  stood  up  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  clearly  marked 
out  in  her  black  -  and  -  red  dress 
against  the  background  and  »/<- 


tonraijf  of  white-robed  angel*.  It 
had  been  Barbara  that  knew  best. 
It  was  a  lesson  a  little  sharp,  but 
still  it  was  one  which  everybody  in 
her  position  has  to  find  out,  and 
which  it  was  very  well  for  her  to 
learn. 

And  it  was  just  at  this  time  that 
the  gentlemen  came  up  from  the 
dining  room.  As  for  Barbara,  she 
nuix-d  up  a  little  from  her  sullen 
silence,  and  turned  an  cagrr  look  to 
the  dour,  with  a  lingering,  de-perato 
idea  that,  after  all,  l»  mi-lit  be 
there  —  which  wa.s  an  art  which 
shocked  her  sister.  "  If  you  would 
only  have  a  proper  pride!'  the  im- 
patient little  mentor  whimpered  ; 
but  Barbara  only  heaved  up  her 
plump  round  shoulders,  and  jerked 
her  ear  away.  So  far  from  having 
proper  pride,  she  rather  wanted  to 
show  all  the  (trange  Lane  people 
that  she  was  looking  for  /<////.  that 
she  was  suffering  from  /UK  loss,  and 
had  hopes  of  his  return,  and  came 
not  for  them  or  for  Lucilla.  but  on 
his  account:  for  Barbara  had  no 
dreams  of  any  possible  good  to  bi- 
got out  of  papa's  being  appreciate!, 
or  Willie  making  a  name  ;  and  even 
to  be  the  doerted  of  Mr  ( 'avendi-h 
was  a  more  flattering  distinction 
than  to  be  simply  the  drawing- 
master's  daughter.  l'>ut.  of  course, 
there  was  no  Mr  ( '.ivendish  there; 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  his  absence 
made  itself  most  distinctly  felt  at 
tdat  critical  moment.  Then,  for  tde 
fir>t  time,  the  ordinary  public  found 
out  how  lie  dad  bridged  over  tde 
chasm  between  the  dinner  party— 
wdo  were  satisfied  and  l>/<i,*<s,  and 
wanted  repose  —  and  tde  evening 
people,  wdo  were  all  unite  frod,  and 
looked  for  amusement.  Tde  public, 
with  its  usual  dulness  of  percep- 
tion, dad  ignored  tins,  tdongh  Mis.-* 
Marjori banks  dad  known  it  from  tde 
very  beginning,  and  now  there  was 
nobody  to  take  this  delicate  office. 
The  result  was,  that  the  gentlemen 
were  just  falling  into  that  terrible 
black  knot  all  by  themselves  about 
tde  door,  and  betaking  themselves 
to  tde  subjects  which  were,  a.*  Lu- 


690 


Miss  Marjoribanlcs. — Part  V. 


[June, 


cilia  justly  remarked,  on  a  level  with 
their  capacities,  when  Miss  Marjo- 
ribanks  felt  that  the  moment  had 
arrived  for  decisive  action.  The 
Archdeacon,  to  do  him  justice,  had 
made  a  little  effort  to  enter  into 
general  society ;  for  he  was  still 
"  young — enough,"  as  Mrs  Chiley 
said,  to  think  it  worth  his  while  to 
take  in  the  younger  and  prettier 
section  of  the  community  into  the 
circle  of  his  sympathies.  But  it 
was  here  that  the  limited  range  of 
a  Churchman  became  apparent  in 
comparison  with  the  broad  and 
catholic  tendencies  of  a  man  of  the 
world  like  Mr  Cavendish.  A  well- 
brought-up  young  woman  in  general 
society  cannot  be  expected  on  the 
spot  to  bring  forward  her  theolo- 
gical doubts  or  speculations  for  im- 
mediate solution  ;  and  that  was  the 
only  kind  of  flirtation  which  Mr 
Beverley  was  properly  up  to.  He 
made  one  or  two  attempts,  but 
without  great  success ;  and  then  the 
Archdeacon  began  to  veer  slowly 
downward  into  the  midst  of  the 
circle  of  black  coats  which  was 
slowly  consolidating,  and  which 
was  the  object  of  Miss  Marjori- 
banks's  special  terror ;  and  this  being 
the  case,  Lucilla  felt  that  no  time 
was  to  be  lost.  Though  she  had 
taken  no  notice  of  the  portfolio, 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  did  not  care 
in  the  least  about  its  contents,  she 
had  no  more  forgotten  that  it  was 
there  than  she  forgot  any  other 
instrument  which  could  be  put  to 
use.  When  it  was  evident  that 
nothing  else  was  to  be  done,  Miss 
Marjoribanks  called  the  Archdea- 
con to  her  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  "  I  want  to  show  you  some- 
thing," said  Lucilla.  "  I  am  quite 
sure  you  know  about  art.  Do  come 
and  look  at  Miss  Lake's  drawings  ; 
they  are  charming.  This  is  Mr 
Beverley,  Rose,  and  you  must  let 
him  see  what  you  have  got  in  the 
portfolio.  He  is  quite  a  judge,  you 
know ;  and  she  is  a  little  genius," 
said  Lucilla.  This  speech  awoke 
a  little  flutter  of  amazement  and 
consternation  in  the  assembly;  but 


Miss  Marjoribanks  knew  what  she 
was  about.  She  opened  up  the 
portfolio  with  her  own  hands,  and 
brought  forth  the  drawing  which 
was  Willie's  drawing,  and  which, 
to  be  sure,  Lucilla  knew  nothing 
about.  "  It  was  my  luck,  you 
know,"  as  she  said  afterwards;  for 
Willie's  drawing  was  wonderfully 
clever,  and  quite  in  Mr  Beverley's 
way.  And  then  everybody  got  up 
to  look  at  it,  and  made  a  circle 
round  the  Archdeacon  ;  and  the 
Broad-Churchman,  who  had  at  bot- 
tom no  objection  to  be  mobbed  and 
surrounded  by  a  party  of  ladies, 
exerted  himself  accordingly,  and 
opened  up  to  such  an  extent,  that 
the  whole  room  thrilled  with  inte- 
rest. Thus  Lucilla's  luck,  as  she 
modestly  called  it,  or  rather  her 
genius,  triumphed  once  more  over 
the  novel  combination  which  had 
perplexed  her  for  the  first  moment. 
She  drew  a  little  apart,  well  pleased, 
and  looked  on  with  that  sense  of 
success  and  administrative  power 
which  is  one  of  the  highest  of  men- 
tal enjoyments.  She  contemplated 
the  grouping  affectionately,  and  felt 
in  her  own  soul  the  reassuring  and 
delicious  consciousness  that,  having 
mastered  such  a  difficulty  as  this, 
she  might  go  on  with  renewed  con- 
fidence in  her  own  powers ;  and  it 
was  this  soothing,  and  at  the  same 
time  exhilarating,  sentiment  which 
was  interrupted  by  the  somewhat 
impatient  gestures  of  Mrs  Chiley, 
who  at  this  moment  caught  Lucilla's 
dress,  and  drew  her  to  her  side. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady, 
hastily,  "  this  will  never  do.  Tt  is 
all  very  well  to  sacrifice  yourself, 
but  you  can't  expect  me  to  approve 
of  it  when  you  carry  it  so  far.  Go 
and  talk  to  him  yourself,  Lucilla ! 
What  was  the  good  of  bringing 
him  here,  and  making  a  fuss  about 
him,  all  for  that  ?  And  you  will 
see  that  other  fantastic  little  crea- 
ture will  be  just  as  nasty  as  her 
sister,"  said  Mrs  Chiley,  who  was 
so  much  excited  that  she  could 
scarcely  restrain  herself  from  speak- 
ing out  loud. 


18C5.] 


J/jW  Marjoribanlt, — Part  V. 


But  Lucilla  only  smiled  like  an 
angel  upon  her  excited  friend.  "  hear 
Mrs  Chiley,"  she  said,  in  a  seraphic 
way,  "  the  lady  of  the  house  must 
always  think  of  her  guests  first  ; 
and  you  know  that  the  object  of  »//// 
life  is  to  be  a  comfort  to  dear  papa.'' 

Thus  that  evening  came  to  a 
climax  of  success  and  satisfaction 
so  far  as  Miss  Mnrjoribanks  was 
personally  concerned;  but  it  will 


bo  necessary  to  turn  over  another 
leaf  before  dentribing  tin-  very  dif- 
ferent sentiments  of  little  K-.M- 
Lake  at  the  same  crisis ;  for,  of 
course,  no  great  work  w;w  ever 
achieved  without  the  sacrifice  of  a 
certain  number  of  instruments,  and 
the  young  1'reraphaelite  was  ;it 
this  moment  no  better  than  a  gra- 
phic little  pencil  in  the  greater 
artist's  hand. 


(HAI'IKI:    XIX. 


Mr  Archdeacon  Beverlcy  was  tall 
and  strong,  as  was  natural  to  a 
Broad-Churchman;  and  when  he 
took  Willie's  drawing  in  his  hand, 
and  held  it  up  to  his  eyes,  and  be- 
gan to  express  his  sentiments  on 
the  subject,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  his  shadow,  both  physical  and 
moral,  was  quite  blotting  out  the 
little  figure  down  at  his  elbow, 
whom  he  supposed  to  be  the  artist, 
and  whose  face  was  crimson,  and 
her  heart  beating,  and  her  whole 
frame  in  a  tremble  of  eagerness  to 
disavow  the  honour,  and  secure  the 
credit  of  his  work  to  Willie,  who 
had  still  his  name  to  make.  As  for 
Hose's  explanations  and  descrip- 
tions, they  might  as  well  have  been 
uttered  to  a  collection  of  deaf  peo- 
ple- for  any  effect  they  had  upon 
the  Archdeacou,  who  was  discours- 
ing about  the  picture  in  his  own 
way,  ever  so  far  up  above  her — or  to 
his  auditory,  who  were  interested  in 
what  he  was  saying  because  he  said 
it,  and  not  because  of  any  interest 
they  had  in  the  subject.  Rose 
stood  trembling  with  impatience 
and  a  kind  of  feminine  rage,  deep 
down  in  the  circle  of  white  ladies, 
and  under  the  shadow  of  the 
large  black  figure  in  the  midst  of 
them.  The  Archdeacon  might  have 
stood  very  well  for  one  of  the  cleri- 
cal heroes  upon  whose  arm  the  mo- 
dern heroine  thinks  it  would  be 
sweet  to  lean — who  would  guard  her 
from  the  world,  and  support  her  in 
trouble,  and  make  his  manly  bosom 
a  bulwark  for  her  against  all  injus- 

vou  xcvn. — NO.  DXCVI. 


tice;  which,  indeed,  w  is  a  way  of 
thinking  of  Mr  Bevcrley  which 
some  of  the  ladies  surrounding  him 
at  that  moment  might  have  been 
not  disinclined  to  adopt,  as  to  be. 
sure,  it  was  the  conception  of  his 
character  which  MrsChiley  would 
very  fain  have  impressed  on  MUs 
Marjoribanks.  Hut  as  for  Host-.  <,n 
the  contrary,  so  far  fr»m  thinking 
of  clinging  to  his  arm.  and  being 
supported  thereby,  her  girlish  im- 
pulse waMo  spring  upon  that  elbow, 
which  was  the  only  point  accesMbl,- 
to  her  stature,  and  box  and  pinch 
him  into  listening  to  the  indignant 
disclaimers,  the  eager  protestations, 
to  which  he  gave  no  manner  of 
attention.  But  then  it  is  well 
known  that  the  point  of  view 
from  which  circumstances  compel 
us  to  regard  either  a  landscajM)  or 
a  person,  has  everything  to  do  with 
the  opinion  formed  upon  it.  Willie 
was  the  genius  of  the  Like  family, 
as  may  be  divined,  and  he  was  just 
then  in  London,  working  very  hard, 
ami  thinking  of  making  a  name 
with  still  more  fervid  though  less 
confident  calculations  than  those  of 
his  little  sister;  and  the  idea  that 
she  was  appropriating  his  glory, 
however  unwillingly,  and  depriving 
him  for  a  moment  of  the  honour 
due  to  him,  drove  Hose  half  fran- 
tic ;  while,  at  the  s.iine  time,  Na- 
ture had  made  her  voice  so  soft, 
and  toned  it  so  gently,  that  all  In  r 
efforts  could  not  secure  herself  a 
hearing.  As  for  the  audience  in. 
general,  it  was,  on  the  contrary, 
3  A 


692 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


quite  enchanted  with  the  Archdea- 
con's elucidation.  It  was  not  so 
much  that  he  was  entertaining,  as 
that  it  was  him,  the  highest  clerical 
dignitary  who  had  been  seen  for  a 
long  time  about  Carlingford,  pos- 
sibly its  future  bishop,  and  a  man 
who  was  said  to  have  written  arti- 
cles in  the  Reviews,  and  to  be  a 
friend  of  Dean  Howard's,  and  very 
well  received  in  the  highest  quar- 
ters. Such  a  man  could  not  fail  to 
be  an  authority  on  the  subject  of 
art ;  or,  indeed,  on  any  other  subject 
which  it  might  be  his  pleasure  to 
discuss. 

"  I  recognise  here  a  wonderful 
absence  of  conventionality,"  said 
the  Archdeacon.  "  There  is  good 
in  everything  ;  perhaps  the  want 
of  any  picture-gallery  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Carlingford,  which  I 
have  been  so  sorry  to  observe " 

"  Oh,  but  I  assure  you  Sir  John 
has  a  very  nice  collection  of  pic- 
tures," said  one  of  Mr  Beverley's 
audience,  "  and  dear  Lady  Rich- 
mond is  so  kind  in  letting  one  bring 
one's  friends  to  see  them.  She  is 
such  a  sweet  woman — don't  you 
think  so  1  I  am  sure  my  husband 
says " 

"  Lady  Richmond  is  a  good,  pure, 
gentle  woman,"  said  the  Archdeacon 
in  his  Broad-Church  way,  summing 
up  and  settling  the  question ;  "  every- 
body must  be  the  better  for  knowing 
her.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  very  fine 
feeling  for  drapery  in  that  mantle 
— and  the  boy's  attitude  is  remark- 
able. There  is  a  freedom  in  that 
leg,  for  example,  which  is  extraor- 
dinary for  a  lady 

"  But  it  is  not  a  lady,"  shrieked 
Rose,  who  was  getting  incoherent, 
andwith  difficulty  restrained  herself 
from  seizing  Mr  Beverley's  elbow. 
The  Archdeacon  this  time  gave  a 
little  glance  down  at  her,  and  his 
eye  caught  her  red  trimmings,  and 
he  smiled  a  little — he  thought  he 
knew  what  she  meant. 

"  Miss  Lake  declines  to  be  mildly 
judged  on  the  score  of  being  a  lady," 
he  said,  "  and  I  quite  agree  with 
her — so  we'll  abandon  that  phra- 


seology. I  confess  that  I  was  quite 
unprepared  to  find  such  genius  in 
Carlingford.  It  is  a  delightful  little 
town,  but  with  no  collection  of  pic- 
tures, no  gallery,  no  masters 

But  here  Rose,  who  could  bear  no 
longer,  made  a  dash  at  last  at  that 
elbow  which  represented  to  her  for 
the  moment  all  the  arrogance  and 
superficial  information  of  criticism. 
"Papa  is  the  master,"  cried  Rose, 
"and  there  are  two  schools  of 
design.  We  gained  six  prizes,  and 
Willie  had  all  his  first  training " 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  Archdeacon, 
in  his  bland  tones.  "  Schools  of 
design  are  admirable  things  in  their 
way.  They  develop  what  one  may 
call  the  superficial  talent  which  per- 
vades the  community ;  but  to  find 
a  real  power,  such  as  this  may  de- 
velop into,  in  a  town  so  destitute 
of  the  means  of  instruction,  says  a 
great  deal  for  human  nature.  Cen- 
tum, you  are  a  connoisseur,  you 
know  what  I  mean.  Why  you 
should  not  have  a  yearly  exhibition 
at  Carlingford,  for  example,  when 
there  is  an  amount  of  native  talent 
which  can  produce  a  sketch  like 
this,  I  cannot  conceive.  Look  how 
finely  characterised  are  the  different 
figures;  and  such  depth  of  feeling 
in  the  accessories, — this  piece  of 
drapery,  for  example.  I  am  sure 
all  our  thanks  are  due  to  Miss  Lake 
for  suffering  us  to  see  her  produc- 
tion. I  should  like  you  to  examine 
it  well,  Centum,"  said  the  Arch- 
deacon— and  then  it  passed  to  Mr 
Centura's  hand.  To  tell  the  truth, 
Mr  Centum  would  have  differed 
from  Mr  Beverley  had  he  dared  ; 
for  it  is  all  very  easy  for  a  stranger 
to  speak  about  native  talent ;  where- 
as for  a  man  who  lives  in  the  town, 
and  may  be  expected  to  foster  a 
rising  artist  in  a  more  substantial 
way  than  by  mere  praise,  it  is  a 
very  different  matter.  But  then 
the  banker  knew  that  to  differ  from 
the  Archdeacon,  a  man  who  was  in 
the  very  best  society,  and  indeed 
quite  familiar  at  Windsor,  would  be 
to  make  a  summary  end  of  the  re- 
putation he  himself  enjoyed  as  a 


1865.] 


^fa ijorilxt nk*. — I'urt  V 


G'.»3 


connoisseur.  So  he  drew  near  and 
looked  at  the  drawing,  and  echoed 
Mr  Reverley'u  sentiments — but  na- 
turally in  a  modified  way. 

"  But  as  for  a  yearly  exhibition, 
I  don't  know  what  to  say  about 
that,"  said  Mr  Centum,  "  for  you 
know  we'd  have  to  give  a  jirixe  to 
tempt  a  few  of  the  fellows  in  Lon- 
don to  send  a  picture  or  two.  All 
that  is  very  easy  in  theory,  but  it 
is  much  more  difficult  in  practice. 
It's  a  very  clever  drawing.  I  dare- 
say your  father  touched  it  up — did 
he  not  ]  I  always  said  Lake  was  a 
very  clever  fellow  in  his  way — but 
if  it  was  the  very  finest  beginning 
ever  made,  it  is  only  a  sketch,  and 
one  swallow  does  not  make  a  sum 
mer  ;  and  then,"  said  Mr  C'entum, 
trying  to  escape  by  a  joke,  "  you 
know  a  young  lady  is  never  to  he 
calculated  upon ;  though,  as  a  sketch, 
nothing  could  be  more  promising," 
added  the  man  whose  character  was 
at  stake  ;  and  then  the  whole  party 
burst  into  an  animated  discussion 
of  the  chance  of  an  exhibition  at 
Carlingford.  and  the  duty  of  foster- 
ing native  talent.  Hose  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  circle  all  this  time, 
while  Willie's  drawing  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  and  all  this  talk 
went  on,  palpitating  with  vexation 
and  impatience,  and  keen  feminine 
rage,  and  unable  to  get  anybody  to 
listen  to  her.  Nobody  cared  the 
least  in  the  world  whether  it  was 
or  was  not  she  who  had  done  it. 
Xobody  knew  anything  about  Wil- 
lie ;  whether  he  made  a  Name  or 
not,  who  cared  ?  It  was  a  very  suc- 
cessful expedient,  so  far  iisLucilla's 
great  work  was  concerned,  and  re- 
warded her  pains  in  a  way  which  it 
was  delightful  to  contemplate  ;  but 
then  there  never  w.is  a  great  work 
in  the  world  which  did  not  involve 
a  few  heartaches  to  the  instru- 
ments ;  and  to  be  truly  successful 
a  person  of  the  highest  order  of  ad- 
ministrative genius  must  be  indif- 
ferent to  that.  At  the  same  time 
it  would  be  quite  false  to  say  that 
Miss  Marjoribanks  contemplated 
any  such  accompaniment,  or  had  the 


le;ist  intention  of  wounding  Ho*e, 
who,  on  the  contrary,  W;LI  a  great 
pet  of  hers  ;  but  Lucilla's  eyes  wore 
naturally  fixed  upon  her  own  aim, 
which  was,  it  must  be  confessed,  of 
sufficient  magnitude  to  justify  a 
few  sacrifices  of  the  rank  and  tile. 
If  a  great  monarch  was  to  count 
how  many  soldiers  would  be  killed 
every  time  it  was  necessary  to  his 
credit  to  light  a  great  battle,  what 
would  become  of  the  world  I  Hut 
then  the  misfortune  was  that  in 
this  ca.»e  poor  little  ROM-  had  been 
quite  as  intent  upon  //>  r  little  aim 
as  w;us  Lucilla,  and  did  not  under- 
stand that  she  w is  there  to  be 
bowled  over,  and  to  make  way  for 
the  car  of  triumph.  When  she  had 
restored  to  her  at  la.st  the  precious 
drawing  which  had  gained  so  much 
prai.-c,  and  which,  by  this  time,  was 
a  little  frayed  at  the  edges  (but,  to 
be  sure,  that  was  only  the  mounting- 
board),  and  looked  as  if  it  had  seen 
service,  instead  of  being  elated  and 
triumphant  as  she  wa.s  expected  to 
be,  poor  Hose  could  scarcely  keep 
from  crying.  Not  hers  was  to  be 
the  gratification  of  helping  Willie 
on  his  tir>t  >tcp  toward*  a  Name. 
On  the  contrary.  >hc  felt  IUTM  If  in 
the  horrible  position  of  having 
usurped  his  credit,  and  done  him 
an  injury,  and  put  his  drawing 
away  in  the  portfolio  with  inex- 
pressible feelings,  shutting  it  down 
over  her  own  poor  little  work  and 
the  veil  which  had  up  to  this  mo- 
ment held  the  principal  >harc  in 
her  thoughts.  Alas,  by  this  time 
poor  Hose  had  more  serious  matters 
to  think  of  !  And  when  she  made 
an  attempt  privately,  when  there 
was  ,-ome  chance  of  being  heard,  to 
rectify  the  mistake,  her  effort  was 
equally  unsuccessful.  She  took  her 
chance  when  she  saw  Mr  Centum 
alone,  ami  stole  up  to  him,  and 
made  her  little  statement, 
was  my  brother's  drawing,  not 
mine,"  she  said  ;  and  the  banker, 
who  had  by  this  time  forgotten  all 
about  it,  opened  his  eyes  and  stared 
at  her.  "  Ah  —  oh  —  it  was  your 
brother's,"  -"aid  Mr  Centum,  with  a 


C04 


Miss  Marjoribanks. — Part  V. 


[June, 


little  yawn  ;  and  the  impulse  may 
be  forgiven  to  Rose  if  she  could 
have  seized  upon  this  man  who 
considered  himself  a  connoisseur, 
and  given  him  a  good  shake  in  her 
rage  and  vexation.  But  then,  to 
be  sure,  all  that  impatience  did 
no  good ;  and  Rose  was  not  even 
grateful  for  the  kiss  Lucilla  gave 
her  when  she  went  away.  "  Thank 
you  so  much  for  bringing  that 
beautiful  drawing,"  Miss  Marjori- 
banks  said;  and  she  meant  it  quite 
sincerely,  and  felt  that  Rose  and 
her  portfolio  had  helped  her  to  her 
latest  triumph  just  as  Barbara  and 
her  contralto  had  helped  in  the 
earliest.  And  thus  the  two  repre- 
sentatives of  the  arts  went  home 
in  their  wounded  condition,  after 
having  served  their  purpose.  To 
be  sure,  Barbara  richly  deserved 
her  share  of  the  pain  ;  but  at  the 
same  time  Lucilla  had  gone  over 
them  both  in  her  triumphal  chariot, 
and  they  had  contributed  much  to 
her  victory.  And  then  neither  of 
them  was  philosophical  enough  to 
feel  that  to  help  on,  even  by  your 
own  humiliation,  the  success  of  a 
great  work  is  worth  everybody's 
Avhile.  Miss  Marjoribanks  had 
made  use  of  them  as  society  gene- 
rally makes  use  of  art,  and  they 
unfortunately  had  taken  it  as  the 
artist  generally  does  take  that  su- 
preme compliment.  This  was  the 
other  side  of  the  picture  which 
Lucilla  looked  upon  with  such  com- 
placent eyes ;  and  at  the  very  same 
moment  Mrs  Chiley.  seeing  matters 
from  her  point  of  view,  confided  to 
her  husband  her  vexation  and  an- 
noyance at  the  way  in  which  her 
young  friend  neglected  her  oppor- 
tunities. "  He  is  not  like  what 
clergymen  were  in  our  day,"  said 
the  old  lady,  "but  still  he  is  very 
nice,  and  has  a  nice  position,  and 
it  would  just  suit  Lucilla ;  but  to 
think  of  her  going  and  leaving  him 
with  these  Lake  girls,  notwithstand- 
ing the  lesson  she  has  had !  and  I 
have  no  doubt  the  little  one  is  just 
as  designing  and  nasty  as  the  other. 
If  it  should  come  to  anything, 


she  has  only  herself  to  blame,"  said 
Mrs  Chiley.  As  for  the  Colonel, 
he  took  it  more  calmly,  as  a  gentle- 
man might  be  expected  to  do. 

"  You  may  trust  a  parson  for 
that,"  said  the  old  soldier.  "  He 
knows  what  he  is  about.  You  will 
never  find  him  make  such  an  ass  of 
himself  as  young  Cavendish  did." 
But  this  only  made  Mrs  Chiley  sigh 
the  more. 

"  Poor  Mr  Cavendish !  "  said  the 
old  lady.  "  I  will  never  blame 
him,  poor  fellow.  It  was  all  that 
deceitful  thing  laying  her  snares  for 
him.  For  my  part  I  never  like  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  those 
artist  kind  of  people — they  are  all 
adventurers,"  said  the  Colonel's 
wife ;  and  she  went  to  bed  with  this 
unchristian  persuasion  in  her  mind. 
Thus  the  matter  was  regarded  on 
all  sides  with  sentiments  differing 
according  to  the  different  points  of 
view ;  and  the  only  person  who 
looked  at  it  abstractly,  and  contem- 
plated not  the  accidents  of  the 
evening,  but  the  work  itself,  which 
was  progressing  in  the  face  of  all 
kinds  of  social  difficulties,  was  the 
master-mind  which  first  conceived 
the  grand  design  of  turning  the 
chaotic  elements  of  society  in 
Carlingford  into  one  grand  unity. 
One  may  be  charitable  to  the  na- 
tural feelings  of  those  who  have 
been  shot  at  and  ridden  over  in 
the  course  of  the  combat ;  and  one 
may  even  sympathise  a  little  with 
the  disgust  of  the  critic  who  can 
see  the  opportunities  which  have 
been  neglected  after  the  day  was 
won ;  but  in  reality,  it  is  only  the 
eye  of  the  general  who  has  planned 
it  who  can  estimate  the  true  im- 
portance of  each  individual  fight 
in  the  campaign.  And  when  we 
announce  that  Miss  Marjoribanks 
herself  was  satisfied,  there  remains 
little  more  to  say. 

As  for  the  Archdeacon,  he,  as 
was  natural,  knew  nothing  about 
the  matter.  He  said  again,  with 
the  natural  obtuseness  which  is 
so  general  among  the  gentlemen, 
that  it  had  been  a  very  pleasant 


18G5.] 


itks. — I\trt  I'. 


party.  "She  has  a  fine  clear  candid 
nature,"  said  Mr  Heverley ;  "  I  should 
think  .such  a  person  must  exercise 
an  influence  for  good  on  society  ;  " 
which,  no  doubt,  was  true  enough. 
This  wa-s  how  Lueilla,  by  sheer  dint 
of  genius,  triumphed  over  all  the 
obstacles  that  stood  in  her  way;  and 
without  music,  without  the  county 
people,  and  without  .Mr  Cavendish, 
still  continued  with  renewed  f-clnt 
her  weekly  success.  Hut  though  she 
was  satisfied  with  the  evening,  it 
would  be  vain  to  deny  that  there 
were  perturbations  in  the  mind  of 
Miss  Marjoril tanks  as  she  laid  her 
head  upon  her  maiden  pillow.  She 
said  to  herself  again  with  profounder 
fervour,  that  fortunately  her  atlVc- 
tions  hud  not  been  engaged;  but 
there  were  more  things  than  affec- 
tions to  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion. Could  it  be  possible  that 
mystery,  and  perhaps  imposture, 
of  one  kind  or  another,  had 
crossed  the  sacred  threshold  of 
(•range  Lane;  and  that  people 
might  find  out  and  cast  in  Liu-ilia's 
face  the  dreadful  discovery  that  a 
man  had  been  received  in  her  house 
who  was  not  what  he  appeared  to 
be  \  When  such  an  idea  crossed 
her  mind,  Miss  Marjoribanks  shiv- 
ered under  her  satin  quilt.  <  >! 
course  she  could  not  change  the 
nature  of  the  fact  one  way  or  an- 
other ;  but,  at  least,  it  was  her 
duty  to  act  with  great  circumspec- 
tion, so  that  if  possible  it  might  not 
be  found  out — for  Lueilla  appreci- 
ated fully  the  difference  that  exists 
between  wrong  and  discovery.  If 
any  man  was  imposing  upon  his 
neighbours  and  telling  lies  about 
himself,  it  was  his  own  fault;  but  if 
a  leader  of  society  were  to  betray 
the  fact  «tf  having  received  ami 
petted  such  a  person,  then  the  re- 
sponsibility was  on  h?r  shoulders. 
It  dismayed  Miss  Majoribunks,  and 
at  the  same  time  it  gave  a  tinge  of 
excitement  to  the  future,  in  which 
there  might  be,  and  no  doubt  were, 
crowds  (tf  ur.revealed  Archdeacons 
and  undiscovered  men  (tf  the  world 
on  their  way  to  C.irlingford,  all 


knowing  something  about  some- 
body, and  bri'iging  with  th.-m  an 
ever-recurring  succession  of  dillicul- 
tiesand  triumphs.  Jt  was  prudence 
that  wai  the  great  thing  th.it  u.is 
required,  and  not  to  give  too  h.Lsty 
heed  to  anything,  nor  to  put  oiu-'s 
self  in  tin-  wrong  by  any  alarmist 
policy.  Fortunately  the  respecta- 
bility of  I>r  Marjoribankit'M  house 
was  enough  to  cover  its  gu»->t.s  with 
a  >hining  biic-kler.  Thu-  Lueilla 
calmed  down  IXT  »',\i\  apprehen- 
sions, and  succ.-i-ded  in  convincing 
hermit"  that  it'  the  impostor  whom 
the  Archdeacon  h  id  >«-,  n  had  been 
really  received  in  <  1  range  Line,  it 
was  .so  much  the  wor>c  for  the  im- 
postor ;  but  that,  in  the  mean  time, 
in  the  lack  of  evidence  it  wa.-  much 
the  lie.st  thing  to  take  no  notice.  If 
there  was  any  one  else  in  ('ailing- 
ford  who  regarded  that  p.i^t  dan- 
ger with  a  livelier  horror  and  a 
more  distinct  fear,  certainly  Mi>s 
.Marjoribanks  had  no  way  of  know- 
ing of  it,  and  nobody  had  been 
remarked  in  a  despondent  condi- 
tion, or,  indeed,  in  anything  but  the 
highest  spirits,  in  the  cour-e  of  this 
Thursday,  except  the  ungrateful 
creature  who  had  done  so  much 
mischief;  and  tolerant  as  Lueilla 
was,  it  would  have  been  going  be- 
yond the  limits  of  nature  to  have 
expected  that  .>he  could  have  been 
profoundly  sorry  for  Harbara  Lake. 
Hut  at  the  ,-ame  time  poor  Har- 
bara,  though  she  was  not  an  ele- 
vated character,  had  gone  home 
in  a  very  sad  state  of  mind.  She 
had  taken  courage  to  a>k  Mrs 
Woodburn  about  her  brother,  and 
Mrs  Woodburn  hail  made  the  very 
briefest  and  rudot  response  to  her 
question,  ami  had  "  taken  off "  her 
woe-begone  looks  almost  to  her  very 
face.  And  no  one  had  shown  the 
least  sympathy  for  the  forsaken 
one.  She  had  not  even  been  called 
from  her  solitude  to  sing,  which 
might  have  been  something,  and 
it  was  Kosc,  !is  she  said  to  herself, 
who  had  attracted  all  the  attention  ; 
for,  like  most  selfish  people,  Har- 
bara, though  keenly  aware  of  her 


606 


Hero-Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


[June, 


own  wrongs,  had  no  eyes  for  the 
humiliation  and  pain  to  which  her 
sister  had  been  subjected.  "  I  feel 
as  if  I  should  never  see  him  more/' 
she  said,  quite  subdued  and  broken 
down,  with  a  burst  of  tears,  as  the 
two  went  home  ;  and  poor  little 
Hose,  who  was  soft-hearted,  forgot 
all  her  disapprobation  in  sympathy. 
"  Never  mind  them,  dear;  they  have 
no  feeling.  We  must  cling  together 
all  the  closer,  and  try  to  be  every- 
thing to  each  other,"  Rose  said, 
with  eyes  which  were  full,  but 
which  would  not  shed  any  tears. 
Her  mind  was  overflowing  with 
mortification  and  wounded  pride, 
and  at  the  same  time  she  said  to 
herself,  that  all  that  was  nothing 
in  comparison  to  the  wound  of  the 
heart  under  which  Barbara  was 
suffering.  "  Dear,  never  mind,  we 
will  be  everything  to  each  other," 
said  poor  little  romantic  Rose ; 
and  the  elder  sister,  even  in  the 
depths  of  her  dejection,  could  have 


given  her  a  good  shake  for  uttering 
such  an  absurd  sentiment  ;  for  a 
great  deal  of  good  it  would  do  to 
be  everything  to  each  other — as  if 
that  could  ever  replace  the  orange 
blossoms  and  the  wedding  tour, 
and  the  carriage  and  handsome 
house,  which  were  included  in  the 
name  of  Cavendish  !  "  And  he 
was  such  a  dear  ! "  she  said  to  her- 
self in  her  own  mind,  and  wept,  and 
made  her  eyes  redder  and  redder. 
If  Mr  Cavendish  had  known  all 
that  was  going  on  in  Carlingford 
that  night,  the  chances  are  that  he 
would  have  been  most  flattered  by 
those  tears  which  Barbara  shed  for 
him  under  the  lamps  in  Grove 
Street ;  but  then  it  is  to  be  hoped 
he  would  not  have  been  insensible 
either  to  the  just  reticence  and  self- 
restraint  which,  mingling  with  Miss 
Marjoribanks's  suspicions,  prevent- 
ed her,  as  she  herself  said,  even  in 
the  deepest  seclusion  of  her  own 
thoughts,  from  naming  any  name. 


HERO-WOBSHIP   AND   ITS   DANGERS. 


JEAN  PAUL  tells  us  that  there 
never  was  a  nature  yet  formed 
without  its  vein  of  romance — that 
the  most  realistic  and  common- 
place people  we  have  ever  met  have 
their  moods  of  romance,  and  that 
the  cord,  however  little  we  may 
suspect  it,  runs  through  the  woof 
of  all  humanity. 

I  am  not  able  to  affirm  that  he 
is  right ;  but  certainly  a  little  inci- 
dent which  has  just  occurred  to 
me  leads  me  to  believe  that  there 
are  cases  of  the  affection  in  natures 
and  temperaments  in  which  no- 
thing would  have  led  me  to  suspect 
them.  I  need  not  be  told  that  it 
is  the  men  who  have  a  most  worldly 
character,  who  are  often  seen  marry- 
ing portionless  wives ;  that  traits  of 
self-sacrifice  and  devotion  are  being 
continually  displayed  by  cold,  un- 
genial,  and,  to  all  seeming,  unim- 


pressionable people.  What  I  was 
not  prepared  for  was  to  find  that 
hero-worship  could  find  a  place  in 
the  heart  of  a  hard,  money-getting, 
money-lending  fellow,  whose  ordi- 
nary estimate  of  humanity  was 
based  less  on  what  they  were  than 
what  they  had.  I  own  that  I  had 
no  other  clue  to  the  man's  nature 
than  that  furnished  by  a  few  lines 
of  a  newspaper  advertisement, which 
set  forth  his  readiness  to  advance 
sums  from  one  hundred  to  five  hun- 
dred pounds  on  mere  personal  se- 
curity, and  at  a  most  moderate  rate 
of  interest.  And  though  the  former 
amounted  to  obligations  the  breach 
of  which  would  have  reduced  one 
to  bondage,  and  the  latter  varied 
from  eighty  to  a  hundred  and 
thirty  per  cent,  he  was  so  plea- 
sant-looking—  so  chatty — so  geni- 
ally alive  to  the  difficulties  that 


1865.] 


Ilero-Worahip  and  its  Dangers. 


CUT 


beset  youth — so  forgivingly  merci- 
ful to  wasteful  habits  and  ways, 
that  I  took  to  him  from  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  him,  and  signed  my 
four  bills  for  fifty  each,  and  took 
up  my  hundred  and  eighteen  pounds 
oil'  the  table  with  the  feeling  that 
at  last  I  had  found  in  an  utter 
stranger  that  generous  trustfulness 
and  liberality  I  had  in  vain  looked 
for  amongst  kindred  and  relatives. 

We  had  a  pint  of  madeira  to  seal 
the  bargain.  He  told  me  in  a  whis- 
per it  was  a  priceless  vintage.  I  be- 
lieve him.  On  a  rough  calculation, 
1  think  every  glass  1  took  of  it  cost 
me  forty-seven  pounds  some  odd 
shillings.  It  is  not,  however,  to 
speak  of  this  event  that  I  desire  here. 
Mr  Nathan  Joel  and  I  ceased  after 
a  while  to  be  the  dear  friends  we 
swore  to  be  over  that  madeira.  The 
history  of  those  four  bills,  too  com- 
plicated to  relate,  became  disagree- 
able. There  were  difficulties — there 
were  renewals — there  were  protests 
— and  there  was  a  writ.  Xathan 
Joel  was— no  matter  what.  I  got 
out  of  his  hands  after  three  years 
by  ceding  a  reversion  worth  five 
times  my  debt,  with  several 
white  hairs  in  my  whiskers,  and  a 
clearer  view  of  gentlemen  of  the 
Jewish  persuasion  than  I  had  ever 
picked  up  out  of  Ecclesiasticus. 

A  good  many  years  rolled  over — 
years  in  which  I  now  and  then  saw 
mention  of  Mr  Joel  as  a  plaintiff 
or  an  opposing  creditor — once  or 
twice  us  assignee,  too.  He  was  evi- 
dently thriving.  Men  were  living 
very  fast,  smashes  were  frequent, 
and  one  can  imagine  the  coast  of 
Cornwall  rather  a  lucrative  spot 
after  a  stormy  equinox.  I  came 
abroad,  however,  and  lost  sight  of 
him  ;  a  chance  mention,  perhaps, 
in  a  friend's  letter,  how  he  had  fall- 
en into  Joel's  hands — that  Joel 
advanced  or  refused  to  advance  the 
money — something  about  cash,  was 
all  that  I  knew  of  him,  till  t'other 
evening  the  landlord  of  the  lit- 
tle inn  near  my  villa  called  up  to 
ask  if  I  knew  anything  of  a  certain 
Mr  Xathan  Joel,  who  was  then  at 


his  inn  without  baggage,  money, 
papers,  or  effects  of  any  kind,  but 
who  on  hearing  my  name  cried  out 
with  ecstasy,  "  Ah,  he  knows  me. 
You've  only  to  ask  Mr  O'Dowd 
who  I  am,  and  he'll  satisfy  you  at 
once." 

''So,"  thought  I,  "Joel !  the  Lord 
hath  delivered  thce  into  my  hands, 
and  now  what  sort  of  vengeance 
shall  I  take  ]  Shall  I  ignore  you 
utterly,  and  declare  that  your  claim 
to  my  acquaintance  is  a  gross  and 
impudent  fraud  \  Shall  I  tell  the 
innkeeper  1  disown  you?"  If  this 
was  my  first  thought,  it  soon  gave 
way — it  was  so  long  since  the  ras- 
cal had  injured  me,  and  I  had 
cursed  him  very  often  for  it  since 
then.  It  was  his  nature  too  ;  that 
also  ought  to  be  borne  in  mind. 
When  leeches  cease  sucking  they 
die,  and  very  probably  money-lend- 
ers wither  and  dry  up  when  they  are 
not  abstracting  our  precious  metals. 

"  I'll  go  over  and  see  if  it  be  the 
man  I  know,"  said  I,  and  set  off  at 
once  towards  the  inn.  As  I  went 
along,  the  innkeeper  told  me  how 
the  stranger  had  arrived  three  nights 
back,  faint,  weary,  and  exhausted, 
saying  that  the  guide  refused  to 
accompany  him  after  he  entered  the 
valley,  and  merely  pointed  out  the 
road  and  left  him.  "This  much  I 
got  out  of  him,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  but  he  is  not  inclined  to  say  more, 
but  sits  there  wringing  his  hands 
and  moaning  most  piteously." 

Joel  was  at  the  window  as  I  came 
up,  but  seeing  me  he  came  to  the 
door.  "  Oh,  Mr  O'Dowd,"  cried  he, 
"befriend  me  this  once,  sir.  Don't 
bear  malice,  nor  put  your  foot  on 
the  fallen,  sir.  Do  pity  me,  sir,  I 
beseech  you." 

The  wretched  look  of  the  poor 
devil  pleaded  for  him  far  better 
than  his  words.  He  was  literally 
in  rags,  and  such  rags,  too,  as 
seemed  to  have  once  been  worn  by 
another,  for  he  had  a  brown  peas- 
ant jacket  and  a  pair  of  goatskin 
breeches,  and  a  pair  of  shoes  fast- 
ened round  his  ankles  with  leather 
thongs. 


698 


Hero-Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


[June, 


"  So,"  said  I,  "you  have  got  tired 
of  small  robberies  and  taken  to  the 
wholesale  line.  When  did  you  be- 
come a  highwayman  ]" 

"Ah,  sir!"  cried  he,  "don't  be 
jocose,  don't  be  droll.  This  is  too 
pitiful  a  case  for  laughter." 

I  composed  my  features  into  a 
semblance  of  decent  gravity,  and 
after  a  little  while  induced  him  to 
relate  his  story,  which  ran  thus  : 

Mr  Joel,  it  appeared,  who  for 
some  thirty  years  of  life  had  taken 
a  very  practical  view  of  humanity, 
estimating  individuals  pretty  much 
like  scrip,  and  ascribing  to  them 
what  value  they  might  bring  in 
the  market,  had  suddenly  been 
seized  with  a  most  uncommon  fer- 
vour for  Victor  Emmanuel,  the  first 
impulse  being  given  by  a  "  good 
thing  he  had  done  in  Piedmontese 
fives,"  and  a  rather  profitable  in- 
vestment he  had  once  made  in 
the  Cavour  Canal.  In  humble  gra- 
titude for  these  successes,  he  had 
bought  a  print  of  the  burly  mon- 
arch, whose  bullet  head  and  brist- 
ling mustaches  stared  fiercely  at 
him  from  over  his  fireplace,  till 
by  mere  force  of  daily  recurrence 
he  grew  to  feel  for  the  stern  soldier 
a  sentiment  of  terror  dashed  with 
an  intense  admiration. 

"Talk  of  Napoleon,  sir !"  he  would 
say,  "  he's  a  humbug — an  imposi- 
tion —  a  wily,  tricky,  intriguing 
dodger.  If  you  want  a  great  man 
— a  man  that  never  knew  fear — a 
man  that  is  above  all  flimsy  affecta- 
tions— a  man  of  the  heroic  stamp — 
there  he  is  for  you  ! 

"  As  for  Garibaldi,  he's  not  to  be 
compared  to  him.  Garibaldi  was 
an  adventurer,  and  made  adventure 
a  career  ;  but  here's  a  king  !  here's 
a  man  who  has  a  throne,  who  was 
born  in  a  palace,  descended  from 
a  long  line  of  royal  ancestors,  and 
instead  of  giving  himself  up  to  a  life 
of  inglorious  ease  and  self-indul- 
gence, he  mounts  his  horse  and  heads 
a  regiment,  sir.  He  takes  to  the 
field  like  the  humblest  soldier  in  his 
ranks,  goes  out,  thrashes  the  Aus- 
trians,  drives  them  out  of  Milan, 


hunts  them  over  the  plains  of  Lorn- 
bardy,  and  in  seven  days  raises  the 
five  per  cents  from  fifty-one  and  a 
half  to  eighty-two  and  a  quarter 
'  for  the  account.'  Show  me  the 
equal  of  that  in  history,  sir. 
There's  not  another  man  in  Europe 
could  have  done  as  much  for  the 
market." 

His  enthusiasm  knew  no  bounds; 
he  carried  a  gold  piece  of  twenty 
francs,  with  the  King's  image,  to  his 
watch-chain,  and  wore  small  coins, 
with  the  cross  of  Savoy,  in  his 
breast,  as  shirt-studs.  An  ardour 
intense  as  this  is  certain  to  bear  its 
effects.  Mr  Joel  had  often  promis- 
ed himself  a  trip  to  the  Continent, 
of  which  he  knew  nothing  beyond 
Paris.  He  took,  then,  the  season  of 
autumn,  when  the  House  was  up, 
and  money-lending  comparatively 
dull,  and  came  abroad.  He  told  his 
friends  he  was  going  to  Vichy;  he 
affected  a  little  gout.  It  was  a  dis- 
ease gentlemen  occasionally  permit- 
ted themselves,  and  Mr  Joel  was  a 
rising  man,  and  liked  to  follow  the 
lead  of  persons  of  condition.  Very 
different,  however,  was  his  object ; 
his  real  aim  was  to  see  the  great 
man  whose  whole  life  and  actions 
had  taken  such  an  intense  hold  on 
his  imagination.  To  see  him,  to 
gaze  on  him,  to  possess  himself 
fully  of  the  actual  living  traits  of 
the  heroic  Sovereign ;  and  if  by  any 
accident,  by  any  happy  chance,  by 
any  of  those  turns  of  capricious  for- 
tune which  now  and  then  elevate 
men  into  a  passing  greatness,  to 
get  speech  of  him  ! — this  Mr  Joel 
felt  would  be  an  operation  more 
overwhelmingly  entrancing  than 
if  Spanish  bonds  were  to  be  paid 
off  in  full,  or  Poyais  fives  to  be 
quoted  at  par  in  the  market. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  Mr  Joel 
believed  his  admiration  for  the  Re 
Galantuomo  gave  him  a  l>ona  fide 
and  positive  claim  on  that  monarch's 
regard.  This  is  a  delusion  by  no 
means  rare  :  it  possesses  a  large 
number  of  people,  and  influences 
them  in  their  conduct  to  much 
humbler  objects  of  worship  than  a 


1SG5.1 


Jlcro-Worsliijt  and  its  Dangers. 


C!)9 


king  on  liis  throne.  Sculptors, 
authors,  ami  painters  know  .some- 
thing of  what  1  mean,  and  not  un- 
commonly come  to  hear  how  un- 
graciously they  lire  supposed  to 
have  responded  to  an  admiration  of 
which  it  is  possible  they  never  knew, 
and  which  it  would  be  very  excus- 
able in  them  if  they  never  valued. 
The  worshipper,  in  fact,  fancies 
that  the  incense  he  sends  up  as 
smoke  should  come  back  to  him  in 
some  shape  substantial.  However 
this  may  be,  and  1  am  not  going  to 
press  it  further  on  my  reader's  at- 
tention, Mr  .Joel  got  to  imagine 
that  Victor  Emmanuel  would  have 
felt  as  racy  an  enjoyment  at  meet- 
ing with  him,  as  he  himself  antici- 
pated he  might  experience  in  meet- 
ing the  King.  It  goes  a  very  long 
way  in  our  admiration  of  any  one 
to  believe  that  the  individual  so 
admired  has  a  due  and  just  appre- 
ciation of  ourselves.  We  start  at 
least  with  one  great  predisposing 
cause  of  love — an  intense  belief  in 
the  good  sense  and  good  taste  of 
the  object  of  our  affections. 

Fully  persuaded,  then,  that  the 
meeting  would  be  an  event  of  great 
enjoyment  to  each,  the  chief  dillt- 
cultywos  to  find  a  "mutual  friend," 
as  the  slang  has  it,  to  bring  them 
into  the  desired  relations. 

Thiswas  reallydiflicult.  Had.King 
Victor  Emmanuel  been  an  indus- 
trial monarch,  given  to  cereals,  or 
pottery,  gutta-percha,  cotton,  or  cor- 
rugated iron,  something  might  have 
been  struck  out  to  present  him  with 
a.s  pretext  for  an  audience.  Was 
lie  given  to  art,  or  devoted  to  some 
especial  science  ? — a  bust,  a  bronze, 
or  a  medal  might  have  paved  the 
way  to  an  interview.  The  King, 
however,  had  no  such  leanings  ; 
and  whatever  his  weaknesses,  there 
were  none  within  the  sphere  of  the 
money-changer's  attributions,  and 
as  Mr  Joel  could  not  pretend  that 
he  knew  of  a  short  cut  to  Venice,  or 
a  secret  path  that  led  to  the  Vati- 
can, he  had  to  abandon  all  hopes  of 
approaching  the  monarch  by  the 
legitimate  roads. 


See  him  I  must,  speak  to  him  I 
will,  were,  however,  the  vows  he 
had  registered  in  his  own  heart,  and 
he  crossed  the  Alps  with  this  linn 
resolve,  leaving,  as  other  great  men 
before  him  have  done,  time  and  the 
event  to  show  the  way  where  the 
goal  had  been  so  firmly  fixed  on. 

At  Turin  he  learned  the  King 
had  just  gone  to  Ancona  to  open  a 
new  line  of  railroad.  He  hastened 
after  him,  and  arrived  the  day  after 
the  celebration  to  discover  that  his 
Majesty  had  left  for  l>rindi>i.  He 
followed  to  Brindisi,  and  found  the 
King  had  only  stopped  there  an 
hour,  and  then  pursued  his  jour- 
ney to  Naples.  l)own  to  Naples 
went  Mr  Joel  at  once,  but  to  his 
intense  astonishment  nobody  there 
had  heard  a  word  of  the  King's 
arrival.  They  did  not,  indeed, 
allege  the  thing  was  impossible  ; 
but  they  slily  insinuated  that  if 
his  Majesty  had  really  come  and 
had  not  thought  proper  to  make  his 
arrival  matter  of  notoriety,  that 
they  as  Italians,  Neapolitans  sur- 
tottt,  knew  good  manners  better 
than  to  interfere  with  a  retirement 
it  was  their  duty  to  respect.  This 
they  said  with  a  sort  of  half-droll 
significancy  that  puzzled  Mr  Joel 
much,  for  he  had  lived  little  in 
Italy,  and  knew  far  more  about 
Cremorne  than  the  Casino  ! 

Little  dubious  sentences,  shallow 
insinuations,  half-laughing  obscuri- 
ties, were  not  weapons  to  repel  such 
a  man  as  Joel.  His  mind  was  too 
steadfastly  intent  on  its  object  to 
be  deterred  by  such  petty  opposi- 
tion. He  had  come  to  see  the  King, 
and  see  him  he  would.  This  same 
speech  he  made  so  frequently,  so 
publicly,  and  so  energetically,  that 
at  the  various  caf6s  which  he  fre- 
quented, no  sooner  was  he  seen  to 
enter  than  some  stranger  to  him — 
all  were  strangers — would  usually 
come  up  in  the  most  polite  manner 
and  express  a  courteous  hope  that 
he  had  been  successful,  and  had 
either  dined  with  his  Majesty  or 
passed  the  evening  with  him.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  general  im- 


700 


Hero-  Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


[June, 


pression  was  that  poor  Mr  Joel  was 
a  lunatic,  but  as  his  form  of  tlie 
malady  seemed  mild  and  inoffen- 
sive, his  case  was  one  entirely  for 
compassion  and  pity. 

A  few,  however,  took  a  different 
view.  They  were  of  the  police,  and 
consequently  they  regarded  the  in- 
cident professionally.  To  their 
eyes,  Joel  was  a  Mazzinian,  and 
come  out  specially  to  assassinate 
the  King.  It  is  such  an  obvious 
thing  to  the  official  mind  that  a 
man  on  such  an  errand  would  at- 
tract every  notice  to  his  intentions 
beforehand,  that  they  n9t  alone 
decided  Joel  to  be  an  intended 
murderer,  but  they  kept  a  strict  re- 
cord of  all  the  people  he  accident- 
ally addressed,  all  the  waiters  who 
served,  and  all  the  hackney  cab- 
men who  drove  him,  while  the  tele- 
graphic wires  of  the  whole  kingdom 
vibrated  with  one  name,  asking, 
Who  is  Joel  ?  trace  Joel ;  send 
some  one  to  identify  Joel.  Little 
poor  Joel  knew  all  this  time  that 
he  had  been  photographed  as  he  sat 
eating  his  oysters,  and  that  scraps 
of  his  letters  were  pasted  on  a  large 
piece  of  pasteboard  in  the  Ministry 
of  Police,  that  his  handwriting 
might  be  shown  under  his  varied 
attempts  to  disguise  it. 

One  evening  he  sat  much  later 
than  was  his  wont  at  a  little  open- 
air  cafe  of  the  St  Lucia  qxiarter. 
The  sky  was  gloriously  starlit,  and 
the  air  had  all  the  balmy  softness 
of  the  delicious  south.  Joel  would 
have  enjoyed  it  and  the  cool  drink 
before  him  intensely,  if  it  were  not 
that  his  disappointed  hopes  threw 
a  dark  shadow  over  everything,  and 
led  him  to  think  of  all  that  his  jour- 
ney had  cost  him  in  cash,  and  all  in 
the  foregone  opportunities  of  dis- 
counts and  usuries. 

A  frequenter  of  the  cafe,  with 
whom  he  had  occasionally  ex- 
changed greetings,  sat  at  the  same 
table ;  but  they  said  little  to  each 
other,  the  stranger  being  evident- 
ly one  not  given  to  much  converse, 
and  rather  disposed  to  the  indul- 
gence of  his  own  thoughts  in  silence. 


"  Is  it  not  strange,"  said  Joel, 
after  a  long  pause,  "  that  I  must  go 
back  without  seeing  him?" 

A  half  impatient  grunt  was  all 
the  reply,  for  the  stranger  was  well 
weary  of  Joel  and  his  sorrows. 

"  One  would  suppose  that  he  real- 
ly wanted  to  keep  out  of  my  way, 
for  up  to  this  moment  no  one  can 
tell  me  if  he  be  here  or  not." 

Another  grunt. 

''  It  is  not  that  I  have  left  any- 
thing undone,  heaven  knows.  There 
isn't  a  quarter  of  the  town  I  have 
not  walked,  day  and  night,  and  his 
is  not  a  face  to  be  mistaken;  I'd 
know  him  at  a  glance." 

"And  what  in  the  devil's  name  do 
you  want  with  him  when  you  have 
seen  him  ?  "  exclaimed  the  other, 
angrily.  "  Do  you  imagine  that  a 
King  of  Italy  has  nothing  better  to 
do  with  his  time  than  grant  audi- 
ences to  every  idle  John  Bull  whose 
debts  or  doctors  have  sent  him  over 
the  Alps?"  This  rude  speech  was 
so  fiercely  delivered,  and  with  a 
look  and  tone  so  palpably  provo- 
cative, that  Joel  at  once  perceived 
his  friend  intended  to  draw  him  in- 
to a  quarrel,  so  he  finished  off  his 
liquor,  took  up  his  hat  and  cane, 
and  with  a  polite  felice  sera,  Signor, 
was  about  to  withdraw. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  strange:-, 
rising,  with  a  manner  at  once  ob- 
sequious and  apologetic.  "I  en- 
treat you  to  forgive  my  rude  and 
impatient  speech.  I  was  thinking 
of  something  else,  and  forgot  my- 
self. Sit  down  for  one  moment, 
and  I  will  try  and  make  you  a  pro- 
per reparation  —  a  reparation  you 
will  be  satisfied  with. 

"  You  want  to  see  the  King, 
and  you  desire  to  speak  with  him  : 
both  can  be  done  witli  a  little 
courage;  and  when  I  say  this,  I 
mean  rather  presence  of  mind — 
aplomb,  as  the  French  say — than 
anything  like  intrepidity  or  dar- 
ing. Do  you  possess  the  quality 
I  speak  of  1 " 

"  It  is  my  precise  gift — the  essen- 
tial feature  of  my  character,"  cried 
Joel,  in  ecstasy. 


1805.] 


Hero-Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


"Tliis, then,  is  the  way — and  mind 
T  tell  you  this  secret  on  the  faith 
that  as  an  English  gentleman  you 
preserve  it  inviolate — *  parole  I ng- 
lese,'  is  a  proverb  with  us,  and  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  it  de- 
serves its  signification." 

Joel  swore  to  observe  the  bond, 
and  the  other  continued — 

"  The  King,  it  is  needless  to  tell 
you,  detests  state  and  ceremonial ; 
he  abhors  courtly  etiquette,  and 
the  life  of  a  palace  is  to  him  the 
slavery  of  the  galleys.  His  real 
pleasure  is  the  society  of  a  few  in- 
timates, whom  he  treats  as  equals, 
and  with  whom  he  discourses  in 
the  rough  dialect  of  Piedmont,  as  it 
is  talked  in  the  camp  by  his  soldiers. 
Even  this  amount  of  liberty  is, 
however,  sometimes  not  sufficient 
for  this  bold  native  spirit ;  he  longs 
for  more  freedom — for,  in  fact,  that 
utter  absence  of  all  deference,  all 
recognition  of  his  high  estate,  which 
followers  never  can  forget ;  and  to 
arrive  at  this,  he  now  and  then 
steals  out  at  night  and  gains  the 
mountains,  where,  with  a  couple  of 
dogs  and  a  rille,  he  will  pass  two, 
three,  perhaps  four  days,  sharing 
the  peasant's  fare  and  his  couch, 
eating  the  coarsest  food,  and  sleep- 
ing on  straw  with  a  zest  that  shows 
what  a  veritable  type  of  the  medie- 
val baron  this  Count  of  Savoy  really 
is,  and  by  what  a  mistake  it  is  that 
he  belongs  to  an  age  where  the  ro- 
mance of  such  a  character  is  an 
anachronism  ! 

"  You  may  feel  well  astonished 
that  nobody  could  tell  you  where 
lie  is — whether  here  or  at  Turin,  at 
Bologna,  at  Florence,  or  Palermo. 
The  fact  is  they  don't  know,  that's 
the  real  truth — not  one  of  them 
knows  ;  all  they  are  aware  of  is 
that  he  is  off — away  on  one  of 
those  escapades  on  which  it  would 
be  as  much  as  life  is  worth  to  fol- 
low him  ;  and  there  is  La  Marmora, 
and  there  sits  Minghetti,  and  yon- 
der Delia  Rovere,  not  daring  to 
hint  a  syllable  as  to  the  King's 
absence,  nor  even  to  hazard  a  guess 
above  a  whisper  as  to  when  he  will 


come  back  again.  Now  I  can  tell 
you  where  he  is — a  mere  accident 
put  me  in  possession  of  the  secret. 
\J\ttt<>re  of  my  brother's  came  up 
yesterday  from  the  Terra  di  Lavoro 
and  told  how  a  strange  man,  large, 
strong-boned,  and  none  over  bland- 
looking,  had  been  quail  shooting 
over  the  Podere  for  the  last  two 
days  ;  he  said  he  was  a  wonderful 
shot,  but  cared  nothing  about  his 
game,  which  he  gave  freely  away 
to  any  one  he  met.  I  made  him 
describe  him  accurately,  and  he 
told  me  how  he  wore  a  tall  high- 
crowned  hat — a  'calabrese,'  as  they 
call  it  —  with  a  short  peacock's 
feather,  a  brown  jacket  all  covered 
with  little  buttons,  leather  small- 
clothes ending  above  the  knees, 
which  were  naked,  light  gaiters 
half  way  up  the  leg,  his  gun  slung 
at  his  back,  pistols  in  his  belt,  and 
a  cnut''au  de  c/ia.^e  without  a  scab- 
bard, hung  by  a  string  to  his  waist- 
belt  ;  he  added  that  he  spoke 
little,  and  that  little  in  a  strange 
dialect,  probably  Roman,  or  from 
the  Marches. 

"  P>y  a  few  other  traits  he  estab- 
lished the  identity  of  one  whose 
real  rank  and  condition  he  never 
had  the  slightest  suspicion  of. 
Now,  as  the  King  is  still  there,  and 
as  he  told  the  Parocco  of  the  little 
village  at  C'atanzaro  that  he'd  send 
him  some  game  for  his  Sunday  din- 
ner, which  he  meant  to  partake  of 
with  him,  you  have  only  to  set  out 
to-night,  reach  Nola,  where  with 
the  aid  of  a  pony  and  a  carratella 
you  will  make  your  way  to  Ranig- 
lia,  after  which,  three  miles  of  a 
brisk  mountain  walk — nothing  to 
an  Englishman  —  you'll  arrive  at 
C'atanzaro,  where  there  is  a  little  inn. 
He  calls  there  every  evening  coining 
down  the  valley  from  St  Agata, 
and  if  you  would  like  to  meet  him 
casually,  as  it  were,  you  have  only 
to  set  out  a  little  before  sunset,  and 
stroll  up  the  gorge  ;  there  you'll 
find  him."  The  stranger  went  on 
to  instruct  Mr  Joel  how  he  should 
behave  to  the  distinguished  un- 
known— how.  while  carefully  avoid- 


702 


Hero -Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


[June, 


ing  all  signs  of  recognition,  lie 
should  never  forget  that  he  was  in 
the  presence  of  one  accustomed  to 
the  most  deferential  respect. 

"  Your  manner,"  said  he,  "  must 
be  an  artful  blending  of  easy  po- 
liteness with  a  watchful  caution 
against  over-familiarity ;  in  fact, 
try  to  make  him  believe  that  you 
never  suspect  his  great  rank,  and 
at  the  same  time  take  care  that  in 
your  own  heart  you  never  forget  it. 
Not  a  very  easy  thing  to  do,  but 
the  strong  will  that  has  sent  you 
so  far  will  doubtless  supply  the 
way  to  help  you  further;"  and 
with  a  few  more  such  friendly 
counsels  he  wished  Joel  success 
and  a  good-night,  and  departed. 

Mr  Joel  took  his  place  in  the 
"  rotondo  "  of  the  diligence  —  no 
other  was  vacant — and  set  off  that 
night  in  company  with  two  priests, 
a  gendarme,  and  a  captured  galley- 
slave,  who  was  about  to  show  the 
officers  of  justice  where  a  compan- 
ion of  his  flight  had  sought  conceal- 
ment. The  company  ate  and  drank, 
smoked  villanous  tobacco,  and 
sang  songs  all  night,  so  that  when 
Joel  reached  Nola  he  was  so  over- 
come with  fatigue,  headache,  and 
sickness,  that  he  had  to  take  to 
bed,  where  the  doctor  who  was  sent 
.for  bled  him  twice,  and  would  have 
done  so  four  or  five  times  more,  if 
the  patient,  resisting  with  the  little 
strength  left  him,  had  not  put  him 
out  of  the  room  and  locked  the 
door,  only  .opening  it  to  creep  down 
stairs  and  escape  from  Nola  for 
ever.  He  managed  with  some  diffi- 
culty to  get  a  place  in  a  baroccino 
to  Raniglia,  and  made  the  journey 
surrounded  with  empty  wine-flasks, 
which  required  extreme  care  and  a 
very  leisurely  pace,  so  that  the  dis- 
tance, which  was  but  eighteen 
miles,  occupied  nearly  as  many 
hours.  It  took  him  a  full  day  to 
recruit  at  Raniglia,  all  the  more 
since  the  rest  of  the  journey  must 
be  made  on  foot. 

"I  own,  sir,"  said  Mr  Joel,  whom 
I  now  leave  to  speak  for  himself, 
"  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  I  arose 


that  morning  and  thought  of  what 
was  before  me.  I  had  already 
gone  through  much  fatigue  and 
considerable  illness,  and  I  felt  that 
if  any  mishap  should  befall  me  in 
that  wild  region,  with  its  wild- 
looking  semi -savage  inhabitants, 
the  world  would  never  hear  more 
of  me.  It  was  a  sad  way  to  finish 
a  life  which  had  not  been  alto- 
gether unsuccessful,  and  I  believe 
I  shed  tears  as  I  fastened  on  my 
knapsack  and  prepared  for  the 
road.  A  pedlar  kept  me  company 
for  two  miles,  and  I  tried  to  induce 
him  to  go  on  the  whole  way  with 
me  to  Catanzaro,  but  he  pointed  to 
his  pack,  and  said,  '  There  are  folk 
up  there  who  help  themselves  too 
readily  to  such  wares  as  I  carry. 
I'd  rather  visit  Catanzaro  with  an 
empty  pack  than  a  full  one.'  He 
was  curious  to  learn  what  led  me 
to  visit  the  place,  and  I  told  him 
it  was  to  see  the  fine  mountain 
scenery  and  the  great  chestnut  and 
cork  woods  of  which  I  had  heard 
so  much.  He  only  shook  his  head 
in  reply.  I  don't  know  whether 
he  disbelieved  me,  or  whether  he 
meant  that  the  journey  would 
scarce  repay  the  fatigue.  I  arrived 
at  Catanzaro  about  three  in 
the  afternoon.  It  was  a  blazing 
hot  day — the  very  air  seemed  to 
sparkle  with  the  fiery  sun's  rays, 
and  the  village,  in  regular  Italian 
fashion,  was  on  the  very  summit  of 
a  mountain,  around  which  other 
mountains  of  far  greater  height 
were  grouped  in  a  circle.  Every 
house  was  shut  up,  the  whole  popu- 
lation was  in  bed,  and  I  had  as 
much  difficulty  in  getting  admis- 
sion to  the  inn  as  if  I  had  come  at 
midnight." 

I  will  not  trouble  my  reader  to 
follow  Mr  Joel  in  his  description 
of  or  comment  upon  Italian  village 
life,  nor  ask  him  to  listen  to  the 
somewhat  lengthy  dialogue  that  took 
place  between  him  and  the  priest, 
a  certain  Don  Lertoro,  a  most  miser- 
able, half-famished  fellow,  with  the 
worst  countenance  imaginable,  and 
a  vein  of  ribaldry  in  his  talk  that 


1865.] 


Hcro-Worthip  and  its  Dangtrt. 


703 


Mr  Joel  declared  the  most  de- 
graded creature  might  have  been 
ashamed  of. 

By  un  artful  turn  of  the  conver- 
sation, Joel  led  the  priest  to  talk 
of  the  strangers  who  occasionally 
came  up  to  visit  the  mountain,  and 
at  l;tst  made  hold  to  ask,  as  though 
he  had  actually  seen  him,  who  was 
the  large,  strong  boned  man,  with 
a  rifle  slung  behind  him  I  he  did 
not  look  like  a  native  of  these 
parts  ] 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?" 
asked  the  priest,  with  a  furtive 
look. 

"  About  a  mile  from  this,"  said 
Joel  ;  "  he  was  standing  on  the 
rock  over  the  bridge  as  I  crossed 
the  torrent." 

"Che  Bestial"  muttered  Don 
Lertoro,  angrily  ;  but  whether  the 
compliment  was  meant  for  Joel  or 
the  unknown  did  not  appear.  Un- 
willing to  resume  the  theme,  how- 
ever, he  affected  to  busy  himself 
about  getting  some  salad  for  sup- 
per, and  left  Joel  to  himself. 

While  Joel  sat  ruminating,  in 
part  pleasantly,  over  the  craft  of 
his  own  address,  and  in  part  dubi- 
ously, thinking  over  Don  Lertoro's 
exclamation,  and  wondering  if  the 
holy  man  really  knew  who  the 
stranger  was,  the  priest  returned  to 
announce  the  supper. 

By  Joel's  account,  a  great  game 
of  fence  followed  the  meal,  each 
pushing  the  other  home  with  very 
searching  inquiries,  but  Joel  can- 
didly declaring  that  the  1  )on, shrewd 
as  he  was,  had  no  chance  with  him, 
insomuch  as  that,  while  he  com- 
pletely baffled  the  other  as  to  what 
led  him  there,  how  long  he  should 
remain,  and  where  go  to  afterwards, 
he  himself  ascertained  that  the 
large,  heavy  boned  man  with  the  ri tie 
might  usually  be  met  every  evening 
about  sunset  in  the  gorge  coming 
down  from  St  Agata  ;  in  fact,  there 
was  a  little  fountain  about  three 
miles  up  the  valley  which  was  a 
favourite  spot  of  his  to  eat  his  sup- 
per at — "a  spot  easily  found,"  said 
the  priest,  "  for  there  are  four 


cypress  trees  at  it,  nnd  on  the 
rock  overhead  you'll  see  a  wooden 
cross,  where  a  man  was  murdered 
once." 

This  scarcely  seemed  to  Joel's 
mind  as  a  very  appetising  element ; 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  went  his 
way.  As  the  day  wits  drawing  to 
a  close,  Mr  Joel  set  out  for  the 
fountain.  The  road,  very  beauti- 
ful and  picturesque  as  it  was,  was 
eminently  lonely.  After  leaving 
the  village  he  never  saw  a  human 
being  ;  and  though  the  evening  was 
delieiously  tine,  and  the  wild  flowers 
at  either  side  scented  the  air,  and 
a  clear  rivulet  ran  along  the  road- 
side with  a  pleasant  murmur,  there 
was  that  in  the  solitude  and  the 
silence,  and  the  tall  peaked  moun- 
tains, lone  and  grim,  that  terrified 
and  appalled  him.  Twice  was  he 
so  overcome  that  he  almost  deter- 
mined to  turn  back  and  abandon 
the  expedition. 

Onward,  however,  he  went,  en- 
couraging himself  by  many  little 
flatteries  and  compliments  to  his 
own  nature.  How  bold  he  was! 
how  original !  how  unlike  other 
money-lenders!  what  manifest 
greatness  there  must  be  somewhere 
in  the  temperament  of  one  like 
him,  who  could  thus  leave  home 
and  country,  security,  and  the 
watchful  supervision  of  Scotland 
Yard,  to  come  into  the  wild  moun- 
tains of  Calabria  just  to  gratify  an 
intellectual  craving !  These  thoughts 
carried  him  over  miles  of  the  way, 
and  at  last  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
four  cypress  trees  ;  and  as  he  drew 
nigh,  sure  enough  there  was  the 
little  wooden  cross  standing  out 
against  the  sky  ;  and  while  he 
stopped  to  look  at  it,  a  loud  voice, 
so  loud  as  to  make  him  start, 
shouted  out,  "  Alto  la — who  are 

you  I " 

Mr  Joel  looked  about  him  on 
every  side,  but  no  one  was  to  be 
seen.  He  crossed  the  road,  and 
came  back  again,  and  for  a  moment 
he  seemed  to  doubt  whether  it  was 
not  some  trick  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion suggested  the  cry,  when  it  was 


704 


Ilero-Worship  and  its  Dangers. 


[June, 


repeated  still  louder;  and  now  his 
eyes  caught  sight  of  a  tall  high- 
crowned  hat,  rising  above  the  rank 
grass,  on  a  cliff  over  the  road,  the 
wearer  being  evidently  lying  down 
on  the  sward.  Joel  had  but  time 
to  remove  his  hat  courteously,  when 
the  figure  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
revealed  the  person  of  an  immense 
man.  He  looked  gigantic  on  the 
spot  he  stood  on,  and  with  his 
stern,  flushed  features,  and  enor- 
mous mustaches,  turned  fiercely 
upwards  at  the  points,  recalled 
to  Mr  Joel  the  well-known  print 
over  his  chimneypiece  at  home. 
"Where  are  you  going.?"  cried  he, 
sternly. 

"  Nowhere  in  particular,  sir. 
Strolling  to  enjoy  my  cigar,"  re- 
plied Joel,  trembling. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  said  the  other, 
and  came  clattering  down  the  cliff, 
his  rifle,  his  pistols,  and  his  ammu- 
nition-pouches making  a  terrific  up- 
roar as  he  came. 

"  You  came  from  Catanzaro — 
were  there  any  gendarmes  there 
when  you  left?" 

"  None,  sire ;  not  one,"  said  Joel, 
who  was  so  overcome  by  the  dignity 
of  the  gentleman  that  he  forgot  all 
his  intended  reserve. 

"  No  lies,  no  treachery,  or,  by  the 
precious  tears  of  the  Madonna,  I'll 
blow  your  brains  out." 

"  Your  Majesty  may  believe  every 
word  I  utter  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  Peninsula ;  you  have 
not  a  more  devoted  worshipper." 

"  Did  you  see  the  priest  Don 
Lertoro  1  " 

"  Yes,  sire ;  it  was  he  told  me 
where  I  should  find  your  Majesty, 
at  the  well  here,  under  the  cypress 
trees." 

"  Scioccone !  "  cried  the  stranger ; 
but  whether  the  epithet  was  meant 
for  Joel  or  the  Cure  did  not  appear. 
A  very  long  and  close  cross-examina- 
tion ensued,  in  Avhich  Joel  was 
obliged  not  merely  to  explain  who 
he  was,  whence  he  came,  and  what 
he  came  for,  but  to  narrate  a  variety 
of  personal  circumstances  which  at 
the  time  it  seemed  strange  his  Ma- 


jesty would  care  to  listen  to — such 
as  the  amount  of  money  he  had  with 
him,  how  much  more  he  had  left 
behind  at  Naples,  how  he  had  no 
friends  in  that  capital,  nor  any  one 
like  to  interest  themselves  about 
him  if  he  should  get  into  trouble, 
or  require  to  be  assisted  in  any  way. 
Apparently  the  King  was  satisfied 
with  all  his  replies,  for  he  finished 
by  inviting  him  to  partake  of  some 
supper  with  him ;  and  producing  a 
small  basket  from  under  the  brush- 
wood, he  drew  forth  a  couple  of 
fowls,  some  cheese,  and  a  flask  of 
wine.  It  was  not  till  he  had  drunk 
up  three  large  goblets  of  the  wine 
that  Joel  found  himself  sufficiently 
courageous  to  be  happy.  At  last, 
however,  he  grew  easy,  and  even 
familiar,  questioning  his  Majesty 
about  the  sort  of  life  he  led,  and 
asking  how  it  was  that  he  never  fell 
into  the  hands  of  brigands. 

Nothing  could  be  more  genial  or 
good-humoured  than  the  King;  he 
was  frankness  itself ;  he  owned  that 
his  life  might  possibly  be  better; 
that  on  the  whole  his  father  con- 
fessor was  obliged  to  bear  a  good 
deal  from  him ;  and  that  all  his  ac- 
tions were  not  in  strictest  confor- 
mity with  church  discipline. 

"  You  ought  to  marry  again ;  I 
am  persuaded,  sir,"  said  Joel,  "  it 
would  be  the  best  thing  you  could 
do." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  other, 
thoughtfully.  "I  have  a  matter  of 
seven  wives  as  it  is,  and  I  don't 
want  any  more." 

"  Ah  !  your  Majesty,  I  guess  what 
you  mean,"  said  Joel,  winking ; 
"  but  that's  not  what  I  would  sug- 
gest. I  mean  some  strong  political 
connection — some  alliance  with  a 
royal  house,  Russian  or  Bavarian, 
if,  indeed,  Austrian  were  not  pos- 
sible." 

"On  the  whole,"  said  Joel,  "I 
found  that  he  didn't  much  trust 
any  one;  he  thought  ill  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  and  called  him  some 
hard  names ;  he  was  not  over  com- 
plimentary to  the  Pope  ;  and  as  for 
Garibaldi,  he  said  they  had  once 


1865.] 


fftro-Worthip  and  its  Dangtrf. 


been  thick  na  thieves,  but  of  late 
they  had  seen  little  of  each  other, 
and  for  his  part  he  was  not  sorry 
for  it.  All  this  time,  sir,"  con- 
tinued Joel,  "  his  Majesty  was  al- 
ways fancying  something  or  other 
that  I  wore  or  carried  about  me ; 
first  it  was  my  watch,  which  I  felt 
much  honoured  by  his  deigning  to 
accept ;  then  it  was  my  shirt-studs, 
then  my  wrist-buttons,  then  my 
tobacco-pouch,  then  my  pipe,  a  very 
fine  meerschaum,  and  at  last,  to  my 
intense  astonishment,  my  purse, 
whose  contents  he  actually  emptied 
on  the  table,  and  counted  out  be- 
fore me,  asking  me  if  I  had  not 
any  more  about  me,  either  in  notes 
or  bills,  for  it  seemed  a  small  sum 
for  a  '  Milordo,'  so  he  called  me,  to 
travel  with. 

"  Whatever  I  had,  however,  he 
took  it  —  took  every  carlino  of  it 
— saying,  'There's  no  getting  any 
change  up  here  —  there  are  no 
bankers,  my  dear  Signor  Joel ;  but 
we'll  meet  at  Naples  one  of  these 
days,  and  set  all  these  things  to 
rights.' 

"  I  suppose  the  wine  must  have 
been  far  stronger  than  I  thought ; 
perhaps,  too,  drinking  it  in  the  open 
air  made  it  more  heady ;  then  the 
novelty  of  the  situation  had  its 
effect — it's  not  every  day  that  a 
man  sits  hob-nobbing  with  a  king. 
Whatever  the  rea-son,  I  became  con- 
fused and  addled,  and  my  mind 
wandered.  1  forgot  where  I  was. 
I  believe  I  sang  something — I  am 
not  sure  what — and  the  King  sang, 
and  then  we  both  sang  together; 
and  at  last  he  whistled  with  a 
silver  call -whistle  that  he  wore, 
and  he  gave  me  in  charge  to  a  fel- 
low— a  ragged  rascally-looking  dog 
he  was — to  take  me  back  to  Catan- 
zaro;  and  the  scoundrel,  instead  of 
doing  so,  led  me  off  through  the 
mountains  for  a  day  and  a  half,  and 
dropped  me  at  last  at  Keccone,  a 


miserable  village,  without  tasting 
food  for  twelve  hours.  He  made 
me  change  clothes  with  him,  too, 
and  take  his  dirty  rags,  this  goat- 
skin vest  and  the  rest  (if  it,  instead 
of  my  new  tweed  suit ;  and  then, 
sir,  as  we  parted,  he  clapped  me 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder,  and 
said,  '  Mind  me,  aini'-n  7/1/0,  you're 
not  to  tell  the  padrone,  when  you 
see  him,  that  I  took  your  clothes 
from  you,  or  he'll  put  a  bullet 
through  me.  Mind  t/iat,  or  you'll 
have  to  settle  your  scores  with  one 
of  my  brothers.' 

"  '  I5y  the  padrone  you  perhaps 
mean  the  King,'  said  I,  haughtily. 

'"  King,  if  you  like,'  said  lie,  grin- 
ning; 'we call  him  "Ninco  Xanco:;' 
and  now  that  they've  shot  Filone, 
and  taken  Stoppa,  there's  not  an- 
other brigand  in  the  whole  of  Italy 
to  compare  with  him.'  Yes,  sir, 
out  came  the  horrid  truth.  It  was 
Ninco  Nanco,  the  greatest  monster 
in  the  Abruzzi,  I  had  mistaken  for 
Victor  Emmanuel.  It  was  to  him  I 
had  presented  my  watch,  my  photo- 
graph, my  seal  ring,  and  my  purse 
with  forty-two  napoleons.  Dirty, 
ragged,  wretched,  in  tatters,  and 
famished,  I  crept  on  from  village 
to  village,  till  I  reached  this  place 
yesterday  evening,  only  beseeching 
leave  to  be  let  lie  down  and  die, 
for  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  survive 
the  shame  of  my  misfortune,  if  my 
memory  should  be  cruel  enough  to 
preserve  the  details." 

"Cheer  up,  Joel ;  the  King  is  to 
review  the  National  CJuard  to-day. 
I'll  take  care  that  you  shall  have  a 
good  place  to  see  him,  and  a  good 
dinner  afterwards." 

"No,  sir;  I'll  not  go  and  look 
at  him.  Ninco  Nanco  has  cured 
me  of  hero-worship.  I'll  go  back 
to  town  and  see  after  the  exchanges. 
The  sovereigns  that  come  from  the 
mint  are  the  only  ones  I  mean  to 
deal  with  from  this  day  forward." 


706 


The  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


[June, 


THE   KATE   OF   INTEREST. 


THE  great  Napoleon  said  that, 
in  his  opinion,  the  only  use  of  the 
Bank  of  France  was  to  lend  money 
at  four  per  cent.  And  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  both  in  France  and  in  England 
(prior  to  1844),  the  rate  of  interest 
was  generally — as  Napoleon  held  it 
ought  always  to  be — four  per  cent. 
For  a  century  and  a  half  the  rate 
charged  by  the  Bank  of  England, 
and  all  the  other  banks  in  this 
country,  never  varied  more  than  one 
per  cent  —  averaging  about  four 
and  a  half  per  cent.  Whether  or 
not  this  is  a  fair  rate  of  banking 
profits — a  fair  return  on  capital  lent 
upon  good  and  readily  convertible 
securities — we  need  not,  from  our 
point  of  view,  stay  to  inquire.  For 
we  hold  that  the  only  legitimate 
test  in  such  a  case  is,  the  law  of 
Supply  and  Demand,  acting  under 
natural  conditions, — that  is  to  say, 
free  from  artificial  restrictions  of 
any  kind. 

We  are  opposed  to  fixing  the  rate 
of  interest,  or  imposing  a  maximum 
upon  that  rate,  by  legal  enactment. 
For  two  reasons  :  Firstly,  because 
fluctuations  occur  alike  in  the  sup- 
ply of  loanable  capital,  and  in  the 
demand  for  that  capital ;  and  either 
of  these  causes  naturally  calls  for 
a  variation  of  the  rate  charged  for 
capital  on  loan.  Also,  because  the 
credit  of  borrowers,  or  of  the  secu- 
rities offered,  varies, — so  that  in 
some  cases  a  percentage  (equivalent 
to  a  premium  of  insurance)  has  to 
be  added  to  the  ordinary  rate  of 
interest.  Secondly,  we  are  opposed 
to  any  legislative  restriction  upon 
the  rate  of  interest,  because  it  is  an 
interference  with  the  freedom  of 
banking ;  and,  in  our  opinion,  the 
less  legislation  there  is  for  banking, 
as  for  other  trades,  the  better. 

To  these  general  principles,  we 
think,  no  objection  will  be  taken, 
either  by  the  supporters  of  the  pre- 


sent monetary  laws  or  by  their  op- 
ponents. But  the  next  question  is 
— and  it  is  the  most  important  prac- 
tical question  in  monetary  science, 
— Under  our  present  monetary  sys- 
tem, is  the  general  level  of  the  rate 
of  interest  what  it  ought  to  be  1 
And  do  the  variations  of  the  rate 
arise  from  natural  and  necessary 
causes  ?  We  say,  No.  We  shall 
show,  with  all  fairness,  the  circum- 
stances in  which  banks  are  justified, 
by  their  proper  interests,  in  raising 
their  charge  for  capital  on  loan. 
But  it  is  equally  important  to  ob- 
serve that  there  are  circumstances 
in  which  an  increased  demand  for 
money,  or  advances,  adds  to  the 
profits  of  banks,  without  in  any 
way  imperilling  their  position,  and 
therefore  does  not  necessitate  an 
increase  in  the  rate  of  interest. 
Also,  that  the  rate  of  interest  is 
raised  at  times  although  there  is 
no  increased  demand  for  capital 
at  all. 

There  are  two  cases,  quite  dis- 
tinct, although  at  present  con- 
founded, in  which  the  Bank  of 
England  is,  or  thinks  itself,  com- 
pelled to  raise  the  rate  of  interest. 
One  of  these  applies,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  to  the  banks  of  all 
countries, — namely,  when  there  is 
an  unusual  demand  for  the  pre- 
cious metals,  whether  for  home 
use  or  (as  more  frequently  hap- 
pens) for  export.  The  other  case 
applies  to  the  Bank  of  England 
almost  exclusively, — namely,  when 
there  is  no  increased  demand  for 
the  precious  metals,  but  simply  for 
money  in  the  form  of  bank-notes. 

I.  Let  us  consider  the  latter  case 
first.  An  increased  demand  for 
bank-notes  or  domestic  currency 
arises  whenever  either  of  the  two 
following,  and  very  different,  causes 
comes  into  play — namely,  either 
(l).  when  a  sudden  expansion  of 


1865.] 


77*  Hate  of  Interest.— Part  If. 


707 


trade  takes  place;  or  (2),  when 
there  is  a  temporary  weakening  of 
credit,  whereby  payments  in  money 
are  called  for  to  a  considerable  ex- 
tent instead  of  the  payment  by 
bills,  by  which  all  our  trade  in  or- 
dinary times  is  carried  on. 

An  increase  of  trade,  we  need 
hardly  observe,  does  not  necessarily 
occasion  a  corresponding  increase 
in  the  export  of  the  precious  me- 
tals. On  the  contrary  (as  notably 
in  the  case  of  France  of  late  years) 
a  great  increase  of  trade  may  be 
attended  by  a  great  influx  of  specie. 
But  to  make  the  co.se  perfectly 
clear,  let  us  suppose  that  the  ex- 
pansion of  business  is  purely  of  a 
domestic  kind — say,  in  the  con- 
struction of  railways,  building  of 
factories,  improving  of  land,  ttc. 
In  such  a  cose,  the  capital  em- 
ployed is  not  sent  abroad,  and 
bank-notes  alone  are  needed  in  its 
transference  from  hand  to  hand. 
Every  increase  of  business  is  at- 
tended by  a  larger  creation  of  bills 
and  acceptances,  which  in  due 
course  are  taken  to  the  banks  to 
be  discounted.  In  this  case,  there 
is  an  increased  demand  for  capital 
on  loan.*  Hence  the  banks  find 
that  they  can  increase  the  amount 
of  their  loans  upon  good  securities, 
and  every  extension  of  a  bank's 
loans  augments  to  an  equal  degree 
the  bank's  profits,  although  the 
rate  of  interest  remain  the  same. 
Accordingly,  so  far  as  profit  is 
concerned,  the  banks  may,  with 
great  advantage  to  themselves,  en- 
large the  amount  of  their  discounts, 
or  advances  to  trade  upon  the 
usual  securities,  without  exacting 
an  increased  profit  by  raising  the 
rate  of  interest.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  natural  that  they  should 
seek  to  obtain  the  highest  price 
possible  for  their  loans.  When  the 
demand  for  loanable  capital  is  in- 


creased, they  may  justly  say — "  It 
is  true  that  an  enlargement  of  dis- 
counts is  very  profitable  to  us,  of 
itself  ;  but  if  the  demand  for  loan- 
able capital  is  so  urgent  that  we 
can  exact  higher  terms  for  our  ad- 
vances, by  raising  the  rate  of  dis- 
count, and  so  obtain  a  double 
means  of  profit,  we  are  entitled  to 
do  so." 

And  so  they  are.  But  then  there 
must  be  free  competition,  as  in 
other  trades.  Any  farmer  who  sees 
it  advantageous  to  offer  his  grain 
in  the  market  at  (5")s.  the  quarter, 
while  his  neighbour  stands  out  for 
70s.,  is  at  liberty  to  do  so.  In  like 
manner,  any  banks  which  are  wil- 
ling to  enlarge  their  accommoda- 
tion to  the  public  upon  moderate 
terms  —  either  contenting  them- 
selves with  a  lesser  amount  of 
profits  than  if  they  raised  their 
rate  of  discount,  or  feeling  assured 
that  such  a  course  will  be  more 
profitable  to  them  in  the  end  by 
increasing  their  amount  of  business 
— ought  to  be  free  to  do  so.  But 
legislation  steps  in  to  prevent  free 
competition  in  this  matter,  and 
makes  the  rate  of  interest  to  a 
great  extent  dependent  upon  arti- 
ficial causes.  It  does  so,  firstly, 
by  restricting  the  means  by  which 
the  banks  can  lend  their  capital. 
The  issue  of  bank-notes  is  made 
dependent,  not  upon  the  amount 
of  capital  and  credit  of  the  banks, 
which  it  is  the  sole  purpose  of 
bank-notes  to  represent.  On  the 
contrary,  the  majority  of  banks 
have  of  themselves  no  means  of 
lending  their  capital  or  utilising 
their  credit  at  all.  They  are  not 
allowed,  upon  any  terms,  to  issue 
notes  of  their  own,  however  great 
may  be  their  credit,  and  however 
large  the  amount  of  capital  which 
they  have  to  lend.  For  the  means 
of  carrying  on  their  business,  they 


*  It  must  not  bo  forgotten  (although  it  often  is)  that  such  an  increanetl  demand 
for  capital  on  loan  ia  accompanied  by  an  increased  creation  of  capital,  and  espe- 
cially of  loanable  capital,  owing  to  the  increase  of  trade  and  profits.  As  Trade 
augments,  the  profits  of  the  nation  increase  likewise.  In  fact,  it  is  the  yearly  in- 
crease of  protiU  which  alone  permits  the  yearly  increase  of  Trade. 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCVI.  3  B 


708 


Tlie  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


[June, 


are  entirely  dependent  upon  ob- 
taining a  supply  of  notes  from  the 
Bank  of  England.  The  Bank  of 
England  has  a  virtual  monopoly  of 
the  issue  of  bank-notes.  Whether 
the  legislative  fetters  imposed  up- 
on the  Bank's  issue  of  notes  be 
right  or  not — and  whether  or  not 
the  whole  currency  of  the  country 
should  be  made  to  fluctuate  with 
the  amount  of  bullion  in  the  Bank 
of  England — we  do  not  now  dis- 
cuss. We  simply  point  out  the 
fact  that  the  Bank  of  England 
is  possessed  of  a  means  of  lending 
its  capital,  or  deposits,  which  is  de- 
nied by  law  to  any  of  the  other 
large  banks.  These  other  banks 
are  dependent  upon  it  for  the 
means  (notes)  by  which  alone  they 
can  carry  on  their  business.  Thus 
they  cannot  compete  with  it  on 
fair  terms.  And  thus  the  rate  of 
interest,  the  price  of  money  on 
loan,  instead  of  being  regulated — 
as  the  price  of  all  other  commodi- 
ties is — by  free  competition,  is  in- 
juriously affected  by  a  legally- estab- 
lished monopoly.  Abolish  that 
monopoly,  and  the  rate  of  interest 
would  follow  its  natural  course. 
The  charge  for  the  use  of  capital 
on  loan  would  then  be  regulated 
by  the  natural  law  of  supply  and 
demand  :  and  there  would  be  no 
ground  for  complaint.  We  repeat, 
we  are  opposed  to  any  legislative 
interference  with  the  rate  of  dis- 
count :  let  the  rate  rise  to  any 
height,  provided  that  it  does  so  in 
accordance  with  natural  laws.  But 
this  can  never  be  the  case  so  long 
as  the  vicious  principle  of  mono- 
poly is  adhered  to,  and  free  com- 
petition is  expressly  prevented  by 
an  Act  of  Parliament. 

The  other  case  in  which  an  in- 
creased demand  for  bank-notes 
arises,  is,  when  some  bank  of  issue 
fails,  or  when  a  temporary  weak- 
ening of  commercial  credit  oc- 
curs. The  latter  event  may,  and 
often  is,  occasioned  simply  by  the 
action  of  the  banks,  in  refusing 
their  usual  accommodation  to  trade, 
— which  refusal  takes  place  when- 
ever and  from  whatever  cause  more 


gold  than  usual  has  to  be  sent 
abroad.  In  this  case  the  break- 
down of  credit  is  owing  to  causes 
extraneous  to  trade — to  a  hitch  in 
our  currency-system.  But  let  us 
suppose  that  the  dilemma  originates 
with  trade  itself. 

Whenever,  and  from  whatever 
cause,  an  embarrasment  befalls  any 
important  branch  of  trade,  the 
markets  for  that  trade  become  de- 
pressed. A  fall  of  prices  takes 
place.  Any  sudden  fall  of  prices 
weakens  the  credit,  it  may  be  im- 
perils the  solvency,  of  the  firms 
engaged  in  the  embarrassed  trade. 
There  are  fewer  buyers  than  before, 
— the  whole  operations  of  the  trade 
thus  temporarily  embarrassed  are 
contracted ;  and  the  holders  of 
stocks,  while  reducing  or  wholly 
suspending  their  usual  orders  for 
goods,  are  placed  in  a  serious 
dilemma.  As  the  credit  of  all 
firms  connected  with  the  trade  is 
diminished,  these  firms  find  that 
they  cannot  carry  on  their  business 
by  means  of  bills  to  the  same  extent 
as  before.  Payment  by  bills  falls 
into  disrepute,  and  payments  by 
cash  are  proportionately  increased. 
There  are  only  two  ways  in  which 
cash  can  be  got  to  meet  this  in- 
creased demand  for  it.  The  mer- 
chants must  either  make  sales  of 
their  goods  to  an  unusual  extent, 
or  they  must  discount  the  reserve 
of  bills  which  they  usually  keep  on 
hand.  They  are  unwilling  to  take 
the  former  course — that  is  to  say, 
to  make  forced  sales, — because  the 
market  is  already  depressed,  and 
extra  sales  would  depress  it  still 
further.  B,ather  than  submit  to 
this  great  loss,  they  take  their  re- 
serve of  bills  to  the  banks.  When 
they  cannot  make  sales  except  at  a 
great  loss,  they  seek  to  meet  the 
emergency  .  by  discounting  every 
bill  which  they  have  on  hand.  If 
they  obtain  the  usual  accommoda- 
tion from  the  banks,  the  difficulty 
is  tided  'over;  and  in  due  course 
the  trade  recovers  from  its  tempor- 
ary embarrassment,  and  things  go 
on  as  before.  But  if  the  banks, 
instead  of  assisting  this  branch  of 


18C5.] 


Tht  Half  of  Inttrtft.— Part  If. 


7<>9 


industry,  create  embarrassment  for 
all  trade  alike,  by  raising  the  rate 
of  discount,  then  the  evil  is  seri- 
ously augmented.  The  position  of 
the  embarrassed  trade  is  still  fur- 
ther deteriorated  ;  and,  what  is 
worse,  the  markets  for  all  kinds  of 
goods  are  depressed,  so  that  a  tem- 
porary embarrassment  of  one  branch 
of  trade  is  not  only  prolonged,  but 
is  also  extended  to  all  kinds  of 
trade, — so  that  the  whole  industry 
of  the  country  is  greatly,  as  well  as 
needlessly,  injured. 

There  is  a  great  difference  be- 
tween this  and  the  previous  case. 
In  the  former  there  was  increased 
trade,  and  of  course  an  increased 
demand  for  capital  to  carry  on  that 
trade.  In  the  latter  there  is  a  con- 
traction of  trade,  and  a  diminished 
demand  for  capital.  Hut  this  di- 
minished demand  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent assumes  a  new  form.  In  pro- 
portion as  commercial  credit  is 
weakened,  and  commercial  currency 
(bills)  falls  into  disrepute,  a  greater 
demand  arises  for  the  currency  sup- 
plied by  banks, — i.e.,  bank-notes. 
Trade,  in  ordinary  times,  supplies 
(by  means  of  bills)  the  currency  re- 
quired for  its  wholesale  operations; 
but  when  the  credit  of  that  cur- 
rency to  any  extent  fails,  the  defi- 
ciency must  be  supplied  by  means 
of  bank-notes.  These  notes  are  not 
meant  to  be  cashed:  they  are  simply 
needed  to  fill  the  vacuum  created 
by  the  temporary  disrepute  of  bills. 
Therefore  they  might  safely  be 
issued  without  any  increase  of  the 
stock  of  specie  held  by  the  banks. 
Nevertheless  the  demand  for  bank- 
ing loans  is  increased,  and  the  banks 
are  entitled  to  consult  their  own 
interests  in  meeting  this  demand. 
When  trade  can  no  longer  supply 
the  currency  by  which  its  operations 
are  carried  on,  it  must  borrow  the 
currency  which  represents  the  cap- 
ital and  credit  of  banks.  And  for 
such  loans  the  banks  are  entitled 
to  charge  the  terms  which  are  most 
advantageous  for  themselves. 

Thus,  in  this  case  as  in  the  pre- 
vious one — however  different  they 
are  in  other  respects — the  same  con- 


clusion is  presented.  Tn  the  first 
case  there  is  an  increased  demand 
for  capital,  because  trade  is  pros- 
perous and  profits  (it  may  be  pre- 
sumed) are  large.  In  the  second 
case  there  is  a  diminished  demand 
for  capital,  for  trade  is  embarrassed 
and  contracted.  In  the  former  case 
there  is  certainly  an  increased  de- 
mand for  loanable  capital  of  all 
kinds  ;  in  the  latter,  all  that  can  be 
said  is,  that  the  demand  upon  the 
banks  for  loans  is  increased  com- 
pared with  the  total  amount  of 
business  carried  on.  Hut  in  either 
case  the  rate  of  discount — the  charge 
for  banking  capital  on  loan — is  a 
matter  which  the  Hanks  and  Trade 
ought  to  lie  left  to  settle  between 
themselves  by  free  competition. 
The  banks,  as  we  have  already  said, 
may  make  an  increase  of  profits  by 
simply  enlarging  their  discounts, 
without  raising  the  rate  ;  or  they 
may  make  a  double  profit  by  at  the 
same  time  charging  more  for  their 
advances.  And  again  we  say,  they 
are  entitled  to  do  so, — provided 
that  the  law  of  supply  and  demand 
is  allowed  to  act  under  natural  con- 
ditions— /.  c.,  by  means  of  free  com- 
petition. Hut  here,  as  in  the  pre- 
vious case,  we  encounter  the  action 
of  a  vicious  monopoly.  And,  al- 
though we  hold  that  the  rate  of 
interest  should  be  unfettered  in  its 
movements,  we  demand,  on  the 
principle  of  free-trade,  that  no  arti- 
ficial influences  should  be  inter- 
posed,— and  that  our  banks,  instead 
of  being  dominated  by  the  Hank  of 
England,  should  all  of  them  equally 
have  the  means  of  lending  their 
capital, — so  that  free  competition, 
and  not  monopoly,  should  regulate 
the  rate  of  interest. 

An  increased  demand  for  bank- 
notes likewise  occurs  when  some 
bank  of  issue  fails.  In  this  case 
the  public  are  quite  willing  to  take 
the  notes  of  other  banks ;  but 
the  Hank  Acts  prevent  any  increase 
in  the  issues  of  these  banks,  stive 
under  conditions  which  produce  a 
drain  for  notes  or  gold  upon  the 
Hank  of  England,  of  which  we  shall 
speak  infra. 


710 


The  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  IT. 


[June, 


II.  Hitherto  we  have  been  con- 
sidering the  position  of  banks  when 
the  demand  upon  them  is  not  for 
gold,  but  simply  for  an  increased 
supply  of  domestic  currency  in  the 
form  of  notes.  Let  us  now  consider 
the  position  of  banks  when  an  in- 
creased demand  for  gold  arises. 
This  may  be  either  an  internal  de- 
mand or  an  external  one — i.  e.,  for 
export. 

(1.)  An  internal  demand  for  gold. 
Such  a  demand  only  arises  when 
one  or  more  banks  lose  the  confi- 
dence of  their  customers,  and  when 
these  demand  payment  of  their 
deposits  in  gold.  In  England,  such 
a  demand  can  only  be  made  upon 
the  Bank  of  England.  As  the  notes 
of  the  Bank  are  a  legal  tender 
throughout  England  (except  at  the 
Bank  itself),  any  bank  upon  which 
a  run  is  made  for  deposits  can,  and 
does,  make  payment  in  Bank  of  Eng- 
land notes.  Thus  when  any  English 
bank  or  banks  are  considered  un- 
safe, and  have  to  sustain  a  run  for 
deposits,  no  drain  of  gold  is  occa- 
sioned, either  from  them  or  from 
the  Bank  of  England.  For  the 
Bank  of  England,  upon  which  alone 
a  demand  for  payments  in  gold  can 
be  made,  never  loses  the  confidence 
of  the  public  :  it  ha£  never  sus- 
tained a  run  for  gold,  in  payment 
cither  of  its  notes  or  deposits,  owing 
to  any  apprehensions  as  to  its  sol- 
vency, for  the  last  hundred  years 
and  more, — never  since  the  Preten- 
der and  his  Highlanders  were  at 
Derby  in  1745.  Thus,  as  the  credit 
of  the  Bank  of  England  is  never 
doubted,  and  as  a  run  upon  any 
other  English  banks  is  met  by  pay- 
ments in  its  notes,  an  internal  de- 
mand for  gold  (that  is  to  say,  a  de- 
mand of  specie  for  domestic  use, 
and  not  for  export)  never  arises  in 
England. 

The  internal  drains  of  gold  which 
the  Bank  of  England  has  occasion- 
ally to  meet,  come  from  Scotland  and 
Ireland.  Bank  of  England  notes  are 
not  a  legal  tender  in  those  countries, 
and  accordingly,  when  a  run  for  de- 
posits is  made  upon  a  Scotch  or  Irish 
bank,  such  a  run  has  to  be  met  to 


a  large  extent  by  payments  in  gold. 
The  threatened  bank  may  obtain  a 
supply  of  gold  either  from  its  neigh- 
bour banks,  or  from  the  Bank  of 
England.  If  its  neighbour  banks 
are  assured  of  its  solvency,  the 
difficulty  is  easily  surmountable. 
The  gold  withdrawn  from  a  bank 
owing  to  a  distrust  of  its  solvency 
is  never  kept  in  hand  by  those  who 
withdraw  it,  but  is  immediately 
deposited  anew  in  some  of  the 
neighbouring  banks.  It  is  seldom 
a  single  hour  out  of  bank.  Hence 
if  the  threatened  establishment  is 
known  to  be  solvent  by  its  fellow- 
banks,  all  that  they  have  to  do  is 
simply  to  return  to  it  the  gold  as 
fast  as  it  is  withdrawn  :  and  the 
crisis  is  quickly  at  an  end,  without 
any  drain  (worth  mention)  being 
made  upon  the  Bank  of  England. 
Even  if  the  threatened  bank  is  in 
bad  odour,  and  consequently  is  not 
supported  by  its  neighbours,  the 
drain  of  gold  which  it  makes,  or  can 
make,  upon  the  Bank  of  England, 
is  inconsiderable.  It  can  only  make 
that  drain  by  selling  its  reserve  of 
Government  stock,  and,  by  means 
of  the  notes  thus  received,  with- 
drawing an  equal  amount  of  gold 
from  the  Bank  of  England.  But  in 
the  case  of  an  ill-conducted  or  in- 
solvent bank,  this  reserve  of  con- 
vertible securities  is  always  excep- 
tionally small.  So  that  the  bank 
fails,  without  having  in  its  power 
to  make  any  considerable  draft  up- 
on the  stock  of  gold  in  the  Bank  of 
England.  And  after  its  failure,  the 
vacuum  produced  in  the  currency 
by  the  lapse  of  its  notes  (supposing 
it  to  be  a  bank  of  issue)  would 
naturally  be  filled  by  an  increased 
issue  on  the  part  of  its  neighbour 
banks — whose  solvency  has  been 
unquestioned,  and  whose  notes 
would  be  received  by  the  public  as 
readily  as  gold. 

It  is  obvious  that  when  a  discre- 
dited bank  has  to  meet  "  a  run," 
the  raising  of  the  rate  of  interest 
can  be  of  no  use  to  it, — the  de- 
mand upon  it  being,  not  for  loans, 
but  for  payment  of  its  deposits.  In 
fact,  the  raising  of  the  Bank-rate  in 


18C5.] 


The  Katf  o/  Interest.— P<trt  II. 


711 


such  circumstances  only  increases 
the  dilemma  :  it  increases  the  panic, 
and,  by  weakening  credit  generally, 
tends  to  create  a  "  run  "  upon  other 
banks  also.  Thus  it  is  impolitic  for 
the  neighbours  of  a  discredited  bank 
to  raise  their  rate  of  discount  :  nor, 
indeed,  do  the  circumstances  of  the 
case  justify  such  a  course.  When 
a  Scotch  or  Irish  bank  fails,  the  in- 
creased demand  for  the  notes  of 
the  other  banks  is  pure  gain  to 
them.  The  increased  issue  is  need- 
ed simply  to  fill  the  void  occasioned 
by  the  withdrawal  of  the  notes  of 
the  suspended  bank.  The  addition 
to  the  liabilities  of  the  other  banks, 
by  an  extension  of  their  note-circu- 
lation, is  in  such  circumstances  only 
nominal ;  while  the  addition  to  their 
profits  is  very  tangible.  1  fence  the 
failure  of  a  Scotch  or  Irish  bank 
furnishes  no  reason  for  the  other 
banks  raising  the  rate  of  interest. 

If  banking  in  this  country  existed 
under  natural  conditions,  the  failure 
of  a  bank  of  issue  would,  as  affect- 
ing the  currency,  be  a  difficulty 
easily  surmounted,  and  the  drain 
upon  the  Bank  of  England  would 
be  trivial  alike  in  its  amount  and 
in  its  effects.  But  our  present 
monetary  laws  immensely  aggravate 
the  difliculty  in  Scotland  and  Ire- 
land, and  certainly  quadruple  the 
drain  for  gold  arising  in  such  cir- 
cumstances upon  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land. If  the  Scotch  and  Irish  banks 
were  allowed  to  extend  their  issues, 
to  meet  an  exceptional  demand  for 
their  notes  on  the  part  of  the  public, 
there  would  be  no  drain  for  gold, 
from  either  country,  upon  the  Bank 
of  England  —  or  next  to  none. 
When  a  "  run  "  takes  place  upon  a 
Scotch  or  Irish  bank,  the  deposi- 
tors of  the  discredited  bank  would 
readily,  or  at  lea-st  to  a  large  extent, 
accept  the  notes  of  the  other  banks 
in  payment  instead  of  gold.  Or  if 
a  bank  of  issue  failed,  the  with- 
drawal of  its  notes  would  be  com- 
pensated at  once,  and  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  public,  by  an  in- 
crease of  the  note-circulation  of  the 
other  banks — for  which  increased 
issue,  as  we  have  said,  there  is  no 


need  for  an  njnat  increase  in  the 
stock  of  gold  kept  by  these  banks. 
Under  the  present  monetary  laws, 
however,  no  addition  to  this  note- 
circulation  can  be  made  by  the 
Scotch  banks  unless  they  previously 
procure  an  equal  amount  of  gold  ; 
and  the  Irish  banks  are  not  allowed 
to  extend  their  issues  upon  any 
terms.  Hence  it  is  that  every  run 
upon  a  Scotch  or  Irish  bank,  or  any 
bank-failure  in  these  countries,  pro- 
duces, and  must  produce,  a  drain  of 
gold  from  the  liank  of  England. 
Previous  to  is  11,  no  drain  of  gold 
from  the  Bank  of  England  ever 
came  from  Scotland  ;  and  if  the 
Scotch  banks  enjoyed  thfir  old 
freedom,  no  such  drain  would  take 
place  now.  The  Scotch  prefer  the 
notes  of  their  own  banks,  not  only 
to  T.aiik  of  England  notes,  but  to 
gold  itself.  And  if  the  banks  and 
the  community  were  allowed  to 
manage  their  own  affairs  in  this 
ivspeet.  the  occasional  drain  upon 
the  Bank  of  England,  proceeding 
from  Scotland,  of  which  the  English 
complain  so  much,  would  never 
have  an  existence.  It  is  simply  the 
consequence  of  the  restrictions 
placed  upon  the  Scotch  banks,  by  a 
legislation  with  which  the  Scotch 
a.s  a  nation  have  no  sympathy  what- 
ever. 

(•2.)  An  external  drain  of  gold. 
This  always  takes  place  in  the  form 
of  a  demand  for  payment  of  deposits 
in  gold.  It  arises  from  no  distrust 
of  the  solvency  of  the  banks,  but 
from  an  exceptional  requirement  of 
Trade,  which  calls  for  an  increased 
export  of  international  currency. 
And  the  merchants  engaged  in  fo- 
reign trade  who  have  to  make  such 
payments  in  international  currency 
withdraw  their  deposits  from  the 
banks  in  gold,  in  order  that  they 
may  send  the  precious  metal  abroad. 

The  difference  between  this  and 
an  internal  drain  is,  that  the  latter 
is  made  upon  deposits  already 
existing  in  a  bank,  which  are  with- 
drawn because  the  bank  is  distrust- 
ed ;  whereas,  in  the  former  case, 
new  deposits  are  made,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  withdrawing  the  amount  in 


•12 


Tlie  Rate  of  Interest. — Part  II. 


[June, 


gold.  Merchants  discount  bills  at 
the  Bank,  and  then  immediately 
withdraw  the  amount  in  gold.  The 
demand  for  loans  at  the  Bank  is 
not  increased.  It  is  not  more 
capital  that  is  wanted,  but  more 
capital  in  the  form  of  gold.  So  far 
as  concerns  the  supply  and  demand 
for  banking  capital,  there  is  no 
ground  for  raising  the  rate  of  dis- 
count ;  for  no  more  banking  capital 
is  wanted  than  before.  But  then 
the  demand  assumes  an  embarrass- 
ing form  for  the  banks.  And  as 
banks,  like  other  establishments, 
are  entitled  to  carry  on  their  busi- 
ness in  the  way  most  profitable  to 
themselves,  they  are  at  liberty  to 
deal  with  this  embarrassing  demand 
for  gold  in  the  most  efficacious 
manner. 

The  difficulty  imposed  upon  banks 
by  an  external  drain  of  gold  is  this. 
They  are  bound  to  pay  their  notes 
and  their  deposits  in  gold,  and  any 
diminution  of  their  stock  of  gold 
diminishes  their  means  of  meeting 
this  liability.  To  pay  their  notes 
and  deposits  in  gold  is  a  necessity ; 
but  to  make  loans,  by  discounting 
bills,  is  optional.  They  make  such 
loans  only  for  their  own  advantage. 
Accordingly,  when  they  find  that 
to  discount  a  certain  class  of  bills  is 
a  disadvantage  to  them — that  the 
embarrassment  occasioned  by  the 
withdrawal  of  gold  is  greater  than 
the  profit  upon  the  discount  of  such 
bills — they  are  entitled  either  to 
refuse  to  discount  such  bills,  or  to 
exact  a  higher  charge  for  doing  so. 

If  the  Bank — upon  which  the 
burden  of  external  drains  chiefly, 
if  not  entirely,  falls — were  to  take 
this  course,  its  policy  would  be  jus- 
tifiable (although  Trade  would  still 
have  reason  to  complain  as  long  as 
the  monopoly  exists  which  prevents 
otherestablishmentsfromcompeting 
\vith  the  Bank  on  equal  terms).  But 
the  Bank  does  not  take  this  course. 
Instead  of  confining  its  restrictive 
uolicy  to  the  bills  which  are  brought 
to  it  to  be  discounted  in  order  that 
the  amount  may  be  withdrawn  in 
gold,  the  Bank  raises  its  charges 
upon  all  bills — it  wages  war  upon 


the  whole  Trade  of  the  country.  Nor 
does  it  even  diminish  the  amount 
of  its  discounts.  As  the  embarrass- 
ment to  the  Bank  caused  by  an  ex- 
ternal drain  arises  from  the  fact 
that  a  certain  class  of  its  discount- 
operations  diminishes  its  resources 
for  meeting  its  liabilities  to  note- 
holders and  depositors,  the  natural 
remedy  would  be  for  the  Bank 
either  to  exact  higher  charges  for 
discounting  bills  which  are  brought 
to  it  as  a  means  of  obtaining  gold, 
or,  if  such  discrimination  were  im- 
possible, to  protect  its  depositors  and 
note-holders  by  limiting  the  amount 
of  its  discounts.  At  first  sight  it 
may  seem  that  this  would  be  ac- 
complished by  the  course  which  the 
Bank  takes — namely,  by  raising  the 
rate  of  discount  for  all  bills.  But 
such  is  not  the  actual  result.  And, 
plainly,  the  attainment  of  this  re- 
sult is  not  the  object  which  regu- 
lates the  policy  of  the  Bank.  The 
immediate  effect  of  a  high  Bank- 
rate  is,  not  to  lessen  the  demand 
for  discounts,  but  to  increase  it. 
And  when  this  increased  demand 
arises,  the  Bank  meets  it — only  it 
charges  higher  terms  than  before. 
What,  then,  is  the  object  which  the 
Bank  keeps  in  view  when  an  ex- 
ternal drain  of  gold  arises  1  Obvi- 
ously, the  means  which  it  employs 
— namely,  raising  the  rate  of  dis- 
count, while  discounting  as  much 
as  before — are  highly  profitable  to 
it.  And  this  doubtless  is  an  object 
of  itself,  and  one  which  the  Bank 
duly  appreciates,  though  it  does 
not  confess  to  it.  But  there  is  an- 
other, which  is  equally  worthy  of 
attention. 

The  Bank  is  a  private  establish- 
ment which,  like  every  other,  seeks 
to  make  the  largest  amount  of 
profit  out  of  its  transactions.  Now, 
when  an  external  drain  of  gold 
takes  place,  its  object  is — just  as 
in  other  cases  —  to  avoid  a  loss, 
and  also  to  make  a  profit  if  it  can. 
It  makes  a  profit  by  discounting  as 
largely  as  before,  while  charging  a 
higher  rate  of  interest.  And  this 
higher  rate  of  discount  at  the  same 
time  tends  to  bring  back  the  gold 


1865.] 


Thf  Kate  nf  Inttrett.— Part  77. 


'13 


into  its  coffers.  At  whose  expense  ? 
If  the  Bank  were  to  employ  the 
increased  profit  which  it  makes  l>y 
raising  the  rate  of  discount,  in  pro- 
curing for  itself  a  supply  of  gold 
from  abroad,  the  loss  would  still 
be  borne  by  Trade.  But  the  Hank, 
by  raising  the  rate  of  discount, 
makes  a  double  gain,  and  imposes 
upon  Trade  a  double  loss.  For 
while  the  raising  of  the  rate  of  dis- 
count adds  to  the  profits  of  the 
Bank,  the  effects  of  the  high  rate 
are.  such  as  to  supply  the  Bank 
with  gold  at  no  expense  to  itself. 
The  etfect  of  a  high  bank  rate  is, 
(1)  to  contract  the  whole  trade  of 
the  country,  so  that  less  gold  is 
sent  abroad  in  payment  of  orders 
for  goods ;  (-J)  to  depreciate  all 
kinds  of  property,  and  thereby  in- 
duce foreigners  to  send  over  gold 
for  the  purpose  of  making  pur- 
chases ;  (:5)  to  deter  foreign  mer- 
chants who  have  bills  upon  Eng- 
land from  sending  them  over  to  be 
discounted  and  cashed.  All  these 
effects  of  a  high  bank-rate  are 
directly  hostile  to  Trade.  In  this, 
as  in  many  other  instances,  it  is 
the  Bank  ivrsits  Trade.  It  is  a 
serious  question,  truly,  when  banks, 
which  ought  to  be  the  allies  of 
trade,  become  its  greatest  foes. 
Nevertheless,  we  rejHjat,  the  great 
rule  is  that  every  branch  of  trade 
shall  attend  to  its  own  interests. 
Jf  hanks,  instead  of  providing 
themselves  with  gold  at  their  own 
cost,  can  throw  that  burden  upon 
trade — and  not  only  that,  but  make 
a  profit  out  of  the  transaction  be- 
sides— all  we  have  to  say  is,  "  So 
be  it.  Only  do  not  let  the  Govern- 
ment, by  conferring  a  monopoly  of 
the  means  of  lending  capital,  pre- 
vent free  competition.  Let  Trade 
and  the  Banks  be  allowed  to  settle 
the  matter  on  equal  terms  between 
them.  Let  Trade,  since  it  feels  it- 
self aggrieved,  establish  or  support 
banks  which  are  willing  to  deal 
fairly  by  it,  and  which  shall  have 
the  means  of  doing  so,  instead  of 
being  condemned  to  helplessness 
by  the  dependence  in  which  all 
banks  are  at  present  placed  by  the 


monopoly  conferred  upon  the  Hank 
of  Kngland." 

The  extent  to  which  the  banks 
are  affected  by  an  external  drain  of 
gold  has,  from  obvious  motives, 
been  greatly  exaggerated.  There 
is  no  cashing  of  notes  on  such  oc- 
casions. The  notes  remain  in  as 
good  repute  as  ever.  The  drain  is 
made  partly  by  depositors  with- 
drawing their  money  in  the  form  of 
gold,  but  chiefly — almost  entirely — 
by  persons  taking  their  bills  to  the 
Bank,  in  order  to  be  discounted, 
ami  thereupon  demanding  payment 
of  the  amount  in  gold.  Never  once 
has  the  public  lost  faith  in  the  notes 
of  the  Bank  of  Kngland,  or  of  any 
other  bank,  owing  to  an  external 
drain  of  gold.  In  17!)7,  and  again 
in  182(),  when  the  greatest  drains 
of  gold  for  export  occurred,  and  also 
in  1M7,  tlie  note  holders  never  lost 
confidence  in  the  slightest  degree. 
In  171)7,  the  notes  continued  in 
as  good  repute,  and  at  the  same 
value,  after  the  suspension  of  pay- 
ments in  gold,  as  before.  And 
in  1^0  and  1M7,  the  notes  were 
entirely  unaffected  either  in  credit 
or  value  by  the  great  export  of 
gold.  Such  also  was  the  case  with 
the  notes  of  the  American  banks 
during  the  suspension  of  specie- 
payments  in  l;-57.  Not  the  slight- 
est depreciation  of  these  notes 
took  place. 

In  fact,  the  notes  of  a  bank 
which  is  known  to  be  solvent  are 
never  discredited  with  the  public. 
It  is  only  when  a  bank  is  distrust- 
ed that  any  desire  arises  for  con- 
verting its  notes  into  gold.  And 
at  such  times,  the  demands  of  the 
note-holders  are  quite  trivial  as 
compared  with  those  of  the  deposi- 
tors. The  old  idea,  and  seemingly 
the  still  current  one,  is,  that  bank 
failures  arise  from  the  note-issues, 
— from  the  public  losing  faith  in 
the  notes,  and  requiring  payment 
of  them  in  gold.  This  is  an  illusion. 
Any  bank  (except  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land) can  easily  pay  all  its  notes  in 
gold.  It  is  the  run  for  deposits 
which  is  the  fatal  thing.  And 
this  i.s  not  caused  in  the  slight- 


714 


Tlie  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


[June, 


est  degree  by  an  unusual  export  of 
gold,  but  by  a  bank  or  banks  be- 
coming suspected  of  insolvency. 
It  is  not  a  drain  of  gold  which, 
causes  a  banking  crisis,  but  the 
measures,  adopted  by  the  Bank  of 
England  to  meet  the  drain.  The 
Bank-rate  is  raised,  credit  is  con- 
tracted, the  markets  are  depressed, 
and  numerous  mercantile  failures 
occur.  These  mercantile  failures  of 
themselves  endanger  the  position  of 
banks,  and  tend  to  produce  a  run. 
Panic  is  abroad, — and  when  the 
public  see  many  firms  failing,  who 
are  known  to  have  had  large  deal- 
ings with  a  particular  bank,  the 
credit  of  that  bank  is  shaken,  and 
a  run  upon  it  is  made  for  deposits. 
No  bank  of  itself  can  sustain  such 
a  run ;  and  if  one  bank  fails,  the 
panic  is  still  more  increased,  and  a 
run  commences  upon  other  banks 
also.  This,  we  repeat,  is  not  the 
consequence  of  an  export  of  gold, 
but  of  the  mercantile  losses  occa- 
sioned by  the  raising  of  the  bank- 
rate  and  concomitant  contraction 
of  credit,  which  create  a  domestic 
panic,  and  at  the  same  time  weaken 
the  position  of  many  banks  by 
causing  the  failure  of  merchants 
whose  bills  they  have  discounted. 
As  long  as  a  bank  is  known  to  be 
solvent,  its  notes  circulate  freely 
under  all  circumstances.  It  is  only 
when  a  bank  is  suspected  of  insol- 
vency that  a  run  is  made  upon  it  : 
and  nothing  tends  so  much  to  pro- 
duce such  a  run  as  a  high  bank-rate 
and  contraction  of  credit,  which, 
by  producing  panic  and  failures  of 
a  bank's  customers,  tend  equally 
to  destroy  the  credit  of  the  bank 
itself. 

There  is  no  reason,  therefore,  for 
diminishing  note -issues,  when  an 
external  drain  of  gold  occurs,  from 
any  apprehension  of  the  notes  los- 
ing credit,  and  being  brought  to  be 
cashed.  Indeed  in  exceptional  times 
(as  during  the  war  with  Napoleon 
I.),  when  not  only  the  bullion  in 
banks,  but  even  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  our  sovereigns,  or  retail  cur- 
rency, is  exported,  an  increased  issue 
of  bank-notes  is  imperatively  called 


for.  The  public  require  such  an 
increase  of  notes,  to  take  the  place 
of  the  exported  sovereigns,  and  they 
are  as  freely  accepted  at  such  times 
as  if  the  vaults  of  the  issuing  banks 
were  filled  with  the  yellow  metal. 
During  the  long  suspension  of  cash- 
payments — from  1797  to  1819 — the 
Bank  of  England  note  was  not  (as 
it  is  now)  a  legal  tender  ;  yet  not- 
withstanding, not  only  the  notes  of 
the  Bank  of  England,  but  those 
of  hundreds  of  other  banks,  were 
freely  accepted,  and  circulated  in 
good  repute,  although  it  was  known 
that  they  could  not  be  convert- 
ed into  gold.  The  gold  was  not 
wanted  :  the  notes  did  all  that  was 
required. 

Moreover,  and  as  the  public  well 
know,  a  drain  of  gold  is  a  mere 
temporary  difficulty.  In  ordinary 
circumstances,  such  a  drain  is  over  in 
three  months,  and  the  gold  accumu- 
lates in  the  Bank  as  before.  And 
besides  this  feature  of  an  external 
drain,  there  are  two  others  equally 
worthy  of  notice,  (l)  When  gold 
is  exported,  it  is  only  serving  the 
very  purpose  for  which  it  is  kept 
on  hand.  Nobody  wants  it  for  do- 
mestic currency.  It  is  kept  only  as 
a  stock  of  international  currency, 
to  be  sent  abroad  when  required. 
Why,  then,  should  the  Bank  take 
alarm  when  this  international  cur- 
rency is  being  put  to  its  proper  use  1 
— especially  as  it  will  all  come  back 
again,  in  natural  course,  in  two  or 
three  months  1  Moreover,  (2)  a 
drain  of  gold  always  tends  to  stop 
of  itself.  It  is  not  an  indefinite 
drain  which  may  go  on  ad  infinitum. 
On  the  contrary,  each  drain  has 
certain  limits,  which  it  cannot  ex- 
ceed. Every  million  of  gold  export- 
ed lessens  the  drain  to  an  equal 
amount.  It  is  the  very  thing  that 
is  wanted  to  restore  the  equilibrium 
— to  "  correct  the  exchanges."  The 
apprehensions  entertained  in  regard 
to  a  drain  of  gold  are  quite  un- 
founded. But  for  our  defective 
monetary  laws,  and  the  injurious 
policy  adopted  by  the  Bank,  the  oc- 
casional and  transient  drains  of  gold 
for  export  would  be  perfectly  innocu- 


1865.] 


The  Ktttf  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


ous — would  produce  no  evil  conse- 
quences either  to  our  domestic  cur- 
rency or  to  our  trade.  A  drain  of 
specie,  we  repeat,  instead  of  being 
like  the  escape  of  water  from  a 
reservoir  through  a  hole  that  re- 
quires to  l>e  stopped,  resembles  an 
overflow  into  some  reservoir  of  tem- 
porarily lower  level  ;  every  such 
overflow  naturally  and  inevitably 
tending  to  .stop  of  itself. 

It  is  commonly  believed  that  the 
raising  of  the  Hank -rate  attracts 
gold  from  other  countries,  But,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  this  is  not  the  case. 
An  external  drain  being  of  merely 
transient  duration,  there  is  little  in- 
ducement for  foreign  capitalists  to 
make  a  transference  of  their  wealth 
— to  withdraw  their  capital  from 
the  enterprises  in  \\hich  it  is  cm- 
barked  in  order  to  make  a  new  in- 
vestment of  it  in  another  country. 
Such  a  transference  of  capital  is  not 
so  easily  made  as  some  authorities 
imagine.  Besides,  even  if  it  could 
be  made  with  perfect  ease  and  ra- 
pidity, capitalists  have  no  adequate 
motive  to  do  so.  And  the  reason 
is  obvious.  "Whenever  the  Hank- 
rate  in  this  country  is  raised,  the 
banks  of  other  countries  immedi- 
ately follow  suit.  They  raise  their 
rate  of  discount  in  proportion  to 
every  change  made  by  the  Hank  of 
England.  So  that  the  raising  of 
the  Hank-rate,  as  regards  the  attract- 
ing of  gold  from  other  countries, 
is  absolutely  devoid  of  result.  Its 
only  effect  is  to  inflict  losses  upon 
the  commercial  classes.  The  only 
way  in  which  a  high  rate  of 
discount  tends  to  replenish  the 
Hank's  stock  of  gold  is  by  killing 
Trade,  and  thereby  lessening  the 
requirement  for  international  cur- 
rency— i.e.,  specie.  By  paralysing 
the  national  industry — by  inflicting 
heavy  losses  upon  trade,  and  pro- 
ducing a  host  of  bankruptcies — a 
great  contraction  of  business  ensues; 
the  usual  orders  for  foreign  goods, 
the  raw  material  of  our  industry, 
arc  suspended  ;  and  thus  gold 
accumulates  in  the  banks,  simply 
because  Trade  has  no  longer  any 
use  for  it. 


This  is  really  a  war  policy  on  the 
part  of  the  Hanks  against  Trade. 
And  as  Trade,  under  the  present 
system  of  monopoly  of  issue,  cannot 
unite  to  support,  or  establish,  a 
bank  which  has  the  least  chance  of 
being  able  to  compete  with  the 
Bank  of  Kngland,  the  interests  of 
industry  are  helpless  in  the  struggle. 
This  hardship  is  all  the  greater  in- 
asmuch as,  during  an  external  drain 
for  gold,  there  is  not  any  increased 
demand  for  capital  at  all — no  .solid 
cause  for  raising  the  value  of  capi- 
tal on  loan — but  simply  a  banking 
diih'culty,  which  the  Bank  itself 
ought  to  take  measures  to  meet. 
Yet,  so  far  from  doing  so,  it  not 
only  throws  the  whole  burden  upon 
Trade,  but  actually  makes  occasion 
to  enlarge  its  own  profits. 

Having  considered  the  causes 
which  at  present  affect  the  Hate  of 
Interest  in  this  country,  it  remains 
for  us  to  show  the  manner  and  ex- 
tent to  which  these  causes  operate. 

There  are  two  points  in  the  re- 
cent policy  of  the  Bank  of  Kngland 
which  call  for  special  attention.  ( )ne 
of  these  is  the  excessive  fluctuations 
in  the  Bank-rate — in  the  value  of 
money  on  loan.  In  former  times 
the  rate  of  interest  was  compara- 
tively steady.  The  Bank  of  Kng- 
land, in  common  with  the  other 
banks,  used  to  reason  in  this  way. 
They  said — "  The  rate  of  profits — 
and  therefore  the  value  of  money 
on  loan — varies  little  ;  from  year 
to  year  it  is  nearly  the  same." 
And,  acting  accordingly,  they  were 
slow  to  alter  the  rate  merely  in 
consequence  of  a  change  in  the 
amount  of  their  stock  of  specie. 
They  paid  regard  to  the  normal  in- 
fluences which  regulate  the  rate  of 
interest — namely,  the  amount  of 
supply  of  loanable  capital,  and  the 
extent  of  the  demand  for  it, — and 
minimised  the  effects  of  the  sub- 
ordinate element  in  the  question, 
namely,  the  stock  of  specie.  A 
diminution  of  specie  in  the  banks 
is  a  purely  banking  difficulty,  which 
does  not  necessarily  affect  the  law 
of  supply  and  demand  in  regard  to 


716 


The  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


[June, 


capital,  by  which  the  rate  of  in- 
terest ought  to  be  regulated.  But 
now  the  Bank  takes  quite  a  differ- 
ent course.  It  pays  no  regard  at 
all  to  the  law  of  supply  and  de- 
mand, and  regulates  the  rate  of  in- 
terest entirely  by  the  amount  of 
specie  which  may  happen  to  be  in 
its  vaults.  What  is  more :  a  most 
insignificant  variation  in  its  stock 
of  specie  is  held  to  justify  an  enor- 
mous fluctuation  in  the  rate  of  in- 
terest—in the  value  of  capital  on 

Sept.     7.— Nov.  9,  1804. 

Nov.  9.— Nov.  24, 

Nov.  24.—  Dec.  14, 

Dec.  14.— Jan.  12,  18  5. 

Jan.  12.— Jan.  26, 

Jan.  26.— Mar.  1, 

Mar.  1.— Mar.  30, 

Mar.  30.— May  2, 

From  this  it  appears  that  a  varia- 
tion to  the  extent  of  14  per  cent 
(=£2,000,000)  in  the  Bank's  stock 
of  specie  is  held  to  justify  a  varia- 
tion in  the  value  of  money  on  loan 
to  the  extent  of  fully  120  per 
cent !  If  we  take  the  months  pre- 
vious to  the  crisis  of  last  year,  a 
similar  state  of  things  is  presented. 
For  (as  shown  in  our  article  of 
last  month)  a  diminution  of  only 
£050,000  in  its  bullion,  and  of 
,£450,000  in  its  reserve  of  notes,  was 
held  to  justify  a  rise  of  the  Bank- 
rate  from  6  to  9  and  10  per  cent ! 
Such  a  practice  savours  of  insanity 
— but  it  is  an  insanity  which,  as 
we  shall  immediately  see,  is  by  no 
means  unprofitable  to  the  Bank. 

The  other  point  worthy  of  atten- 
tion is,  that,  while  working  this  sys- 
tem of  incessant  variation,  the  Bank 
lias  managed  greatly  to  raise  the 
general  level  of  the  rate  of  interest. 
Until  of  late  years  (and  after  the  pass- 
ing of  the  Bank  Act),  when  there 
were  thirteen  millions  of  gold  in 
the  Bank,  the  Bank-rate  used  to  be 
less  than  one-half  of  what,  under 


loan.  A  variation  in  the  Bank's 
stock  of  bullion  to  the  extent  of 
two  millions  sterling  is  now  made 
the  ground  for  altering  the  Bank- 
rate  to  the  extent  of  fully  100  per 
cent.  In  illustration  of  this,  take 
the  facts  of  the  day,  as  condensed 
in  the  following  table.  The  last 
eight  months  are  divided  into 
periods  corresponding  with  the 
changes  in  the  Bank-rate,  and  the 
average  amount  of  gold  in  the  Bank 
is  given  for  each  of  these  periods : — 


Bullion. 

£13,070,000 
13,750,000 
13,986,000 
14,116,000 
14,133,000 
14,488,000 
14,960,000 
15,052,000 


Bank-Rate. 
9  per  cent. 
8 
7 
6 


44 

4 


similar  circumstances,  it  is  at  pre- 
sent. This  is  a  very  important 
fact,  and  one  as  to  which  there 
cannot  possibly  be  any  doubt.  The 
statistics  of  the  Bank  prove  it  to 
demonstration.*  In  the  twenty- 
five  years  previous  to  the  passing 
of  the  Bank  Act  (from  1819  to 
1844)  the  rate  of  discount  used  to 
be  4  per  cent  when  the  Bank's 
stock  of  specie  ranged  between 
£1  1,000,000  and  £7,000,000— ris- 
ing to  6  per  cent  (as  in  1839-40) 
when  the  stock  of  specie  fell  to 
£3,000,000.  After  the  passing  of 
the  Act  of  1844,  the  Bank  used  to 
charge  4  per  cent  when  its  specie 
stood  at  12|  millions — a  great  rise 
on  its  previous  practice.  But  now 
it  charges  4  per  cent  when  it  has  15 
millions  of  gold,  and  charges  9  and 
10  per  cent  when  its  stock  of  specie 
still  amounts  to  13  millions !  In 
this  way  the  Bank  has  been  steadily 
working  up  the  rate  of  interest, 
until  it  has  reached  its  present  high 
level — that  is  to  say,  double  what  it 
used  to  be,  under  similar  circum- 
stances, in  former  times,  t  The 


*  See  Appendix  to  Patterson's  'Economy  of  Capital,'  where  these  statistics  are 
given. 

t  The  same  remarks  apply  to  the  conduct  of  the  Bank  as  judged  of  by  the 
amount  of  its  reserve.  The  authorities  of  the  Bank  have  been  unanimous  in 
stating  that  the  position  of  the  Bank  is  entirely  satisfactory  when  the  reserve  in 
its  banking  department  (consisting  of  notes  and  some  coin)  amounts  to  one-third 


1665.] 


The  llrite  n/ Interest.— Part  II. 


Bunk,  in  fact,  seems  to  consider 
that  under  all  circumstances,  how- 
ever transient  and  exceptional,  its 
stock  of  bullion  ought  to  amount  to 
twelve  millions  sterling.  It  virtually 
treats  these  twelve  millions  as  the 
zero-point  in  its  calculations.  It 
regards  Xir>,000.ii(>0  as  the  normal 
amount  of  gold  which  ought  to  be 
in  its  possession  :  and  each  succes- 
sive diminution  below  that  point  to 
the  extent  of  one  third  of  a  million 
is  accompanied  by  a  ri.->e  of  1  per 
cent  in  its  charge  for  money  on 
loan.  In  this  way,  the  level — the 
base-line,  so  to  speak — of  the  Kate 
of  Interest  has  become  permanent- 
ly raised.  Trade,  of  course,  is  pro- 
portionately mulcted.  The  Hank, 
in  fact — and  all  the  banks,  which 
willingly,  as  well  a.s  of  necessity, 
follow  its  example — now  claims  for 
itself  a  larger  portion  of  the  profits 
of  Trade  than  before.  And  thus 
Industry  is  mulcted  to  the  advan- 
tage of  Capital. 


From  this  review  of  the  working 
of  our  monetary  system,  it  appears 
that  the  Kate  of  Interest,  the  charge 
for  capital  on  loan,  is  by  no  means 
regulated  by  the  .simple  and  natu- 
ral law  of  supply  and  demand.  It  is 
made  to  vary  from  other  causes,  and 
sometimes  quite  irrespective  of  the 
comparative  scarcity  or  abundance 
of  capital.  Indeed  it  is  remark- 
able that  when  Trade  is  prosperous, 
and  when  loans  of  capital  are  un- 
usually numerous  (in  other  words, 
when  there  is  an  increased  demand 
for  capital),  the  Rink-rate  is  never 
so  high  a.s  when  the  reverse  is  the 
case, — namely,  when  Trade  is  being 
contracted  and  capital  as  a  whole- 
is  in  less  demand.  When  Trade 
is  prosperous,  and  commercial  cre- 
dit consequently  is  firm,  no  extra 
demand  for  loans  is  made  upon  the 
banks, — Trade  itself  .supplying  the 
currency  required  for  its  operations, 
by  means  of  bills.  But  when  com- 
mercial credit  is,  from  any  cause, 


Sept 

7,     ~)    jnT  cent  above 

14,     7 

M          .  ( 

•21,  14 

n 

•28,  1-2 

tf 

Oct. 

">,     1  ^ 

,,         below 

1'2,     7 

1'.),    7 

,'.'       alx)vt. 

XoV 

•>'  u' 

"          " 

of  the  liabilities  of  the  banking  department—/./.,  its  deposits,  and  seven-day 
and  other  bills.  Hut  in  practice  the  Hank  Court  now  take  a  different  view  of  the 
matter.  The  following  figures,  for  the  last  four  months  of  KS04,  show  each  week 
how  much  the  reserve  was  above  or  In-low  the  normal  point  of  one-third  of  the 
banking  liabilities  :  — 

Xov.     0,  '2.">  per  cent  above  \    Av.-r:--.-. 
1(1,  '24         ,, 


14,  44 
•21,  3S 


It  thus  appears  that  during  the  two  months  of  crisis,  when  the  minimum  rate 
of  discount  way  '.>  jn-r  cent,  the  Hank's  reserve  of  notes  exceeded  one-third  of  its 
banking  liabilities  for  7  weeks  to  an  average  extent  of  11  A  per  cent,  and  fell  ln-- 
lo\v  it  for  two  weeks  to  the  average  extent  of  4  JKT  cent  ;  so  that  this  extreme 
rate  was  charged  while  the  Hank's  position  was  actually  stronger  than  the  nio.-t 
cautions  banking  authorities  have  ever  held  necessary.  Moreover,  the  two  weeks 
when  the  reserve  was  a  tiitle  In-low  its  normal  amount,  were  those  when  the 
quarterly  dividends  weie  l>cing  paid,  at  which  time  then-  is  always  an  extra  de- 
mand for  notes  to  the  amount  ot  alnmt  X'1.'2.">0,(MM(.  If  the  Hank,  then,  charges  0 
per  cent  when  its  reserve  is  thus  in  excess  of  what  has  ever  In-i-n  held  necessary, 
what  rates  will  it  not  charge  in  the  case  of  its  reserve  In-coming  seriously  dimin- 
ished ?  The  sole  object  of  maintaining  a  reserve  of  one-third  of  its  liabilities  is 
in  order  that  the  Hank  may  be  able  to  provide  for  the  temjKirary  diminutions 
which  naturally  occur,  without  disturbing  the  rate  of  interest  and  the  ordinary 
action  of  the  Hank.  A  reserve  which  is  always  in  reserve  is  manifestly  useless. 
Hut  this  nullification  of  the  greater  part  of  its  reserve  is  jiart  of  the  Hank's  new 
system  of  charging  more  for  its  advances,  and  thereby  throwing  a  new  burden 
upon  Trade. 


718 


The  Rate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


[June, 


shaken,  then — although  Trade  im- 
mediately contracts,  and  capital  as 
a  whole  becomes  in  less  demand — 
there  is,  or  may  be,  an  increased 
demand  for  loans  from  the  banks  : 
the  credit  of  banks,  as  corporate 
institutions,  being  of  course  firmer 
than  that  of  individuals.  This  state 
of  matters  is  visible  during  every 
great  crisis.  Finally,  and  most  fre- 
quently, a  rise  in  the  rate  of  interest 
takes  place  when  there  is  no  increas- 
ed demand  for  capital  at  all,  whe- 
ther banking  or  commercial,  but 
simply  owing  to  a  transient  increase 
in  the  demand  for  gold.  The  ordi- 
nary demand  for  banking  capital  is 
not  increased,  but  it  assumes  a  form 
embarrassing  to  banks.  And  in  or- 
der to  rid  themselves  of  this  em- 
barrassment, the  banks,  by  raising 
the  rate  of  interest,  adopt  a  policy 
which  always  depresses  Trade,  and 
sometimes  kills  it  outright, — killing 
commercial  credit  into  the  bargain, 
and  thereby,  despite  the  high  rate, 
temporarily  increasing  the  demand 
for  banking  capital. 

Any  one  who  carefully  examines 
the  monetary  and  commercial  his- 
tory of  this  country,  will  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  disasters  which 
befall  our  trade  proceed  from 
causes  external  to  it.  Many  of  our 
crises  are  occasioned  entirely  by 
the  action  of  the  banks  in  exorbit- 
antly raising  the  rate  of  interest, 
and  thereby  bringing  to  the  ground 
our  fabric  of  commercial  credit. 
And  in  every  case,  from  whatever 
cause  the  crises  may  originate,  the 
action  of  the  Bank  certainly  trebles 
the  magnitude  of  the  disaster. 
When  such  is  the  case,  it  is  surely 
of  paramount  importance  that  Trade 
should  be  allowed  to  protect  itself 
against  being  so  slaughtered,  and 
that  the  legislation  which,  by  pre- 
venting free  competition,  enables 
the  banks  to  bid  defiance  to  Trade, 
should  be  abolished.  It  is  for  the 
interest  of  banks  to  lend  money  at 
as  high  a  rate  as  they  can.  The 
interest  of  trade  and  industry  is  to 
get  loans  at  as  low  a  rate  as  pos- 
sible. Let  there  be  free  trade  in 


banking — let  each  bank  have  a 
means  of  lending  its  capital  inde- 
pendent of  the  others ;  and  then  the 
rival  interests  of  Trade  and  Banks 
will  be  settled  justly,  in  accordance 
with  the  natural  law  of  supply  and 
demand.  But  until  this  is  done, 
the  banks,  strong  in  their  mono- 
poly, are  enabled  to  disregard  the 
interests  of  Trade  with  impunity, 
and  to  think  only  of  extracting 
from  it  a  larger  share  of  its  profits. 

In  all  our  great  "  crises "  the 
monetary  element  predominates, 
and  produces  the  chief  portion  of 
the  mischief.  A  purely  commercial 
difficulty  is  easily  got  over.  It  is 
confined  almost  entirely  to  a  single 
branch  of  trade,  and  the  dilemma 
does  not  affect  the  general  industry 
of  the  country.  The  Cotton-dearth 
was  the  greatest  commercial  diffi- 
culty which  ever  befell  this  or 
any  other  country  ;  yet  it  was  sur- 
mounted with  comparatively  few 
failures  among  the  cotton-merch- 
ants and  manufacturers,  and  with- 
out any  disturbance  of  the  general 
trade  of  the  country.  But  had 
the  calamity  been  accompanied  by 
a  great  rise  in  the  Bank-rate,  the 
cotton  dealers  and  spinners,  instead 
of  merely  contracting  their  busi- 
ness, would  have  been  made  bank- 
rupt in  a  body  ;  and  a  crash  of 
credit  would  have  occurred  which 
would  have  extended  the  calam- 
ity to  every  branch  of  the  national 
industry. 

No  crises,  such  as  nowadays  afflict 
us,  ever  occur  when  trade  is  carried 
on  by  means  of  barter.  Why  is  this  1 
It  will  be  said,  doubtless,  "  Because, 
in  such  a  case,  there  is  little  trade." 
So  far  as  this  is  true,  it  is  equally 
true  that,  in  such  a  case,  there  is 
also  little  capital.  But  it  is  not 
true.  In  China,  for  example,  the 
amount  of  trade  carried  on  is  lit- 
erally enormous.  It  is  probably 
greater  than  in  all  Europe  put  to- 
gether. Yet  who  ever  heard  of  a 
great  commercial  crisis  in  China  1 
When  trade  is  carried  on,  either 
wholly  or  to  a  great  extent,  by 
means  of  barter,  commercial  diffi- 
culties occur,  just  as  they  do  in 


1865.] 


Tlie  Hate  of  Interest.— Part  II. 


•11) 


countries  where  payments  are  made 
in  money.  Hut  they  are  easily  sur- 
mounted,  for  there  is  no  extrinsic 
element  to  complicate  and  aggra- 
vate thorn,  lint  in  a  country  like 
ours,  where  all  contracts  are  made 
in  money,  and  where  there  is  a 
monopoly  of  the  issue  of  money, 
the  case  is  totally  different.  An 
alteration  in  the  value  of  money 
affects  all  industry  alike.  The  cur- 
rency is  a  medium  which  under- 
lies all  the  operations  of  trade,  and 
any  change  in  its  value  affects  the 
value  of  the  whole  property  of  the 
country.  In  proportion  as  the  value 
of  money  is  raised,  property  of  all 
kinds  is  depreciated.  >So  that  a 
rise  in  the  value  of  money,  occa- 
sioned by  the  action  of  the  banks 
(who  have  the  exclusive  right  of 
issuing  currency),  suffices  to  turn 
good  trade  into  bad,  converts  profit 
into  loss,  and  ruins  scores  of  firms 
who,  but  for  this  change  in  the 
value  of  their  goods  and  securities, 
would  be  perfectly  solvent,  and  in 
many  cases  wealthy.  For  example, 
when  the  value  of  money  is  increased 
3(>  per  cent,  as  usually  happens  when 
the  minimum  Bank-rate  is  raised 
to  10  per  cent,  the  selling  price  of 
goods,  stocks,  and  property  of  all 
kinds  is  proportionately  diminished. 
The  soundest  trade  cannot  stand 
when  subjected  to  such  a  trial. 
Moreover,  even  when  the  Bank-rate 
is  not  raised  in  this  exorbitant 
manner,  the  system  of  incessant 
fluctuations  in  the  value  of  money 
on  loan,  perpetually  subjects  trade 
to  difficulties  and  perplexities  which 
are  quite  extraneous  to  trade  itself. 
In  consequence  of  these  fluctua- 
tions, a  merchant's  stock-in-trade, 
and  also  the  securities  which  he 
holds  in  reserve,  are  constantly 
varying  in  value,  from  causes  over 
which  he  has  no  control,  and  which, 
in  most  cases,  it  is  impossible  to 
foresee, — such  changes  being  occa- 
sioned not  by  any  natural  increase 
or  diminution  in  the  demand  for 
the  merchant's  goods,  but  by  the 
variations  in  the  value  of  money, 
the  medium  or  basis  upon  which 
all  trade  is  carried  on.  As  Mr 


T.  Baring,  whose  shrewd  practical 
sagacity  is  perhaps  unequalled  in 
either  House  of  Parliament,  recently 
observed,  "A  constantly  varying 
rate  of  discount  is  a  positive  dis- 
advantage to  the  progress  of  trade 
in  any  country."  Yet  such  changes 
in  this  country  are  now  not  only 
incessant  in  frequency,  but  exorbi- 
tant in  amount.  They  now  take 
place  from  the  most  trifling  causes  : 
as  we  have  shown,  a  diminution 
of  a  couple  of  millions  in  the 
large  stock  of  gold  held  by  the 
Bank,  is  now  held  to  justify  a 
doubling  of  the  Bank-rate,  and  the 
exaction  of  exorbitant  terms  of  dis- 
count, which  of  themselves  pro- 
duce a  crisis,  however  sound  trade 
may  have  previously  been.  In  fact, 
all  the  great  ebbs  which  at  intervals 
take  place  in  the  progress  of  our 
national  industry  are  either  directly 
occasioned,  or  at  least  immensely 
magnified,  by  the  action  of  the  Bank 
in  preposterously  raising  the  rate  of 
discount.  The  policy  of  the  Bank 
constitutes  an  ever-recurrent  check 
upon  the  industrial  progress  of  the 
country. 

The  importance  to  Trade,  and  to 
the  general  welfare  of  the  country, 
of  a  right  monetary  system,  is  in- 
calculable. A  defective  monetary 
system  ever  and  anon  produces 
immense  mischief;  and  under  the 
present  Bank  Acts  the  country  is 
subjected  to  greater  hardships  than 
ever  yet  were  combined  in  any 
monetary  system.  Money  is  a  thing 
of  no  use  of  itself :  its  only  use  is 
to  facilitate  the  operations  of  in- 
dustry. A  good  monetary  system 
should  afford  the  means  of  assisting 
trade  to  surmount  the  temporary 
difficulties  which  occasionally  befall 
it.  The  banks  should  constitute  a 
reserve  of  credit  which  can  be  freely 
used  to  supplement  individual  cre- 
dit, and  to  uphold  the  fabric  of  com- 
mercial credit  upon  which  the  whole 
operations  of  industry  in  this  coun- 
try are  dependent.  And  this  is  what 
our  banks  originally  did.  The  Bank 
of  England  was  established  for  the 
very  purpose  of  assisting  the  Govern- 
ment and  country  to  surmount  a 


720 


The  Rate  of  Interest. — Part  II. 


[June, 


temporary  monetary  difficulty.  Our 
metallic  money  was  needed  abroad, 
to  carry  on  the  war  against  the 
Grand  Monarque  of  France;  and 
the  Bank  was  established  for  the 
purpose  of  interposing  its  credit  in 
the  form  of  bank-notes  to  fill  the 
void  in  the  currency.  In  issuing 
these  notes,  the  only  thing  it  had 
to  provide  for  was  their  convertibil- 
ity; and  to  insure  this,  a  stock  of 
specie  equal  to  one-fifth  of  the  notes 
issued,  was  found  to  be  amply  suffi- 
cient. But  facts  and  natural  laws 
are  quite  lost  sight  of  in  our  pres- 
ent monetary  legislation,  which  was 
framed  upon  a  bundle  and  jumble 
of  hypotheses  which  subsequent  ex- 
perience has  proved  to  be  wholly 
fallacious.  Moreover,  Banks  have 
become  so  powerful,  and  legislation 
lias  so  freed  them  from  the  correc- 
tive influence  of  free  competition, 
that  they  are  now  the  masters  and 
Trade  is  the  slave.  Trade's  extre- 
mity is  their  opportunity.  When 
trade  becomes  embarrassed,  instead 
of  helping  to  tide  over  the  difficulty, 
the  banks  only  see  in  it  an  oppor- 
tunity to  despoil  trade  to  their  own 
profit. 

It  is  true  that  the  extent  to  which 
the  Bank  raises  its  charges  at  such 
times  is  not  wholly  attributable  to 
the  Bank  itself.  The  limitation 
imposed  upon  its  note-issues  by  Act 
of  Parliament,  and  the  appropriation 
by  the  State  of  all  the  profits  upon 
its  issues  beyond  a  certain  amount, 
naturally  leads  the  Bank  to  charge 
higher  rates.  It  compensates  itself 
for  the  burdens  imposed  upon  it  by 
the  State  by  exacting  more  onerous 
terms  from  the  public.  And  as  it 
possesses  a  virtual  monopoly  of  the 
currency,  it  can  do  so  unchecked. 
In  truth,  nothing  can  be  more  ab- 
surd than  the  course  which  the 
State  at  present  adopts  towards  the 
Bank.  The  State  says  to  the  Bank, 
"  Owing  to  the  privileges  which  we 
conferred  upon  you  in  the  past, 
your  note-circulation  is  greatly  in 
excess  of  what  it  would  otherwise 
have  been ;  therefore  you  must  pay 
tis  a  large  sum  in  return  for  the 
profits  which  you  are  thus  enabled 


to  make."  But,  at  the  same  time, 
the  State  continues  to  the  Bank  its 
monopoly,  and  is  even  increasing 
it ;  so  that  the  Bank  can  virtually 
charge  what  it  likes  for  the  use 
of  its  notes.  And  in  this  way, 
whatever  imposts  the  State  exacts 
from  the  Bank,  the  Bank  in  turn 
transfers  to  the  shoulders  of  the 
public !  A  more  illusory  process 
was  never  conceived.  "  Let  us 
make  the  Bank  pay  for  its  privi- 
leges," say  the  wiseacres  at  the 
Treasury ;  "  it  is  only  right  that  it 
should  pay  for  its  monopoly."  Yet 
they  never  see,  what  any  school- 
boy might  see,  that  as  long  as  the 
Bank's  monopoly  is  continued,  it 
has  the  means  of  repaying  itself  for 
each  and  all  of  the  burdens  so  laid 
upon  it,  by  exacting  a  higher  rate  of 
charges  from  the  public.  And  this 
is  just  what  it  does.  Besides  the 
extreme  rates  of  9  and  10  per  cent 
which  the  Bank  charges  upon  most 
inadequate  grounds,  the  general 
level  of  the  Bank-rate  is  now  con- 
siderably higher  than,  under  similar 
circumstances,  it  used  to  be.  Trade 
is  mulcted  in  proportion,  and  has 
no  means  of  protecting  itself.  We 
say  again,  the  Bank  is  quite  justi- 
fied in  attending  to  its  own  interests, 
and  making  as  large  profits  as  it 
can ;  but  it  is  not  right  that  it  should 
be  allowed  to  do  so  without  being 
exposed  to  the  healthy  and  indis- 
pensable check  of  free  competition. 
It  is  needless  to  speak  of  the  es- 
sentially vicious  character  of  a  sys- 
tem of  monopoly.  In  this  country 
at  least,  the  principle  of  monopoly 
is  universally  condemned.  Free- 
dom of  trade  is  now  the  order  of 
the  day — the  great  principle  upon 
which  our  legislation  proceeds.  Yet, 
strange  to  say,  the  only  branch  of 
trade  still  invested  with  the  injuri- 
ous privilege  of  monopoly  is  the 
very  one  upon  which  all  other 
trades,  the  whole  industry  of  the 
country,  is  necessarily  dependent. 
In  order  that  trade  may  be  free, 
not  only  in  each  branch  of  it,  but 
as  a  whole,  there  must  be  freedom 
of  banking  also.  This  last  step  in 
the  completion  of  the  system  of  free 


1865.] 


JIo  w  to  ^f^d•e  a  Pcdiyrte. 


721 


competition  cannot,  we  think,  be 
much  longer  delayed. 

In  considering  the  measures  to 
be  taken  for  effecting  this  great 
object,  two  points  rise  promi- 
nently into  notice.  The  first  of 
these  is.  the  conditions  which  it 
is  advantageous  to  impose  upon  the 
issue  of  notes.  Under  the  present 
system,  no  rule  or  principle  at  all 
is  observed  in  the  framing  of  these 
conditions.  The  system — if  it  can 
be  so  called — is  a  veritable  chaos. 
There  is  one  rule  for  Scotland,  an- 
other for  Ireland,  and  another  for 
England.  In  England  also,  the 
conditions  imposed  upon  the  Bank 
of  England  are  totally  different 
from  those  imposed  upon  the  pro- 
vincial banks  of  issue  ;  while  the 
banks  established  since  1844  are  in 
a  distinct  category  by  themselves. 
Therefore,  it  is  needless  to  discuss 
the  merits  or  demerits  of  these  con- 
ditions, for  they  are  in  the  mass 
wholly  illogical,  a  confused  medley, 
a  mass  of  contradictions.  But 
secondly,  whatever  be  the  condi- 


tions which  it  i.s  expedient  to  im- 
pose upon  the  issue  of  paper-money 
— howsoever  stringent,  or  howso- 
ever lax — the  great  point  to  be  at- 
tended to  is,  that,  subject  to  these 
conditions,  every  bank-  alike  should 
hai-e  the  same  ]/<rt/'erf.  Every  bank 
should  bo,  in  this  respect,  in  the 
same  position.  The  law  should 
give  no  privileges  to  one  which  it 
withholds  from  the  others.  Each 
bank  should  have  the  means  of  em- 
ploying its  capital  and  credit  inde- 
pendent of  the  others.  This  prin- 
ciple, we  think,  is  so  obviously  just, 
and  advantageous  for  the  commun- 
ity, that  it  is  indisputable.  Whether 
this  result  should  be  attained  by 
allowing  banks  to  issue  notes  of 
their  own,  or  whether  they  should 
carry  on  business  by  means  of  notes 
issued  by  the  State,  is  a  separate 
and  very  important  question.  This 
question,  as  well  as  the  conditions 
to  be  observed  in  the  issue  of  notes, 
whether  by  the  banks  themselves 
or  by  the  State,  we  shall  discuss  in 
our  next  and  concluding  article. 


HOW     TO     MAKE     A      PEDIGREE.* 


A    NKW    SON(J. 


!'/  Gray." 

IF  you'd  like  a  goodly  tree 

"With  a  branching  pedigree, 
Where  you'll  stand  forth  in  full  ancestral  fame, 

Just  employ  an  antiquary, 

Who  will  humour  your  vagary, 
And  have  everything  endorsed  with  some  great  name. 

If  the  good  Bernard  Burke 

Will  but  put  it  in  his  work, 
And  he'll  scarcely  have  the  heart  to  say  you  nay, 

What  though  Garter  King  should  scowl, 

And  the  Scottish  Lyon  growl  ? 
There's  no  power  that  can  take  your  tree  away. 

Chorus  —  Oh  !  good  Bernard  Burke, 

Please  to  put  me  in  your  work, 

Sure  an  Irish  heart  will  never  say  me  nay  ; 
Then  though  Garter  King  may  scowl, 
And  the  Scottish  Lyon  growl, 

Where's  the  power  that  can  take  my  tree  away  ? 

*  See  an  amusing  and  interesting  little  volume,  the  production  obviously 
of  a  scientific  hand,  under  the  title  of  '  Popular  Genealogists  ;  or,  The  Art  of 
Pedigree-  making.'  Edinburgh  :  Edmonston  &  Douglas,  1605. 


722  How  to  Make  a  Pedigree.  [June, 

As  the  Highland  Bible  showed, 

There  were  Grants  before  the  Flood, 
And  the  Grants  still  believe  it  to  a  man  ; 

And  the  like  proof  you  can  bring 

That  the  Coultharts  were  the  thing 
Ere  our  own  Anno  Domini's  began. 

Just  delete  a  letter  here, 

And  insert  another  there, 
And  interpolate  what  balderdash  you  please  ; 

With  this  Soldier  and  Crusader, 

And  that  Viking  and  Invader, 
You  may  soon  have  the  best  of  pedigrees. 

Chorus — Then  if  good  Bernard  Burke 
Will  but  put  you  in  his  work, 

And  if  once  you're  there  you're  pretty  sure  to  stay, 
What  though  Garter  King  should  scowl, 
And  the  Scottish  Lyon  growl? 

There's  no  power  that  can  take  your  name  away. 

You  must  never  care  a  straw 

Though  anachronism  or  flaw 
Show  your  History  and  Heraldry  run  mad ; 

Though  your  Peer  was  but  a  Ploughman, 

And  you've  made  a  Man  a  Woman, 
And  you've  charters  when  no  charters  could  be  had. 

If  authorities  you're  scant  in, 

As  perhaps  they're  wholly  wanting, 
You  must  ne'er  on  that  account  lay  down  the  pen  ; 

Quote  Schiekfusius  and  Smiglesius, 

With  Pthubarbus  and  Magnesius, 
And  the  Devil's  self  can't  contradict  you  then. 

Chorus — Then  if  good  Bernard  Burke 

Will  but  put  them  in  his  work, 

You've  a  very  pretty  chance  that  there  they'll  stay; 
For  in  spite  of  Garter's  scowl, 
And  the  Scottish  Lyon's  growl, 

There's  no  power  that  can  take  such  stuff  away. 

But  I'll  give  you  here  a  hint, 

Your  ambitious  views  to  stint  ; 
There's  a  limit  that  a  wise  man  will  not  pass  : 

You  may  safely  vaunt  and  vapour 

While  it's  only  done  on  paper, 
But  you'd  better  keep  from  pannel  and  from  glass. 

For  if  there  you  lay  a  brush, 

It  may  put  you  to  the  blush, 
Should  the  Lyon  at  your  scutcheon  make  a  dash  ; 

If  your  Arms,  so  well  devised, 

Are  not  "  duly  authorised," 
All  your  quarters  may  some  morning  get  a  smash. 

Chorus — For  though  good  Bernard  Burke 
Might  still  keep  you  in  his  work, 

There  are  others  that  would  something  have  to  say: 
Old  Garter  with  his  law, 
And  the  Lyon  with  his  paw, 

Might  then  mercilessly  tear  your  Coat  away  ! 


1365.] 


Sir  lirook  Fossbrooke. — I' art  II, 


723 


Sill    IIKOOK    FOSSBROOKK. 


CIIAPTKIl    V.— TIIK    I'li'XIC    ON     ll'il.Y     ISLAND. 


FROM  the  day  that  Sir  lirook 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Tom 
Lendrirk  and  his  sister,  he  deter- 
mined he  would  "  pitch  his  tent," 
as  he  called  it,  for  some  time  at 
Killaloe.  They  had,  so  to  say,  cap- 
tivated the  old  man.  The  young 
fellow,  by  his  frank,  open,  manly 
nature,  his  ardent  love  of  sport  in 
every  shape,  his  invariable  good- 
humour,  and  more  than  all  these, 
by  the  unaffected  simplicity  of  his 
character,  had  strongly  interested 
him  ;  while  Lucy  had  made  a  far 
deeper  impression  by  her  gentle- 
ness, her  refinement,  an  elegance  in 
deportment  that  no  teaching  ever 
gives,  and,  along  with  these,  a  mind 
stored  with  thought  and  reflective- 
ness. Let  us,  however,  be  just  to 
each,  and  own  that  her  beauty  and 
the  marvellous  fascination  of  her 
smile,  gave  her,  even  in  that  old 
man's  eyes,  an  irresistible  charm. 
It  was  a  very  long  bygone,  but  he 
had  once  been  in  love,  and  the 
faint  flicker  of  the  memory  had  yet 
survived  in  his  heart.  It  was  just 
as  likely  Lucy  bore  no  resemblance 
to  her  he  had  loved,  but  he  fancied 
she  did — he  imagined  that  she  was 
her  very  image.  That  was  the 
smile,  the  glance,  the  tone,  the  ges- 
ture, which  once  had  set  his  heart 
a  throbbing,  and  the  illusion  threw 
around  her  an  immense  fascination. 

She  liked  him,  too.  Through  all 
the  strange  incongruities  of  his 
character,  his  restless  love  of  ad- 
venture and  excitement,  there  ran 
a  gentle  liking  for  quiet  pleasures. 
He  loved  scenery  passionately,  and 
with  a  painter's  taste  for  colour 
and  form  ;  he  loved  poetry,  which 
he  read  with  a  wondrous  charm  of 
voice  and  intonation.  Nor  was  it 
without  its  peculiar  power,  this 
homage  of  an  old  old  man,  who 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCVI. 


rendered  her  the  attentive  service 
of  a  devoted  admirer. 

There  is  a  very  subtle  flattering 
in  the  obsequious  devotion  of  age 
to  youth.  It  is,  at  least,  an  honest 
worship,  an  unselfish  offering,  and 
in  this  way  the  object  of  it  may 
well  feel  proud  of  its  tribute. 

From  the  Vicar,  l)r  .Mills,  Foss- 
brooke  had  learned  the  chief  events 
of  Dr  Lendrick's  history,  of  his  es- 
trangement from  his  father,  his  fas- 
tidious retirement  from  the  world, 
nnd  last  of  all  his  narrow  fortune, 
apparently  now  growing  narrower, 
since  within  the  hist  year  he  had 
withdrawn  his  son  from  the  Univer- 
sity on  the  score  of  its  expense. 

A  gold-medallist  and  a  scholar, 
I)r  Lendrick  would  have  eagerly 
coveted  such  honours  for  his  son. 
It  was  probably  the  one  triumph  in 
life  he  would  have  set  most  store  by, 
but  Tom  was  one  not  made  for  col- 
legiate successes.  He  had  abilities, 
but  they  were  not  teachable  quali- 
ties ;  he  could  pick  up  a  certain 
amount  of  almost  anything,  —  he 
could  learn  nothing.  He  could 
carry  away  from  a  chance  conver- 
sation an  amount  of  knowledge  it 
had  cost  the  talkers  years  to  ac- 
quire, and  yet,  set  him  down  regu- 
larly to  work  book  -  fashion,  and 
either  from  want  of  energy,  or  con- 
centration, or  of  that  strong  will 
which  masters  difficulties,  just -as 
a  full  current  carries  all  before  it — 
whichever  of  these  was  his  defect 
— he  arose  from  his  task  wearied, 
worn,  but  unadvanced. 

When,  therefore,  his  father  would 
speak,  as  he  sometimes  did  in  con- 
fidence to  the  Vicar,  in  a  tone  of 
depression  about  Tom's  deficiencies, 
the  honest  parson  would  feel  per- 
fectly lost  in  amazement  at  what  he 
meant  To  his  eyes  Tom  Lendrick 
3c 


724 


Sir  Brook  FossbrooJce. — Part  II. 


[June, 


was  a  wonder,  a  prodigy.  There 
was  not  a  theme  he  could  not  talk 
on,  and  talk  well  too.  "  It  was 
but  the  other  day  he  told  the  chief 
engineer  of  the  Shannon  Company 
more  about  the  geological  forma- 
tion of  the  river-basin  than  all  his 
staff  knew.  Ay,  and  what's  stran- 
ger," added  the  Vicar,  "  he  under- 
stands the  whole  Colenso  contro- 
versy better  than  I  do  myself.'' 
It  is  just  possible  that  in  the  last 
panegyric  there  was  nothing  of  ex- 
aggeration or  excess.  "  And  with 
all  that,  sir,  his  father  goes  on 
brooding  over  his  neglected  educa- 
tion, and  foreshadowing  the  worst 
results  from  his  ignorance." 

"  He  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Foss- 
brooke,  "  but  not  to  be  compared 
with  his  sister." 

"  Not  for  mere  looks,  perhaps, 
nor  for  a  graceful  manner,  and  a 
winning  address  ;  but  who  would 
think  of  ranking  Lucy's  abilities 
with  her  brother's  ?" 

"Not  I,"  saidFossbrooke,  boldly, 
"for  I  place  hers  far  and  away 
above  them." 

A  sly  twinkle  of  the  Parson's  eye 
showed  to  what  class  of  advantages 
he  ascribed  the  other's  preference  ; 
but  he  said  no  more,  and  the  con- 
troversy ended. 

Every  morning  found  Sir  Brook 
at  the  Swan's  Nest.  He  was  fond 
of  gardening,  and  had  consummate 
taste  in  laying  out  ground,  so  that 
many  pleasant  surprises  had  been 
prepared  for  Dr  Lendrick's  return. 
He  drew,  too,  with  great  skill,  and 
Lucy  made  considerable  progress 
under  his  teaching  ;  and  as  they 
grew  more  intimate,  and  she  was 
not  ashamed  of  the  confession  that 
she  delighted  in  the  Georgics  of 
Virgil,  they  read  whole  hours  to- 
gether of  those  picturesque  descrip- 
tions of  rural  life  and  its  occiipa- 
tions,  which  are  as  true  to  nature 
at  this  hour  as  on  the  day  they 
were  written. 

Perhaps  the  old  man  fancied  that 
it  was  he  who  had  suggested  this 
intense  appreciation  of  the  poet. 
It  is  just  possible  that  the  young 


girl  believed  that  she  had  re- 
claimed a  wild,  erratic,  eccentric 
nature,  and  brought  him  back  to 
the  love  of  simple  pleasures  and  a 
purer  source  of  enjoyment.  Which- 
ever way  the  truth  inclined,  each 
was  happy,  each  contented.  And 
how  fond  are  we  all,  of  every  age, 
of  playing  the  missionary,  of  setting 
off  into  the  savage  districts  of  our 
neighbours'  natures  and  combat- 
ing their  false  idols,  their  supersti- 
tions and  strange  rites  !  The  least 
adventurous  and  the  least  imagina- 
tive have  these  little  outbursts  of 
conversion,  and  all  are  more  or  less 
propagandists. 

It  was  one  morning,  a  bright  and 
glorious  one  too,  that  while  Tom 
and  Lucy  were  yet  at  breakfast 
Sir  Brook  arrived  and  entered  the 
breakfast-room. 

"  What  a  day  for  a'  grey  hackle, 
in  that  dark  pool  under  the  larch 
trees  !"  cried  Tom,  as  he  saw  him. 

"  What  a  day  for  a  long  walk  to 
Mount  Laurel ! "  said  Lucy.  "You 
said,  t'other  morning,  you  wanted 
cloud  effects  on  the  upper  lake.  I'll 
show  you  splendid  ones  to-day." 

"  I'll  promise  you  a  full  basket  be- 
fore four  o'clock,"  broke  in  Tom. 

"  I'll  promise  you  a  full  sketch- 
book," said  Lucy,  with  one  of  her 
sweetest  smiles. 

"  And  I'm  going  to  refuse  both  ; 
for  I  have  a  plan  of  my  own,  and  a 
plan  not  to  be  gainsaid." 

"  I  know  it.  You  want  us  to  go 
to  work  on  that  fish-pond.  I'm 
certain  it's  that." 

"  No,  Tom  ;  it's  the  catalogue — 
the  weary  catalogue  that  he  told  me, 
as  a  punishment  for  not  being  able 
to  find  Machiavelli's  Comedies  last 
week,  he'd  make  me  sit  down  to 
on  the  first  lovely  morning  that 
came." 

"  Better  that  than  those  dreary 
Georgics,  which  remind  one  of 
school,  and  the  third  form.  But 
what's  your  plan,  Sir  Brook  ?  We 
have  thought  of  all  the  projects  that 
can  terrify  us,  and  you  look  as  if  it 
ought  to  be  a  terror." 

"  Mine  is  a  plan  for  pleasure,  and 


1SG5.] 


Sir  Brook  Fosslrookf.  —Part  II. 


725 


pleasure  only  ;  so  pack  up  at  once, 
ami  get  ready.  Trafford  arrived 
this  morning." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  I  am  so  glad ! 
Where's  Trafford  f"  cried  Tom,  de- 
lighted. 

"  I  have  despatched  him  with  the 
Vicar  and  two  well-filled  hampers 
to  Holy  Island,  where  I  mean  that 
we  shall  all  picnic.  There's  my 
plan." 

"And  a  jolly  plan,  too  !  I  adhere 
unconditionally." 

"And  you,  Lucy,  what  do  you 
say  I "  tusked  Sir  Brook,  as  the 
young  girl  stood  with  a  look  of 
some  indecision  and  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  I  don't  say  that  it's  not  a  very 
pleasant  project,  but — 

"  But  what,  Lucy  ?  Where's  the 
but?" 

She  whispered  a  few  words  in  his 
ear,  and  he  cried  out,"  Isn't  this  too 
bad  ?  She  tells  me  Nicholas  does 
not  like  all  this  gaiety;  that  Nicho- 
las disapproves  of  our  mode  of  life." 

"  No,  Tom  ;  I  only  said  Nicholas 
thinks  that  papa  would  not  like  it." 

"  Couldn't  we  see  Nicholas  ? 
Couldn't  we  have  a  commission 
to  examine  Nicholas  1 "  asked  Sir 
Brook,  laughingly. 

"  I'll  not  be  on  it,  that's  all  I 
know  ;  for  I  should  finish  by  chuck- 
ing the  witness  into  the  Shannon. 
Come  along,  Lucy  ;  don't  let  us  lose 
this  glorious  morning.  I'll  get  some 
lines  and  hooks  together.  Be  sure 
you're  ready  when  I  come  back." 

As  the  door  closed  after  him,  Sir 
Brook  drew  near  to  Lucy  where  she 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  doubt  and 
hesitation.  "  I  mustn't  risk  your 
good  opinion  of  me  rashly.  If  you 
really  dislike  this  excursion,  I  will 
give  it  up,"  said  he,  in  a  low  gentle 
voice. 

"  Dislike  it  }  No  :  far  from  it. 
I  suspect  I  would  enjoy  it  more 
than  any  of  you.  My  reluctance 
was  simply  on  the  ground  that  all 
this  is  so  unlike  the  life  we  have 
been  leading  hitherto.  Papa  will 
surely  disapprove  of  it.  Oh,  there 
comes  Nicholas  with  a  letter ! "  cried 


she,  opening  the  sash  -  window. 
"  Give  it  to  me  ;  it  is  from  papa." 

She  broke  the  seal  hurriedly,  and 
ran  rapidly  over  the  lines.  "Oh, 
yes  !  I  will  go  now,  and  go  with  de- 
light too.  It  is  full  of  good  news. 
He  is  to  see  grandpapa,  if  not  to- 
morrow, the  day  after.  He  hopes 
all  will  be  well.  Papa  knows  your 
name.  Sir  Brook.  He  says,  '  Ask 
your  friend  Sir  Brook  if  he  be  any 
relative  of  a  Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke 
who  rescued  Captain  Langton  some 
forty  years  ago  from  a  Neapolitan 
prison.  The  print-shops  were  filled 
with  his  likeness  when  I  was  a  boy.' 
Was  he  one  of  your  family?"  in- 
quired she,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  I  am  the  man,"  said  he,  calmly 
and  coldly.  "  Langton  was  sen- 
tenced to  the  galleys  for  life  for 
having  struck  the  Count  d'Aconi 
across  the  face  with  his  glove  ;  and 
the  Count  was  nephew  to  the  King. 
They  had  him  at  Capri  working  in 
chains,  and  I  landed  with  my  yacht's 
crew  and  liberated  him." 

"  What  a  daring  thing  to  do  !  " 

"  Not  so  daring  as  you  fancy. 
The  guard  was  surprised,  and  fled. 
It  was  only  when  reinforced  that 
they  showed  fight.  Our  toughest 
enemies  were  the  galley-slaves, 
who,  when  they  discovered  that  we 
never  meant  to  liberate  them,  at- 
tacked us  with  stones.  This  scar 
on  my  temple  is  a  memorial  of  the 
affair." 

"  And  Langton,  what  became  of 
him  ? " 

"  He  is  now  Lord  Burrowfield. 
He  gave  me  two  fingers  to  shake 
the  last  time  I  met  him  at  the  Tra- 
vellers." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that !  Oh,  don't 
tell  me  of  such  ingratitude  !  " 

"  My  dear  child,  people  usually 
regard  gratitude  tus  a  debt,  which, 
once  acknowledged,  is  acquitted  ; 
and  perhaps  they  are  right.  It 
makes  all  intercourse  freer  and  less 
trammelled." 

"  Here  comes  Tom.  May  I  tell 
him  this  story,  or  will  you  tell  him 
yourself  ? " 

"  Not    either,    my    dear    Lucy. 


Sir  Broolc  Fossbrooke. — Part  IT. 


[June, 


Your  brother's  blood  is  over-hot  as 
it  is.  Let  him  not  have  any  prompt- 
ings to  such  exploits  as  these." 

"But  I  may  tell  papal" 

"  Just  as  well  .not,  Lucy.  There 
were  scores  of  wild  things  attri- 
buted to  me  in  those  days.  He 
may  possibly  remember  some  of 
them,  and  begin  to  suspect  that  his 
daughter  might  be  in  better  com- 
pany." 

"  How  was  it  that  you  never  told 
me  of  this  exploit  1 "  asked  she, 
looking  not  without  admiration  at 
the  hard  stern  features  before  her. 

"  My  dear  child,  egotism  is  the 
besetting  sin  of  old  people,  and  even 
the  most  cautious  lapse  into  it  oc- 
casionally. Set  me  once  a-talking 
of  myself,  all  my  prudence,  all  my 
reserve  vanishes  ;  so  that  as  a  meas- 
ure of  safety  for  my  friends  and  my- 
self too,  I  avoid  the  theme  when  I 
can.  There  !  Tom  is  beckoning  to 
us.  Let  us  go  to  him  at  once." 

Holy  Island,  or  Inishcaltra,  to 
give  it  its  Irish  name,  is  a  wild 
spot,  with  little  remarkable  about 
it,  save  the  ruins  of  seven  churches 
and  a  curious  well  of  fabulous 
depth.  It  was,  however,  a  favourite 
spot  with  the  Vicar,  whose  taste  in 
localities  was  somehow  always  as- 
sociated with  some  feature  of  festi- 
vity, the  great  merit  of  the  present 
spot  being  that  you  could  dine 
without  any  molestation  from  beg- 
gars. In  such  estimation,  indeed, 
did  he  hold  the  class,  that  he  seri- 
iously  believed  their  craving  impor- 
tunity to  be  one  of  the  chief  reasons 
of  dyspepsia,  and  was  profoundly 
convinced  that  the  presence  of  La- 
zarus at  his  gate  counterbalanced 
many  of  the  goods  which  fortune 
had  bestowed  upon  Dives. 

"  Here  we  dine  in  real  comfort," 
said  he,  as  he  seated  himself  under 
the  shelter  of  an  ivy-covered  wall, 
with  a  wide  reach  of  the  lake  at 
his  feet. 

"  When  I  come  back  from  Cali- 
fornia with  that  million  or  two," 
said  Tom,  "  I'll  build  a  cottage 
here,  where  we  can  all  come  and 
dine  continually." 


"  Let  us  keep  the  anniversary  of 
the  present  day  as  a  sort  of  founda- 
tion era,"  said  the  Vicar. 

"  I  like  everything  that  promises 
pleasure,"  said  Sir  Brook,  "  but  I 
like  to  stipulate  that  we  do  not  draw 
too  long  a  bill  on  Fortune.  Think 
how  long  a  year  is.  This  time 
twelvemonth,  for  example,  you,  my 
dear  Doctor,  may  be  a  bishop,  and 
not  over  inclined  to  these  harmless 
levities.  Tom  there  will  be,  as  he 
hints,  gold-crushing,  at  the  end  of 
the  earth.  Trafford,  not  improba- 
bly, ruling  some  rajah's  kingdom  in 
the  far  East.  Of  your  destiny,  fair 
Lucy,  brightest  of  all,  it  is  not  for 
me  to  speak.  Of  my  own  it  is  not 
worth  speaking." 

"  Nolo  episcopari,"  said  the  Vicar; 
"  pass  me  the  madeira." 

"  You  forget,  perhaps,  that  is  the 
phrase  for  accepting  the  mitre," 
said  Sir  Brook,  laughing.  "  Bishops, 
like  belles,  say  No  when  they  mean 
Yes." 

"  And  who  told  you  that  belles 
did  1"  broke  in  Lucy.  "I  am  in  a 
sad  minority  here,  but  I  stand  up 
for  my  sex." 

"  I  repeat  a  popular  prejudice, 
fair  lady." 

"  And  Lucy  will  not  have  it  that 
belles  are  as  illogical  as  bishops  ] 
I  see  I  was  right  in  refusing  the 
bench,"  said  the  Vicar. 

"  What  bright  boon  of  Fortune  is 
Trafford  meditating  the  rejection 
of  1"  said  Sir  Brook;  and  the  young 
fellow's  cheek  grew  crimson  as  he 
tried  to  laugh  off  the  reply. 

"Who  made  this  salad'?"  cried 
Tom. 

"  It  was  I ;  who  dares  to  ques- 
tion it  1 "  said  Lucy.  "  The  Doctor 
has  helped  himself  twice  to  it,  and 
that  test  I  take  to  be  a  certificate  to 
character." 

"  I  used  to  have  some  skill  in 
dressing  a  salad,  but  I  have  fore- 
gone the  practice  for  many  a  day ; 
my  culinary  gift  got  me  sent  out  of 
Austria  in  twenty-four  hours.  Oh, 
it's  nothing  that  deserves  the  name 
of  a  story,"  said  Sir  Brook,  as  the 
others  looked  at  him  for  an  explana- 


1865.1 


Sir  Lrouk  Fvs&bro<;kf. — Part  II. 


T27 


tion.  "  It  was  as  long  ago  as  the 
year  1MHJ.  Sir  Hubert  Adair  had 
been  our  minister  at  Vienna,  when, 
a  rupture  taking  place  between  the 
two  (.ioverninents,  lie  was  recalled. 
He  did  not,  however,  return  to 
Kngland,  but  continued  to  live  as  a 
private  citizen  at  Vienna.  Strangely 
enough,  from  the  moment  that  our 
embassy  ceased  to  be  recognised  by 
the  (lovernment,  our  countrymen 
became  objects  of  especial  civility. 
I  myself,  amongst  the  rest,  was  the 
Licit -if mi  in  some  of  the  great 
houses,  and  even  invited  by  Count 
C'obourg  Cohari  to  tliosc  dejeuners 
which  he  gave  with  such  splendour 
at  Maria  Hiilfe. 

"  At  one  of  these,  as  a  dish  of 
salad  was  handed  round,  instead  of 
eating  it,  like  the  others,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a  very  complicated 
dressing  for  it  on  my  plate,  calling 
for  various  condiments,  and  season- 
ing my  mess  in  a  most  retined  and 
ingenious  manner.  Xo  sooner  had 
I  given  the  finishing  touch  to  my 
great  achievement  when  the  Grand- 
duchess  Sophia,  who  it  seems  had 
watched  the  whole  performance, 
sent  a  servant  round  to  beg  that  I 
would  send  her  my  plate.  She  ac- 
companied the  request  with  a  little 
bow  and  a  smile  whose  charm  I  can 
still  recall.  Whatever  the  reason, 
before  I  awoke  next  morning  an 
agent  of  the  police  entered  my  room 
and  informed  me  my  passports  were 
made  out  for  Dresden,  and  that  his 
orders  were  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
his  society  till  I  crossed  the  frontier. 
There  was  no  minister,  no  envoy  to 
appeal  to,  and  nothing  left  but  to 
comply.  J'hey  said(!o, and  1  went." 

"  And  all  for  a  dish  of  salad  1  " 
cried  the  Vicar. 

"  All  for  the  bright  eyes  of  an 
Archduchess,  rather,"  broke  in  Lucy, 
laughing. 

The  old  man's  grateful  smile  at 
the  compliment  to  his  gallantry 
showed  how,  even  in  a  heart  so 
world-worn,  the  vanity  of  youth 
survived. 

"1  declare  it  was  very  hard,"  said 
Tom — "  precious  hard." 


"  If  you  mean  to  give  up  the  sa- 
lad, so  think  1  too,"  cried  the  Vicar. 

"  I'll  be  .shot  if  I'd  have  gone," 
broke  in  Traffbrd. 

"  Y'ou'd  probably  have  been  shot 
if  you  had  stayed,"  replied  Tom. 

"  There  are  things  we  .submit  to 
in  life,  not  because  the  penalty  of 
resistance  atTrights  us,  but  because 
we  half  acquiesce  in  their  justice. 
You,  for  instance,  Tratl'ord,  are  well 
pleased  to  be  here  on  leave,  and  en- 
joy yourself,  as  1  take  it,  consider- 
ably ;  and  yet  the  call  of  duty — 
some  very  commonplace  duty,  per- 
haps— would  make  you  return  to- 
morrow in  all  haste." 

"  Of  course  it  would,"  said  Lucy. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  it,"  murmured 
Trafford,  sullenly;  "I'd  rather  go 
into  close  arrest  for  a  week  than  I'd 
lose  this  day  here." 

"  Bravo  !  here's  your  health, 
Lionel,"  cried  Tom.  "  I  do  like  to 
hear  a  fellow  say  he  is  willing  to 
pay  the  cost  of  what  pleases  him." 

"  I  must  preach  wholesome  doc- 
trine, my  young  friends,"  broke  in 
the  Vicar.  "  Now  that  we  have 
dined  well,  I  would  like  to  say  a 
word  on  abstinence." 

"  You  mean  to  take  no  coffee,  Doc- 
tor, then  f"  asked  Lucy,  laughing. 

"That  I  do,  my  sweet  child — 
coffee  and  a  pipe  too,  for  I  know 
you  are  tolerant  of  tobacco." 

"  I  hope  she  is,"  said  Tom,  "  or 
she'd  have  a  poor  time  of  it  in  the 
house  with  me. 

"  I'll  put  no  coercion  upon  my 
tastes  on  this  occasion,  for  I'll  take 
a  stroll  through  the  ruins,  and  leave 
you  to  your  wine,"  said  she,  ri.-ing. 

They  protested  in  a  mass  against 
her  going.  "  We  cannot  lock  the 
door,  Lucy,  <le  facto,"  said  Sir 
Brook,  "  but  we  do  it  figuratively." 

"  And  in  that  case  I  make  my 
escape  by  the  window,"  said  she, 
springing  through  an  old  lancet- 
shaped  orifice  in  the  Abbey  wall. 

"  There  goes  down  the  sun  and 
leaves  us  but  a  grey  twilight,"  said 
Sir  Brook,  mournfully,  as  he  looked 
after  her.  "  If  there  were  only 
enough  beauty  on  earth  I  verily  be- 


728 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  II. 


[June, 


lieve  we  might  dispense  with  par- 
sons." 

"  Push  me  over  the  bird's-eye, 
and  let  me  nourish  myself  till  your 
millennium  comes,"  said  the  Vicar. 

"  What  a  charming  girl  she  is  ! 
her  very  beauty  fades  away  before 
the  graceful  attraction  of  her  man- 
ner !  "  whispered  Sir  Brook  to  the 
Doctor. 

"  Oh,  if  you  but  knew  her  as  I 
do  !  If  you  but  knew  ho\v,  sacri- 
ficing all  the  springtime  of  her 
bright  youth,  she  has  never  had  a 
thought  save  to  make  herself  the 
companion  of  her  poor  father — a 
sad,  depressed,  sorrow-struck  man, 
only  rescued  from  despair  by  that 
companionship  !  I  tell  you,  sir, 
there  is  more  courage  in  submitting 
one's  self  to  the  nature  of  another 
than  in  facing  a  battery." 

Sir  Brook  grasped  the  Parson's 
hand  and  shook  it  cordially.  The 
action  spoke  more  than  any  words. 
"And  the  brother,  Doctor — what 
say  you  of  the  brother  ] "  whispered 
he. 

"  One  of  those  that  the  old  adage 
says  '  either  makes  the  spoon  or 
spoils  the  horn.'  That's  Master 
Tom  there." 

Low  as  the  words  were  uttered 
they  caught  the  sharp  ears  of  him 
they  spoke  of,  and  with  a  laughing 
eye  he  cried  out,  "What's  that  evil 
prediction  you're  uttering  about  me, 
Doctor?" 

"  I  am  just  telling  Sir  Brook  here 
that  it's  pure  head  and  tails  how 
you  turn  out.  There's  stuff  in  you 
to  make  a  hero,  but  it's  just  as  like- 
ly you'll  stop  short  at  a  highway- 
man." 

"  I  think  I  could  guess  which  of 
the  two  would  best  suit  the  age  we 
live  in,"  said  Tom,  gaily.  "Are 
we  to  have  another  bottle  of  that 
madeira,  for  I  suspect  I  see  the 
Doctor  putting  up  the  corkscrew1?" 

"You  are  to  have  no  more  wine 
than  what's  before  you  till  you  land 
me  at  the  quay  of  Killaloe.  When 
temperance  means  safety  as  well  as 
forbearance,  it's  one  of  the  first  of 
virtues." 


The  Vicar,  indeed,  soon  grew  im- 
patient to  depart.  Fine  as  the 
evening  was  then,  it  might  change. 
There  was  a  feeling,  too,  not  of 
damp,  but  chilliness ;  at  all  events, 
he  was  averse  to  being  on  the 
water  late,  and  as  he  was  the  great 
promoter  of  these  little  convivial 
gatherings,  his  word  was  law. 

It  is  not  easy  to  explain  how  it 
happened  that  Trafford  sat  beside 
Lucy.  Perhaps  the  trim  of  the  boat 
required  it  ;  certainly,  however, 
nothing  required  that  the  Vicar, 
who  sat  next  Lucy  on  the  other 
side,  should  fall  fast  asleep  almost 
as  soon  as  he  set  foot  on  board. 
Meanwhile,  Sir  Brook  and  Tom  had 
engaged  in  an  animated  discussion 
as  to  the  possibility  of  settling  in 
Ireland  as  a  man  settles  in  some 
lone  island  in  the  Pacific,  teaching 
the  natives  a  few  of  the  needs  of 
civilisation  and  picking  up  a  few 
convenient  ways  of  theirs  in  turn, 
Sir  Brook  warming  with  the  theme 
so  far  as  to  exclaim  at  last,  "  If  I 
only  had  a  few  of  those  thousands 
left  me  which  I  lost,  squandered, 
or  gave  away,  I'd  try  the  scheme, 
and  you  should  be  my  lieutenant, 
Tom." 

It  was  one  of  those  projects,  very 
pleasant  in  their  way,  where  men 
can  mingle  the  serious  with  the 
ludicrous — where  actual  wisdom 
may  go  hand  in  hand  with  down- 
right absurdity ;  and  so  did  they 
both  understand  it,  mingling  the 
very  sagest  reflections  with  projects 
the  wildest  and  most  eccentric. 
Their  life,  as  they  sketched  it,  was 
to  be  almost  savage  in  freedom,  un- 
trammelled by  all  the  tiresome  con- 
ventionalities of  the  outer  world, 
and  at  the  same  time  offering  such 
an  example  of  contentedness  and 
comfort  as  to  shame  the  condition 
of  all  without  the  Pale, 

They  agreed  that  the  Vicar  must 
join  them  —  he  should  be  their 
Bishop.  He  might  grumble  a  little 
at  first  about  the  want  of  hot 
plates  or  finger-glasses,  but  he 
would  soon  fall  into  their  ways,  and 
some  native  squaw  would  console 


1865.] 


Sir  Brook  Foubrookf.—Part  II. 


729 


him  for  the  loss  of  Mrs  Brennan's 
housekeeping  gifts. 

And  T nifford  and  Lucy  nil  this 
time — what  did  they  talk  of  I  Did 
they,  too,  imagine  n  future  and  plan 
out  a  life-road  in  company  I  Far 
too  timid  for  that — they  lingered 
over  the  past,  each  asking  some 
trait  of  the  other's  childhood,  eager 
to  hear  any  little  incident  which 
might  mark  character  or  indicate 
temper.  And  at  last  they  came 
down  to  the  present — to  the  very 
hour  they  lived  in,  and  laughingly 
wondered  at  the  intimacy  that  had 
grown  uj)  between  them.  "  Only 
twelve  (lays  to-morrow  since  we 
first  met,"  said  Lucy,  and  her  colour 
rose  as  she  said  it,  "  and  here  we 
are  talking  away  as  if — ;is  if — 

''As  if  what  I"  cried  he,  only  by 
nn  effort  suppressing  her  name  as 
it  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  As  if  we  knew  each  other  for 
years.  To  me  it  seems  the  strangest 
thing  in  the  world  —  1  who  have 
never  had  friendships  or  compan- 
ionships. To  you,  I  have  no  doubt, 
it  is  common  enough." 

"  But  it  is  not,"  cried  he,  eagerly. 
"  Such  fortune  never  befell  me  be- 
fore. I  have  gone  a  good  deal 
into  life — seen  scores  of  people  in 
country-houses  and  the  like  ;  but  I 
never  met  any  one  before  1  could 
speak  to  of  myself, — I  mean,  that  I 
had  courage  to  tell — not  that  ex- 
actly—  but  that  I  wanted  them  to 
know  I  wasn't  so  bad  a  fellow — so 
reckless  or  so  heartless  as  people 
thought  me." 

"And  is  that  the  character  you 
bear  T  said  she,  with,  though  not 


visible  to  him,  a  faint  smile  on  her 
mouth. 

"  1  think  it's  what  my  family 
would  say  of  me, —  1  mean  now,  for 
once  on  a  time  1  was  a  favourite  at 
home." 

"  And  why  are  you  not  still  /" 

"  Because  I  was  extravagant  ; 
because  1  went  into  debt ;  because 
I  got  very  easily  into  scrapes,  and 
very  badly  out  of  them — not  dis- 
honourably, mind  ;  the  scrapes  I 
speak  of  were  money  troubles,  and 
they  brought  me  into  collision 
with  my  governor.  That  was  how 
it  came  about  1  was  sent  over  here. 
They  meant  as  a  punishment  what 
has  turned  out  the  greatest  happi- 
ness of  my  life." 

"  How  cold  the  water  is,"  said 
Lucy,  as,  taking  off  her  glove,  she 
suffered  her  hand  to  dip  in  the 
water  beside  the  boat. 

'•  Deliciously  cold,"  said  he,  as, 
plunging  in  his  hand,  he  managed, 
as  though  by  accident,  to  touch 
hers.  She  drew  it  rapidly  away, 
however,  and  then,  to  prevent  the 
conversation  returning  to  its  former 
channel,  said  aloud,  "  What  are 
you  laughing  over  so  heartily,  Sir 
Brook  (  You  and  Tom  appear  to 
have  fallen  upon  a  mine  of  drollery. 
Do  share  it  with  us." 

"  You  shall  hear  it  all  one  of 
these  days.  Lucy.  Jog  the  Doctor's 
arm  now  and  wake  him  up,  for  I 
see  the  lights  at  the  boathouse, 
and  we  shall  soon  be  on  shore." 

"  And  sorry  1  am  for  it,"  mut- 
tered Trafford,  in  a  whisper  :  "  I 
wish  this  night  could  be  drawn  out 
to  years." 


(  II\riK.ll    VI. — WAIT1NO    ON. 


On  the  sixth  day  after  Dr  Len- 
drick's  arrival  in  Dublin — a  fruit- 
less journey  so  far  as  any  hope  of 
reconciliation  was  concerned — he 
resolved  to  return  home.  His 
friend  Beattie,  however,  induced 
him  to  delay  his  departure  to  the 
next  day,  clinging  to  some  small 
hope  from  a  few  words  that  had 


dropped  from  Sir  William  on  that 
same  morning.  "  Let  me  see  you 
to-night.  Doctor  ;  I  have  a  note  to 
show  you  which  1  could  not  to-day 
with  all  these  people  about  me." 
Now  the  people  in  question  resolved 
themselves  into  one  person,  Lady 
Lendrii-k,  who  indeed  bustled  into 
the  room  and  out  of  it,  slammed 


730 


Sir  Brook  Fossbroolce. — Part  II. 


[June, 


doors  and  upset  chairs  in  a  fashion 
that  might  well  have  excused  the 
exaggeration  that  converted  her 
into  a  noun  of  multitude.  A  very 
warm  altercation  had  occurred,  too, 
iu  the  Doctor's  presence  with  re- 
ference to  some  letter  from  India, 
which  Lady  Lendrick  was  urging 
Sir  William  to  reply  to,  but  which 
he  firmly  declared  he  would  not 
answer. 

"  How  I  am  to  treat  a  man  sub- 
ject to  such  attacks  of  temper,  so 
easily  provoked,  and  so  incessantly 
irritated,  is  not  clear  to  me.  At  all 
events  I  will  see  him  to-night,  and 
hear  what  he  has  to  say  to  me.  I 
am  sure  it  has  no  concern  with  this 
letter  from  India."  With  these 
words  Beattie  induced  his  friend  to 
defer  his  journey  for  another  day. 

It  was  a  long  and  anxious  day  to 
poor  Lendrick.  It  was  not  alone 
that  he  had  to  suffer  the  bitter  dis- 
appointment of  all  his  hopes  of 
being  received  by  his  father  and 
admitted  to  some  gleam  of  future 
favour,  but  he  had  discovered  that 
certain  debts  which  he  had  believed 
long  settled  by  the  Judge  were  still 
outstanding  against  him,  Lady 
Lendrick  having  interfered  to  pre- 
vent their  payment,  while  she  assur- 
ed the  creditors  that  if  they  had 
patience  Dr  Lendrick  would  one 
day  or  other  be  in  a  position  to 
acquit  them.  Between  two  and 
three  thousand  pounds  thus  hung 
over  him  of  indebtedness  above  all 
his  calculations,  and  equally  above 
all  his  ability  to  meet. 

"  We  thought  you  knew  all  this, 
Dr  Lendrick,"  said  Mr  Hack,  Sir 
William's  agent;  "we  imagined  you 
were  a  party  to  the  arrangement, 
understanding  that  you  were  reluct- 
ant to  bring  these  debts  under  the 
Chief  Baron's  eyes,  being  moneys 
lent  to  your  wife's  relations." 

"  I  believed  that  they  were  paid," 
was  all  his  reply,  for  the  story  was 
a  painful  one  of  trust  betrayed  and 
confidence  abused,  and  he  did  not 
desire  to  revive  it.  He  had  often 
been  told  that  his  step-mother  was 
the  real  obstacle  to  all  hope  of  re- 


conciliation with  his  father, but  that 
she  had  pushed  her  enmity  to  him 
to  the  extent  of  his  ruin  was  more 
than  he  was  prepared  for.  They 
had  never  met,  but  at  one  time  let- 
ters had  frequently  passed  between 
them.  Hers  were  marvels  of  good 
wishes  and  kind  intentions,  dashed 
with  certain  melancholy  reflections 
over  some  shadowy  unknown  some- 
thing which  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  estrangement  from  his  father, 
but  which  time  and  endurance 
might  not  impossibly  diminish  the 
bitterness  of,  though  with  very 
little  hope  of  leading  to  a  more 
amicable  relation.  She  would  as- 
sume, besides,  occasionally  a  kind 
of  companionship  in  sorrow,  and, 
as  though  the  confession  had  burst 
from  her  unawares,  avow  that  Sir 
William's  temper  was  more  than 
human  nature  was  called  upon  to 
submit  to,  and  that  years  only  added 
to  those  violent  outbursts  of  pas- 
sion which  made  the  existence  of  all 
around  him  a  perpetual  martyrdom. 
These  always  wound  up  with  some 
sweet  congratulations  on  "  Tom's 
good  fortune  in  his  life  of  peaceful 
retirement,"  and  the  "tranquil  plea- 
sures of  that  charming  spot  of  which 
every  one  tells  me  such  wonders, 
and  which  the  hope  of  visiting 
is  one  of  my  most  entrancing  day- 
dreams." We  give  the  passage 
textually,  because  it  occurred  with- 
out a  change  of  a  word  thus  in  no 
less  than  five  different  letters. 

This  formal  repetition  of  a  phrase, 
and  certain  mistakes  she  made 
about  the  names  of  his  children, 
first  opened  Lendrick's  eyes  as  to 
the  sincerity  and  affection  of  his 
correspondent,  for  he  was  the  least 
suspicious  of  men,  and  regarded 
distrust  as  a  disgrace  to  him  who 
entertained  it. 

Over  all  these  things  now  did  he 
ponder  during  this  long  dreary  day. 
He  did  not  like  to  go  out  lest  he 
should  meet  old  acquaintances  and 
be  interrogated  about  his  father, 
of  whom  he  knew  less  than  almost 
every  one.  He  shunned  the  tone  of 
compassionate  interest  men  met  him 


1865.1 


.S'iV  Jirook  Futsbrooke. — I' art  II. 


rsi 


with,  and  he  dreaded  even  the  old 
fares  that  reminded  him  of  the  pant. 
lie  could  not  read  :  he  tried,  but 
could  not.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
found  that  his  thoughts  wandered 
oil*  from  the  book  and  centred  on 
his  own  concerns,  till  his  head  ached 
with  the  weary  round  of  those  dif- 
ficulties which  came  ever  back,  and 
back,  and  back  again  undiminish- 
ed,  unrelieved,  and  unsolved.  The 
embarrassments  of  life  are  not,  like 
chess  problems,  to  be  resolved  by  a 
skilful  combination  :  they  are  to  be 
encountered  by  temper,  by  patience, 
by  daring,  at  one  time  ;  by  sub- 
mission at  another;  by  a  careful 
consideration  <  >f  a  man's  own  powers, 
and  by  a  clear-sighted  estimate  of 
his  neighbours  ;  and  all  these  ex- 
ercised not  beforehand,  nor  in  retire- 
ment, but  on  the  very  field  itself 
where  the  conflict  is  raging  and  the 
fight  at  its  hottest. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  Beattie 
returned  home,  and  entered  the 
study  where  Ijendrick  sat  awaiting 
him.  "  I  am  very  late,  Tom,"  said 
he,  as  he  threw  himself  into  an  arm- 
chair, like  one  fatigued  and  exhaust- 
ed ;  ''  but  it  was  impossible  to  get 
away.  Never  in  all  my  life  have 
I  seen  him  so  full  of  anecdote,  so 
abounding  in  pleasant  recollections, 
so  ready-witted,  and  so  brilliant.  1 
declare  to  you  that  if  I  could  but 
recite  the  things  he  said,  or  give 
them  even  with  a  faint  semblance  of 
the  way  he  told  them,  it  would  be 
the  most  amusing  page  of  bygone 
Irish  history.  It  was  a  grand  re- 
'view  of  all  the  celebrated  men  whom 
he  remembered  in  his  youth,  from 
the  eccentric  Lord  Bristol,  the 
Bishop  of  Down,  to  O'Connell  and 
Shiel.  Nor  did  his  own  self-esti- 
mate, high  as  it  was,  make  the 
picture  in  which  he  figured  less 
striking,  nor  less  memorable  his  con- 
cluding words,  as  he  said,  '  These 
fellows  are  all  on  history,  Beattie, 
— every  man  of  them.  There  are 
statues  to  them  in  our  highways, 
and  men  visit  the  spots  that  gave 
them  birth  ;  and  here  am  I,  second 
to  none  of  them.  Trinity  College 


and  the  Four  Courts  will  tell  you  if 
I  speak  in  vanity  ;  and  here  am  I  ; 
and  the  only  question  about  me  is, 
when  I  intend  to  vacate  the  bench, 
when  it  will  be  my  good  pleasure 
to  resign — they  are  not  particular 
which — my  judgeship  or  my  life. 
But,  sir,  1  mean  not  to  do  either  :  f 
mean  to  live  and  protest  against  the 
inferiority  of  the  men  around  me, 
and  the  ingratitude  of  the  country 
that  does  not  know  how  to  appreci- 
ate the  one  man  of  eminence  it  pos- 
sesses.' I  assure  you,  Tom,  vain 
and  insolent  as  the  speech  was,  as 
1  listened  I  thought  it  was  neither. 
There  wa.s  a  haughty  dignity  about 
him,  to  which  his  noble  head  and 
his  deep  sonorous  voice  and  his 
commanding  look  lent  effect  that 
overcame  all  thought  of  attributing 
to  such  a  man  any  over-estimate  of 
his  powers.'' 

"  And  this  note  that  he  wished 
to  show  you — what  was  it  I  " 

"  ( )h,  the  note  was  a  few  lines 
written  in  an  adjoining  room  by 
Balfour,  the  Viceroy's  secretary.  It 
seems  that  his  Excellency,  finding 
all  other  seductions  fail,  thought 
of  approaching  your  father  through 
you." 

"  Through  me  f  It  was  a  bright 
inspiration." 

"  Yes  ;  he  sent  Balfour  to  ask  if 
the  Chief  Baron  would  feel  gratified 
by  the  post  of  Hospital  Inspector  at 
the  Cape  being  ofl'ered  to  you.  It 
is  worth  eight  hundred  a-year,  and 
a  house." 

"  Well,  what  answer  did  he  give  ? " 
asked  Lendrick  eagerly. 

"  He  directed  Balfour,  who  only 
saw  Lady  Lendrick,  to  reduce  the 
proposal  to  writing.  1  don't  fancy 
that  the  accomplished  young  gentle- 
man exactly  liked  the  task,  but  he 
did  not  care  to  refuse,  and  so  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  one  of  the  worst 
notes  I  ever  read." 

"  Worst — in  what  way  ?" 

"  In  every  way.  It  was  scarcely 
intelligible,  without  a  previous 
knowledge  of  its  contents,  and  so 
worded  as  to  imply  that  when  the 
Chief  Baron  had  acceded  to  the  pro- 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  II. 


[June, 


posal,  he  had  so  bound  himself  in 
gratitude  to  the  Government  that  all 
honourable  retreat  was  closed  to  him. 
I  wish  you  saw  your  father's  face 
when  he  read  it.  '  Beattie,'  said  he, 
'  I  have  no  right  to  say  Tom  must 
refuse  this  offer ;  but  if  he  should 
do  so,  I  will  make  the  document  you 
see  there  be  read  in  the  House,  and 
my  name  is  not  William  Lendrick  if 
it  do  not  cost  them  more  than  that 
peerage  they  so  insolently  refused 
me.  Go  now  and  consult  your 
friend ;  it  was  so  he  called  you.  If 
his  wants  are  such  that  this  place 
is  of  consequence  to  him,  let  him 
accept  it.  I  shall  not  ask  his  rea- 
sons for  whatever  course  he  may 
take.  My  reply  is  already  written, 
and  to  his  Excellency  in  person.' 
This  he  said  in  a  way  to  imply  that 
its  tone  was  one  not  remarkable  for 
conciliation  or  courtesy. 

"  I  thought  the  opportunity  a 
favourable  one  to  say  that  you  were 
in  town  at  the  moment,  that  the  ac- 
counts of  his  illness  had  brought 
you  up,  and  that  you  were  staying 
at  my  house. 

"  '  The  sooner  will  you  be  able  to 
communicate  with  him,  sir,'  said 
he,  haughtily." 

"  No  more  than  that !  " 

"  No  more,  except  that  he  added, 
'  Remember,  sir,  his  acceptance  or 
his  refusal  is  to  be  his  own  act,  not 
to  be  intimated  in  any  way  to  me, 
nor  to  come  through  me/  " 

"  This  is  unnecessary  harshness," 
said  Lendrick,  with  a  quivering  lip; 
"  there  was  no  need  to  tell  me  how 
estranged  we  are  from  each  other." 

"  I  fancied  I  could  detect  a  strug- 
gle with  himself  in  all  his  sternness; 
and  his  hand  trembled  when  I  took 
it  to  say  '  good-bye.'  I  was  going 
to  ask  if  you  might  not  be  permitted 
to  see  him,  even  for  a  brief  moment; 
but  I  was  afraid,  lest  in  refusing 
he  might  make  a  reconciliation  still 
more  remote,  and  so  I  merely  said, 
'  May  I  leave  you  those  miniatures 
I  showed  you  a  few  days  ago  1 ' 
His  answer  was,  '  You  may  leave 
them,  sir.' 

"  As  I  came  down  to  the  hall  I 


met  Lady  Lendrick.  She  was  in 
evening  dress,  going  out,  but  had 
evidently  waited  to  catch  me  as  I 
passed." 

"  '  You  find  the  Chief  much  bet- 
ter, don't  you  1 '  asked  she.  I  bowed 
and  assented.  '  And  he  will  be 
better  still,'  added  she,  '  when  all 
these  anxieties  are  over.'  She  saw 
that  I  did  not  or  would  not  appre- 
hend her  meaning,  and  added,  '  I 
mean  about  this  resignation,  which, 
of  course,  you  will  advise  him  to. 
The  Government  are  really  behaving 
so  very  well,  so  liberal,  and  withal 
so  delicate.  If  they  had  been  our 
own  people  I  doubt  if  they  would 
have  shown  anything  like  the  same 
generosity.' 

"  '  I  have  heard  of  nothing  but  the 
offer  to  Dr  Lendrick,'  said  I. 

"  She  seemed  confused,  and  mov- 
ed on ;  and  then  recovering  herself, 
said,  '  And  a  most  handsome  offer 
it  is.  I  hope  he  thinks  so.' 

"  With  this  we  parted,  and  I  be- 
lieve now  I  have  told  you  almost 
word  for  word  everything  that  oc- 
curred concerning  you." 

"  And  what  do  you  say  to  all  this, 
Beattie  V  asked  Lendrick,  in  a  half 
sad  tone. 

"  I  say  that  if  in  your  place,  Tom, 
I  would  accept.  It  may  be  that  the 
Chief  Baron  will  interpose  and  say, 
Don't  go ;  or  it  may  be  that  your 
readiness  to  work  for  your  bread 
should  conciliate  him ;  he  has  long 
had  the  impression  that  you  are  in- 
disposed to  exertion,  and  too  fond 
of  your  own  ease." 

"I  know  it — I  know  it;  Lady 
Lendrick  has  intimated  as  much  to 
me." 

"  At  all  events,  you  can  make  no 
mistake  in  entertaining  the  project, 
and  certainly  the  offer  is  not  to  be 
despised." 

"  It  is  of  him,  and  of  him  alone, 
I  am  thinking,  Beattie.  If  he  would 
let  me  see  him,  admit  me  once  more 
on  my  old  terms  of  affection,  I  would 
go  anywhere,  do  anything  that  he 
counselled.  Try,  my  dear  friend,  to 
bring  this  about ;  do  your  best  for 
me,  and  remember  I  will  subscribe 


I8cr>.] 


ft  rook  Fossbrookf. — Part  II. 


733 


to  any  terms,  submit  to  anything,  if  tie ;  "  but  now  let  us  to  bed.     It  is 

he  will  only  be  reconciled  to  me."  post  two  o'clock.    Good-night, Tom  ; 

"  It  will   be   hard  if  we  cannot  sleep  well,  and  don't  dream  of  the 

manage  this  somehow,"  said  Beat-  Cape  or  the  Caffres." 


CIIAI-I  1.1!    VII.  — T1IK    V 

That  ancient  and  incongruous 
pile  which  goes  by  the  name  of 
the  Castle  in  Dublin,  and  to  which 
Irishmen  very  generally  look  as  the 
well  from  which  all  honours  and 
places  How,  is  not  remarkable  for 
either  the  splendour  or  space  it 
affords  to  the  inmates  beneath  its 
roof.  Upheld  by  a  great  prestige 
perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of  certain 
distinguished  people,  who  affect  a 
humble  exterior  and  very  simple 
belongings,  it  may  deem  that  its 
own  transcendent  importance  has 
no  need  of  accessories.  Certainly 
the  ugliness  of  its  outside  is  in  no 
way  unbalanced  by  the  meanness 
within;  and  even  the  very  highest 
of  those  which  claim  its  hospitality 
are  lodged  in  no  princely  fashion. 

In  a  corner  of  the  old  red 
brick  quadrangle,  to  the  right  of 
the  state-entrance,  in  a  small  room 
whose  two  narrow  windows  looked 
into  a  lane,  sat  a  very  well-dressed 
young  gentleman  at  a  writing  table. 
.Short  and  disposed  to  roundness  in 
face  as  well  as  figure,  Mr  Chol- 
inondely  Balfour  scarcely  respond- 
ed in  appearance  to  his  imposing 
name.  Nature  had  not  been  as 
bountiful,  perhaps,  a.s  Fortune  ;  for 
while  he  was  rich,  well-born,  and 
considerably  gifted  in  abilities,  his 
features  were  unmistakably  com- 
mon and  vulgar,  and  Jill  the  aids 
of  dress  could  not  atone  for  the 
meanness  in  his  general  look.  Had 
he  simply  accepted  his  image  as  a 
thing  to  be  quietly  borne  and  sub- 
mitted to,  the  ca.se  might  not  have 
been  so  very  bad  ;  but  lie  took 
it  as  something  to  be  corrected, 
changed,  and  ameliorated,  and  the 
result  was  a  perpetual  struggle  to 
make  the  most  ordinary  traits  and 
commonplace  features  appear  the 
impress  of  one  on  whom  Nature 


if  STAIN    OK    lloNOCK. 


had  written  gentleman.  It  would 
have  been  no  easy  ta.sk  to  have 
imposed  on  him  in  a  question  of  his 
duty.  He  was  the  private  secre- 
tary of  the  Viceroy,  who  wa.s  his 
maternal  uncle.  It  would  have 
bcrii  a  tough  task  to  have  misled 
or  deceived  him  in  any  matter 
open  to  his  intelligence  to  examine  ; 
but  upon  this  theme,  there  was 
not  the  inventor  of  a  hair- wash, 
a  skin-paste,  a  whisker -dye,  or  a 
pearl-powder,  that  might  not  have 
led  him  captive.  A  bishop  might 
have  found  difficulty  in  getting 
audience  of  him — a  barber  might 
have  entered  unannounced  ;  and 
while  the  lieutenant  of  a  county 
sat  waiting  in  the  antechamber,  the 
tailor,  with  a  new  waistcoat  pattern, 
walked  boldly  into  the  august  pre- 
sence. Entering  life  by  that  jxtitt: 
pa rte  of  politics,  an  Irish  ollice,  he 
had  conceived  a  very  humble  esti- 
mate of  the  people  amongst  whom 
he  was  placed.  Regarding  his  ex- 
tradition from  Whitehall  and  its 
precincts  as  a  sort  of  probationary 
banishment,  he  felt,  however,  its 
necessity ;  and  as  naval  men  are 
accredited  with  two  years  of  ser- 
vice for  every  one  year  on  the  coast 
of  Africa,  Mr  Balfour  was  aware 
that  a  grateful  Government  could 
equally  recognise  the  devotion  of 
him  who  gave  some  of  the  years  of 
his  youth  to  the  Fernando  Po  of 
statecraft. 

This  impression  being  rarely  per- 
sonal in  its  consequences  was  not 
of  much  moment,  but  it  was  con- 
joined with  a  more  serious  error, 
which  was  to  imagine  that  all  rule 
and  governance  in  Ireland  should 
be  carried  on  with  a  Machiavellian 
subtlety.  The  people,  he  had  heard, 
were  quick-witted ;  he  must  there- 
fore out-mamuuvre  them.  Jobbery 


734 


Sir  Brook  FosslrooJce. — Part  11. 


[June, 


had  been,  he  was  told,  the  ruin  of 
Ireland  ;  he  would  show  its  ineffi- 
ciency  by  the  superior  skill  with 
which  he  could  wield  its  weapon. 
To  be  sure  his  office  was  a  very 
minor  one,  its  influence  very  re- 
stricted, but  Mr  Balfour  was  ambi- 
tious ;  he  was  a  Viceroy's  nephew ; 
he  had  sat  four  months  in  the  House, 
from  which  he  had  been  turned  out 
on  a  petition.  He  had  therefore  so- 
cial advantages  to  build  on,  abilities 
to  display,  and  wrongs  to  avenge ; 
and  as  a  man  too  late  for  the  train 
speculates  during  the  day  how  far 
on  his  road  he  might  have  been 
by  this  time  or  by  that,  so  did  Mr 
Balfour  continually  keep  reminding 
himself  how,  but  for  that  confounded 
petition,  he  might  now  have  been  a 
Treasury  this  or  a  Board  of  Trade 
that  —  a  corporal,  in  fact,  in  that 
great  army  whose  commissioned 
officers  are  amongst  the  highest  in 
Europe. 

Let  us  now  present  him  to  our 
reader,  as  he  lay  back  in  his  chair, 
and  by  a  hand-bell  summoned  his 
messenger. 

"  I  say,  Watkins,  when  Clancy 
calls  about  those  trousers  show  him 
in,  and  send  some  one  over  to  the 
packet-office  about  the  phosphorus 
blacking ;  you  know  we  are  on  the 
last  jar  of  it.  If  the  Solicitor-Gene- 
ral should  come " 

"  He  is  here,  sir  ;  he  has  been 
waiting  these  twenty  minutes.  I 
told  him  you  were  with  his  Excel- 
lency." 

"  So  I  was — so  I  always  am,"  said 
he,  throwing  a  half -smoked  cigar 
into  the  fire.  "  Admit  him." 

A  pale,  careworn,  anxious-look- 
ing man,  whose  face  was  not  with- 
out traces  of  annoyance  at  the 
length  of  time  he  had  been  kept 
waiting,  now  entered  and  sat  down. 

"  Just  where  we  were  yesterday, 
Pemberton,"  said  Balfour,  as  he 
arose  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  the  tails  of  his  gorgeous 
dressing  -  gown  hanging  over  his 
arms.  "  Intractable  as  he  ever  was  ; 
he  won't  die,  and  he  won't  resign." 

"  His  friends  say  he  is  perfectly 


willing  to  resign  if  you  agree  to  his 
terms." 

"  That  may  be  possible  ;  the 
question  is,  What  are  his  terms  1 
Have  you  a  precedent  of  a  Chief 
Baron  being  raised  to  the  peerage  ] " 

"  It's  not,  as  I  understand,  the 
peerage  he  insists  on  ;  he  inclines 
to  a  moneyed  arrangement." 

"  We  are  too  poor,  Pemberton, 
— we  are  too  poor.  There's  a  deep 
gap  in  our  customs  this  quarter. 
It's  reduction  we  must  think  of,  not 
outlay." 

"  If  the  changes  are  to  be  made," 
said  the  other,  with  a  tone  of  im- 
patience, "  I  certainly  ought  to  be 
told  at  once,  or  I  shall  have  no  time 
left  for  my  canvass." 

"  An  Irish  borough,  Pemberton — 
an  Irish  borough  requires  so  little," 
said  Balfour,  with  a  compassionate 
smile. 

"  Such  is  not  the  opinion  over 
here,  sir,"  said  Pemberton,  stiffly; 
"  and  I  might  even  suggest  some 
caution  in  saying  it." 

"  Caution  is  the  badge  of  all  our 
tribe,"  said  Balfour,  with  a  bur- 
lesque gravity.  "  By  the  way,  Pem- 
berton, his  Excellency  is  greatly 
disappointed  at  the  issue  of  these 
Cork  trials  ;  why  didn't  you  hang 
these  fellows  ? " 

"  Juries  can  no  more  be  coerced 
here  than  in  England ;  they  brought 
them  in  not  guilty." 

"  We  know  all  that,  and  we  ask 
you  why  1  There  certainly  was 
little  room  for  doubt  in  the  evi- 
dence." 

"  When  you  have  lived  longer  in 
Ireland,  Mr  Balfour,  you  will  learn 
that  there  are  other  considerations 
in  a  trial  than  the  testimony  of  the 
witnesses." 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  said  to 
his  Excellency  ;  and  I  remarked,  If 
Pemberton  comes  into  the  House, 
he  must  prepare  for  a  sharp  atta,ck 
about  these  trials." 

"  And  it  is  exactly  to  ascertain  if 
I  am  to  enter  Parliament  that  I 
have  come  here  to-day,"  said  the 
other,  angrily. 

"  Bring  me  the  grateful  tidings 


1865.] 


ft  rook  FoMlroolce.—P<irt  II. 


that  the  Lord  Chief  Huron  has 
joined  his  illustrious  predecessors 
in  that  distinguished  court,  I'll 
answer  you  in  five  minutes." 

"  Heat  tic  declares  he  is  better  this 
morning.  He  says  that  he  has  in  all 
probability  yearsof  life  before  him." 

''There's  nothing  so  hard  to  kill 
as  a  judge,  except  it  be  an  arch- 
bishop. 1  believe  a  sedentary  life 
does  it  ;  they  say  if  a  fellow  will 
sit  still  and  never  move  he  may  live 
to  any  age." 

Pemberton  took  an  impatient 
turn  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then  wheeling  about  directly  in 
front  of  Halfour,  said  —  "If  his 
Excellency  knew  perhaps  that  I 
do  not  want  the  House  of  Com- 


mons  

"  Not  want  the  House — not  wish 
to  be  in  Parliament  f  " 

"Certainly  not.  If  I  enter  the 
House  it  is  as  a  law-ofricer  of  the 
Crown ;  personally,  it  is  no  object 
to  me." 

"  I'll  not  tell  him  that,  Pern.  I'll 
keep  your  secret  safe,  for  I  tell  you 
frankly  it  would  ruin  you  to  reveal 
it." 

"It's  no  secret,  sir;  you  may 
proclaim  it — you  may  publish  it  in 
the  '  Gazette.'  Hut  really  we  are 
wasting  much  valuable  time  here. 
It  is  now  two  o'clock,  and  I  must 
go  down  to  Court.  I  have  only  to 
say  that  if  no  arrangement  be  come 
to  before  this  time  to-morrow — 
He  stopped  short.  Another  word 
might  have  committed  him,  but  he 
]uilled  up  in  time. 

"  Well,  what  then  ! "  asked  Hal- 
four,  with  a  half  smile. 

"  I  have  heard  you  pride  your- 
self, Mr  Hal  four,"  said  the  other, 
recovering,  "on  your  skill  in  nice 
negotiation;  why  not  try  what  you 
could  do  with  the  Chief  Haron  ?" 

"Are  there  women  in  the  fami- 
ly ? "  said  Halfour,  caressing  his 
mustache. 

"  No  ;  only  his  wife." 

"  I've  seen  her,"  said  he,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  He  quarrelled  with  his  only 
son,  and  has  not  spoken  to  him,  I 


believe,  for  nigh  thirty  years,  and 
the  poor  fellow  is  struggling  on  as 
a  country  doctor  somewhere  in  the 
west." 

"  What  if  we  were  to  propose  to 
do  something  for  him  I  Men  are 
often  not  averse  to  see  those  assist- 
ed whom  their  own  pride  refuses  to 
help." 

"  I  scarcely  suspect  you'll  acquire 
his  gratitude  that  way." 

"We  don't  want  his  gratitude, 
we  want  his  place.  I  declare  I 
think  the  idea  a  good  one.  There's 
a  thing  now  at  the  Cape,  an  inspec- 
torship of  something — Hottentots 
or  hospitals,  1  forget  which.  His 
Excellency  asked  to  have  the  gift 
of  it;  what  if  we  were  to  appoint 
this  man  J" 

"Make  the  crier  of  his  Court  a 
Commissioner  in  Chancery,  and 
P>,irou  Lendrick  will  be  more 
obliged  to  you,"  said  Pcmberton, 
with  a  sneer.  "He  is  about  the 
least  forgiving  man  I  ever  knew  or 
heard  of." 

"Where  is  this  son  of  his  to  be 
found  !  " 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday  walking 
with  Dr  Heattie.  1  have  no  doubt 
Heat  tie  knows  his  address.  Hut 
let  me  warn  you  once  more  against 
the  inutility  of  the  step  you  would 
take.  I  doubt  if  the  old  Judge 
would  as  much  as  thank  you." 

Halfour  turned  round  to  the 
glass  and  smiled  sweetly  at  him- 
self, as  though  to  say  that  he  had 
heard  of  some  one  who  knew  how 
to  make  these  negotiations  suc- 
cessful— a  fellow  of  infinite  readi- 
ness, a  clever  fellow,  but  withal  one 
whose  good  looks  and  distinguished 
air  left  even  his  talents  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"  I  think  I'll  call  and  see  the 
Chief  Haron  myself,"  said  he. 
"  His  Excellency  sends  twice  a-day 
to  inquire,  and  I'll  take  the  oppor- 
tunity to  make  him  a  visit — that  is, 
if  he  will  receive  me." 

"It  is  doubtful.  At  all  events, 
let  me  give  you  one  hint  for  your 
guidance.  Neither  let  drop  Mr 
Attorney's  name  nor  mine  in  your 


736 


Sir  SrooTc  FossbrooJce. — Part  II. 


conversation ;  avoid  the  mention 
of  any  one  whose  career  might  be 
influenced  by  the  Baron's  retire- 
ment ;  and  talk  of  him  less  as  a 
human  being  than  as  an  institu- 
tion that  is  destined  to  endure 
as  long  as  the  British  constitu- 
tion." 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  woman — if  it 
was  only  a  woman  I  had  to  deal 
with,  the  whole  affair  might  be 
deemed  settled." 

"  If  you  should  be  able  to  do 
anything  before  the  mail  goes  out 
to-night,  perhaps  you  will  inform 


me,"  said  Pemberton,  as  he  bowed 
and  left  the  room.  "  And  these 
are  the  men  they  send  over  here  to 
administer  the  country  ! "  mut- 
tered he,  as  he  descended  the  stairs 
— "  such  are  the  intelligences  that 
are  to  rule  Ireland  !  Was  it  Vol- 
taire who  said  there  was  nothing 
so  inscrutable  in  all  the  ways 
of  Providence  as  the  miserable 
smallness  of  those  creatures  to 
whom  the  destiny  of  nations  was 
committed." 

Ruminating  over  this,  he  hasten- 
ed on  to  a  nisi  prius  case. 


CHAPTER   VIII. — A   PUZZLING   COMMISSION. 


As  Colonel  Cave  re-entered  his 
quarters  after  morning  parade  in 
the  Royal  Barracks  of  Dublin,  he 
found  the  following  letter,  which 
the  post  had  just  delivered.  It  was 
headed,  "  Strictly  Private/'  with 
three  dashes  under  the  words  : — 

"  Holt-Trafford. 

"  MY  DEAR  COLONEL  CAVE, — Sir 
Hugh  is  confined  to  bed  with  a  se- 
vere attack  of  gout — the  doctors 
call  it  flying  gout.  He  suffers 
greatly,  and  his  nerves  are  in  a 
state  of  irritation  that  makes  all  at- 
tempt at  writing  impossible.  This 
will  be  my  apology  for  obtruding 
upon  you,  though  perhaps  the  cause 
in  which  I  write  might  serve  for  ex- 
cuse. We  are  in  the  deepest  anxiety 
about  Lionel.  You  are  already 
aware  how  heavily  his  extravagance 
has  cost  us.  His  play-debts  amount- 
ed to  above  ten  thousand  pounds, 
and  all  the  cleverness  of  Mr  Joel 
has  not  been  able  to  compromise 
with  the  tradespeople  for  less  than 
as  much  more  ;  nor  are  we  yet  done 
with  demands  from  various  quar- 
ters. It  is  not,  however,  of  these 
that  I  desire  to  speak.  Your  kind 
offer  to  take  him  into  your  own  re- 
giment, and  exercise  the  watchful 
supervision  of  a  parent,  has  relieved 
us  of  much  anxiety,  and  his  own 
sincere  affection  for  you  is  the 
strongest  assurance  we  can  have 


that  the  step  has  been  a  wise  one. 
Our  present  uneasiness  has,  how- 
ever, a  deeper  source  than  mere  pe- 
cuniary embarrassment.  The  boy 
• — he  is  very  little  more  than  a  boy 
in  years — has  fallen  in  love,  and 
gravely  writes  to  his  father  for  con- 
sent that  he  may  marry.  I  assure 
you  the  shock  brought  back  all  Sir 
Hugh's  most  severe  symptoms;  and 
his  left  eye  was  attacked  with  an  in- 
flammation such  as  Dr  Gole  says 
he  never  saw  equalled.  So  far  as 
the  incoherency  of  his  letter  will 
permit  us  to  guess,  the  girl  is  a 
person  in  a  very  humble  condition 
of  life,  the  daughter  of  a  country 
doctor,  of  course  without  family  or 
fortune.  That  he  made  her  ac- 
quaintance by  an  accident,  as  he 
informs  us,  is  also  a  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  they  are  not  people  in 
society.  The  name,  as  well  as  I 
can  decipher  it,  is  Lendrich  or 
Hendrich  —  neither  very  distin- 
guished ! 

"  Now,  my  dear  Colonel,  even  to 
a  second  son,  such  an  alliance  would 
be  perfectly  intolerable — totally  at 
variance  with  all  his  father's  plans 
for  him,  and  inconsistent  with  the 
station  he  should  occupy.  But 
there  are  other  considerations — too 
sad  ones,  too  melancholy  indeed  to 
be  spoken  of,  except  where  the  best 
interests  of  a  family  are  to  be  re- 
garded, which  press  upon  us  here. 


1865.] 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrookf.—rart  If. 


Tlie  last  accounts  of  George  from 
Madeira  leave  us  scarcely  a  hope. 
The  climate,  from  which  so  much 
was  expected,  has  done  nothing. 
The  season  has  been  unhappily  most 
severe,  and  the  doctors  agree  in  de- 
claring that  the  malady  has  not 
yielded  in  any  respect.  You  will 
see,  therefore,  what  a  change  any 
day  may  accomplish  in  Lionel's 
prospects,  and  how  doubly  import- 
ant it  is  that  he  should  contract 
no  ties  inconsistent  with  a  station 
of  no  mean  importance.  Not  that 
these  considerations  would  weigh 
with  Lionel  in  the  least :  he  was 
always  headstrong,  rash,  and  self- 
willed  ;  and  if  he  were,  or  fancied 
that  he  were,  bound  in  honour  to 
do  a  tiling,  I  know  well  that  all 
persuasions  would  be  unavailing  to 
prevent  him.  I  cannot  believe, 
however,  that  matters  can  have 
gone  so  far  here.  This  acquain- 
tanceship must  be  of  the  very 
shortest  ;  and  however  designing 
and  crafty  such  people  may  be, 
there  will  surely  be  some  means  of 
showing  them  that  their  designs 
are  impracticable,  and  of  a  nature 
only  to  bring  disappointment  and 
disgrace  upon  themselves.  That 
Sir  Hugh  would  give  his  consent  is 
totally  out  of  the  question — a  thing 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment ; 
indeed  I  may  tell  you  in  confidence 
that  his  first  thought  on  reading 
L.'s  letter  was  to  carry  out  a  pro- 
ject to  which  George  had  already 
consented,  and  by  which  the  entail 
should  be  cut  off,  and  our  third 
son,  Harry,  in  that  case  would  in- 
herit. This  will  show  you  to  what 
extent  his  indignation  would  carry 
him. 

"  Now  what  is  to  be  done  ?  for, 
really,  it  is  but  time  lost  in  deplor- 
ing when  prompt  action  alone  can 
save  us.  Do  you  know,  or  do  you 
know  any  one  who  does  know,  these 
Hendrichs  or  Lendrichs — who  are 
they,  what  are  they  ?  Are  they 
people  to  whom  I  could  write  my- 
self ?  or  are  they  in  that  rank  in 
life  which  would  enable  us  to  make 
some  sort  of  compromise  ?  Again, 


could  you  in  any  way  obtain  L.'s 
confidence  and  make  him  open  his 
heart  to  you  first  I  This  is  the 
more  essential,  because  the  moment 
he  hears  of  anything  like  coercion 
or  pressure  his  whole  spirit  will  rise 
in  resistance,  and  he  will  be  totally 
unmanageable.  You  have  perhaps 
more  influence  over  him  than  any 
one  else,  and  even  your  influence 
he  would  resent  if  he  suspected  any 
dominance. 

"  I  am  madly  impatient  to  hear 
what  you  will  suggest.  Will  it  be 
to  see  these  people  \  to  reason  with 
them  ?  to  explain  to  them  the  fruit- 
lessness  of  what  they  are  doing  ? 
Will  it  be  to  talk  to  the  girl  her- 
self ? 

"  My  first  thought  was  to  send 
for  Lionel,  as  his  father  was  so  ill, 
but  on  consideration  I  felt  that  a 
7iieeting  between  them  might  be  the 
thing  of  all  others  to  be  avoided. 
Indeed,  in  Sir  Hugh's  present  tem- 
per, I  dare  not  think  of  the  conse- 
quences. 

"  Might  it  be  advisable  to  get 
Lionel  attached  to  some  foreign 
station  (  If  so,  I  am  sure  I  could 
manage  it  —  only,  would  he  go? 
there's  the  question — would  he  go  ? 
I  am  writing  in  such  distress  of 
mind,  and  so  hurriedly,  too,  that  I 
really  do  not  know  what  I  have  set 
down,  and  what  I  have  omitted.  I 
trust,  however,  there  is  enough  of 
this  sad  ca.se  before  you  to  enable 
you  to  counsel  me,  or,  what  is  much 
better,  act  for  me.  I  wish  I  could 
send  you  L.'s  letter  ;  but  Sir  Hugh 
has  put  it  away,  and  I  cannot  lay 
my  hand  on  it.  Its  purport,  how- 
ever, was  to  obtain  authority  from 
us  to  approach  this  girl's  relations 
as  a  suitor,  and  to  show  that  his  in- 
tentions were  known  to  and  con- 
curred in  by  his  family.  The  only 
gleam  of  hope  in  the  epistle  was 
his  saying,  '  I  have  not  the  slight- 
est reason  to  believe  she  would  ac- 
cept me,  but  the  approval  of  my 
friends  will  certainly  give  me  the 
best  chance.' 

"  Now,  my  dear  Colonel,  compas- 
sionate my  anxiety,  and  write  to 


738 


Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke. — Part  II. 


[June, 


me  at  once — something — anything. 
Write  such  a  letter  as  Sir  Hugh  may 
see ;  and  if  you  have  anything  se- 
cret or  confidential,  enclose  it  as  a 
separate  slip.  Was  it  not  unfor- 
tunate that  we  refused  that  Indian 
appointment  for  him  1  All  this 
misery  might  have  been  averted. 
You  may  imagine  how  Sir  Hugh 
feels  this  conduct  the  more  bitterly, 
coming,  as  I  may  say,  on  the  back 
of  all  his  late  indiscretions. 

"Remember,  finally,  happen  what 
may,  this  project  must  not  go  on. 
It  is  a  question  of  the  boy's  whole 
future  and  life.  To  defy  his  father 
is  to  disinherit  himself ;  and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  this  might  be 
the  most  effectual  argument  you 
could  employ  with  these  people  who 
now  seek  to  entangle  him. 

"  I  have  certainly  no  reason  to 
love  Ireland.  It  was  there  that 
my  cousin  Cornwallis  married  that 
dreadful  creature  who  is  now  suing 
him  for  cruelty,  and  exposing  the 
family  throughout  England. 

"  Sir  Hugh  gave  directions  last 
week  about  lodging  the  purchase- 
money  for  his  company,  but  he 
wrote  a  few  lines  to  Cox's  last 
night — to  what  purport  I  cannot 
say — not  impossibly  to  counter- 
mand it.  What  affliction  all  this 


As  Colonel  Cave  read  over  this 
letter  for  a  second  time,  he  was  not 
without  misgivings  about  the  even 
small  share  to  which  he  had  con- 
tributed in  this  difficulty.  It  was 
evidently  during  the  short  leave  he 
had  granted  that  this  aquaintance- 
ship  had  been  formed ;  and  Foss- 
brooke's  companionship  was  the 
very  last  thing  in  the  world  to  deter 
a  young  and  ardent  fellow  from  any- 
thing high-flown  or  romantic.  "  I 
ought  never  to  have  thrown  them 
together,"  muttered  he,  as  he  walk- 
ed his  room  in  doubt  and  delibera- 
tion. 

He  rang  his  bell  and  sent  for  the 
Adjutant.  "Where's  Trafford  1 " 
asked  he. 

"  You  gave  him  three  days'  leave 


yesterday,  sir.  He's  gone  down  to 
that  fishing  village  where  he  went 
before." 

"  Confound  the  place  !  Send  for 
him  at  once — telegraph.  No — let 
us  see — his  leave  is  up  to-morrow1?" 

"  The  next  day  at  ten  he  was  to 
report." 

"  His  father  is  ill — an  attack  of 
gout,"  muttered  the  Colonel,  to 
give  some  colour  to  his  agitated 
manner.  "  But  it  is  better,  perhaps, 
not  to  alarm  him.  The  seizure 
seems  passing  off." 

"  He  said  something  about  asking 
for  a  longer  term  ;  he  wants  a  fort- 
night, I  think.  The  season  is  just 
beginning  now." 

"  He  shall  not  have  it,  sir.  Take 
good  care  to  warn  him  not  to  apply. 
It  will  breed  discontent  in  the  re- 
giment to  see  a  young  fellow  who 
has  not  been  a  year  with  us  obtain 
a  leave  every  ten  or  fifteen  days." 

"  If  it  were  any  other  than  Traf- 
ford, there  would  be  plenty  of 
grumbling.  But  he  is  such  a  fav- 
ourite !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  a  worse  ac- 
cident could  befall  any  man.  Many 
a  fine  fellow  has  been  taught  selfish- 
ness by  the  over-estimate  others 
have  formed  of  him.  See  that  you 
keep  him  to  his  duty,  and  that  he 
is  to  look  for  no  favouritism." 

The  Colon  el  did  not  well  know  why 
he  said  this,  nor  did  he  stop  to  think 
what  might  come  of  it.  It  smacked, 
to  his  mind,  however,  of  something 
prompt,  active,  and  energetic. 

His  next  move  was  to  write  a 
short  note  to  Lady  Trafford,  acknow- 
ledging hers,  and  saying  that  Lio- 
nel being  absent — he  did  not  add 
where — nothing  could  be  done  till 
he  should  see  him.  "  On  to-mor- 
row— next  day  at  farthest — I  will 
report  progress.  I  cannot  believe 
the  case  to  be  so  serious  as  you  sup- 
pose :  at  all  events,  count  upon  me." 

"Stay!"  cried  he  to  the  Adju- 
tant, who  stood  in  the  window 
awaiting  further  instructions  ;  "  on 
second  thoughts,  do  telegraph.  Say, 
'Return  at  once.'  This  will  pre- 
pare him  for  something." 


1805.] 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  New  Z 


•39 


TIMUTY    YKAHS     POLICY    IX    NEW    /KALAXI). 


Tin:  future  historian  of  the  Brit- 
ish Empire  will  find  it  a  hard  task 
to  justify  the  dealings  of  the  mother- 
country  with  her  colonies  during 
tlie  past  half  century,  or  to  trace  in 
their  sequence  the  smallest  thread 
of  consistency.  The  West  Indies, 
long  defended  with  British  blood 
and  treasure,  and  raised  to  the  ut- 
most height  of  wealth  and  prosper- 
ity, were  mined  by  our  own  decree, 
and  thrown  back  into  poverty  and 
barbarism  at  the  cry  of  an  ill-or- 
dered philanthropy.  The  Ionian 
Islands,  held  by  us  as  the  trustees 
of  Europe,  and  steadily  improv- 
ing under  a  firm  enlightened  rule, 
were  roused  by  the  fatal  gift  of  a 
democratic  assembly  into  discon- 
tent, thenceforward  to  be  made  so 
chronic  as  to  weary  us  into  present- 
ing our  ungrateful  dependency  to 
nn  insolvent  neighbour,  ready  to 
extend  the  dominions  which  he 
cannot  protect.  The  local  disputes 
of  Canada  were  fomented  by  our 
chronic  neglect  and  want  of  pre- 
caution into  a  rebellion.  Our 
Western  American  settlements  were 
abandoned,  where  chiefly  worth  the 
keeping,  to  the  demands  made  by 
Yankee  cupidity  without  the  shadow 
of  a  legal  claim.  The  vast  territory 
of  the  northern  portion  of  that  con- 
tinent has  been  bound  over,  term 
after  term,  as  the  hunting-ground 
of  a  company  of  fur-traders,  to  the 
injury  of  the  adjoining  colonies 
and  the  exclusion  of  our  own 
emigrants.  And  yet  these  form 
but  a  part  of  the  problems  which 
present  themselves  to  the  inquirer 
who  pro] >oses  to  examine  fully  the 
connection  of  CIreat  Britain  and 
her  dependencies  ;  for  other  not 
less  striking  instances  of  weak  and 
vacillating  policy  arise  to  make  him 
doubt  whether  the  boasted  enlight- 
enment of  the  age  has  advantaged 
our  empire  as  a  whole,  whether  our 
rulers  have  ever  fully  understood 
the  responsibility  which  attaches  to 

VOL.  xcvn. — NO.  DXCVI. 


England  as  the  nursing-mother  of 
rising  nations. 

Much  of  the  uncertainty  which 
has  defaced  our  policy  is  undoubt- 
edly due  to  the  fact  of  the  actual 
distance  of  the  colonies  from  the 
mother -country.  It  is  difficult, 
indeed,  to  raise  in  any  nation  a 
feeling  of  strong  interest  in  coun- 
tries which  the  vast  majority  never 
expect  to  see  ;  and  it  requires  more 
public  virtue  and  disinterestedness 
than  have  of  late  been  seen  in  our 
government,  to  cause  the  ministry 
to  attend  to  questions,  the  dexter- 
ous dealing  with  which  will  neither 
strengthen  their  hands  directly,  nor 
add  to  their  popularity.  The  ne- 
glect of  Indian  affairs,  and  avoid-, 
ance  of  Indian  debates,  by  the 
House  of  Commons,  is  so  notorious 
jus  almost  to  justify  the  present  Ca- 
binet in  leaving  their  conduct  to 
one  "to  whom  heaven  has  denied 
the  gift  of  plain  speech  ;  "  and  a 
similar  difficulty  usually  besets  the 
Colonial  Secretary  who  would 
bring  to  light  the  intricacies  of  the 
petty  wars  and  internal  disputes  of 
the  scattered  empire  over  which  he 
presides.  Yet  this  sort  of  national 
selfishness  must  be  a  reproach  in  the 
eyes  of  strangers,  and  is  not  very 
pleasant  to  regard  with  our  own  ; 
and  the  ignorance  of  the  wants  and 
wishes  of  the  younger  members  of 
our  great  family  which  it  implies, 
has  led  us  into  more  than  one  great 
difficulty,  and  lost  us  many  a  glori- 
ous opportunity. 

We  are  about  to  take  the  special 
case  of  New  Zealand  as  an  illus- 
tration of  these  remarks.  In  trac- 
ing its  past  history  briefly,  it  will 
be  seen  how  much  a  vacillating 
and  uncertain  policy  on  the  part 
of  the  Imperial  CJovernment  has 
to  do  with  the  present  difficulties. 
It  will  be  shown  also  that,  in 
laying  out  the  future  of  her 
colony.  (Ireat  Hritain  cannot  with 
any  justice  evade  her  own  share 
3  D 


740 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  New  Zealand. 


[June, 


of  the  responsibilities  which  at- 
tach to  her  self-assumed  position 
as  guardian  of  the  mixed  races  at 
the  antipodes.  Finally,  in  exam- 
ining the  recent  events,  it  will 
appear  that  the  sudden  change  of 
system  lately  adopted,  is  one  of 
sound  rather  than  substance,  and 
that  the  solution  of  "  the  native 
question  "  is  by  no  means  brought 
near  by  it,  as  a  great  portion 
of  our  press  has  too  hastily  as- 
sumed. 

Our  first  connection  as   a  state 
with  New  Zealand  dates  from  the 
year   1833;   but  before   that   time 
a  very  considerable  English  popu- 
lation   occupied    certain    parts  of 
what  now   forms   the   province  of 
Auckland.       Church   missionaries, 
and  those  of  the  Wesleyan  body, 
had  long  been  established  among 
the  native  tribes  of  the  north,  and 
by    dexterous     dealing    with    the 
chiefs,  and   giving  them  practical 
proofs   of  the  value  of   the  white 
man's  arts,  had  occupied  a  tolerably 
secure  position,  even  amid  the  con- 
stant tribal  wars,  which,  from  time 
immemorial,  had  formed  the  chief 
occupation  of  the  Maori  race.     But 
side   by   side   with  this   civilising 
element — and  with  all  their  weak 
points,  no  unprejudiced  person  who 
knows  the  history  of  New  Zealand 
will  deny  that  the  missionaries  did 
much   to   raise   the   status   of   the 
native — there  grew  and  increased 
a  lawless  population  of  the  worst 
type   of  the   European  desperado. 
A  mixture  of  runaway  sailors,  wan- 
dering  ex-convicts   from    Sydney, 
and   petty    colonial    traders,  were 
dispersed  along  the  rivers  and  har- 
bours of  the  Northern  Island,  hav- 
ing succeeded  the  original  "Pakeha 
Maori,"  or  adopted  single  white  man 
of  the  native  tribes.     At  the  first 
these  immigrants  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  pay  toll  to  the  chiefs  on 
their  profitable  bargaining  with  the 
rest  of   the   tribes;    and   as   trade 
with  Australia  increased,  and  whal- 
ers in  greater  numbers  came  in  for 
supplies,  they  acted  as  middlemen 
between  their  former    protectors, 


grown  more  greedy  of  gain  than 
ever,  and  the  ship-captains  or  super- 
cargoes. Many  of  these  gentry  had 
left  the  adjacent  colonies,  because 
preferring  the  good  old  rule  of  the 
strongest  hand  to  the  modern  inno- 
vation of  a  Court  of  Queen's  Bench ; 
and  as  a  class  they  were  wont  to 
repay  themselves  for  discreditable 
subservience  to  the  chiefs  by  in- 
solence and  violence  towards  the 
weaker  natives  and  unprotected 
Europeans.  Firearms  and  gun- 
powder had  been  lately  introduced 
by  them  in  large  quantities ;  and  a 
series  of  desolating  wars,  beginning 
in  the  north  about  the  year  1825, 
and  conducted  by  the  tribes  first 
armed  with  their  new  weapons,  had 
sent  a  wave  of  slaughter  and  con- 
quest throughout  the  country,  re- 
sulting in  a  diminution  of  the  pop- 
ulation from  which  the  race  has 
never  recovered. 

From  the  first  the  interests  of 
these  two  elements  of  New  Zealand 
society  —  the  missionary  and  the 
adventurer — were  directly  opposed, 
and  in  their  existence  may  be  traced 
the  germ  of  the  contending  opin- 
ions between  which  the  action  of 
the  Home  Government  has  hung 
indecisive.  The  one  desired  the 
security  of  British  law;  the  other 
wished  for  nothing  less  than  the 
trammels  of  civilisation  which  they 
had  already  fled  from.  But  as 
might  be  expected,  the  complaints 
of  the  missionaries  and  the  more 
peaceable  members  of  the  commun- 
ity of  the  lawless  nature  of  the  so- 
ciety which  surrounded  them,  at 
length  took  effect  with  the  Gover- 
nors of  Sydney,  who  had  always 
held  the  affairs  of  New  Zealand  as 
falling  within  the  limits  of  their 
commission ;  and  the  first  step  was 
taken  towards  the  assertion  of  a 
British  protectorate  by  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  Resident  at  the  Bay  of 
Islands  in  the  year  before -men- 
tioned. The  independence  of  the 
natives  was,  however,  acknowledged 
for  the  six  years  that  followed;  and 
it  was  not  until  much  pressed  by 
local  representations  of  the  neces- 


1805.] 


Thirty  Years  2*olicy  in  Xew  Zealand. 


'41 


sity.  that  the  Imperial  Government 
derided  <ni  further  intervention. 

Tlie  state  of  things  which  com- 
]»elled  this  strong  step  was  indeed 
almost  intolerable.  The  name  of 
British  protection — although  under 
it  the  Kesident,  a  man  of  little 
chanicter,  failed  altogether  to  make 
his  authority  regarded — j'ct  proved 
a  powerful  inducement  to  the  in- 
crease of  the  Knglish  population 
and  the  growth  of  s]>cculiition. 
This  latter  had  now  taken  the 
well  known  form  called,  in  colonial 
phrase,  "  land  -  .sharking  :  "  and 
grants  of  territory  were  purchased 
wholesale  from  the  real  or  pretend- 
ed owners  among  the  chiefs  for  the 
purpose  of  hawking  them  in  the 
adjacent  colonies,  or  obtaining  more 
valid  titles  hereafter,  should  Great 
Britain  take  possession.  SOUK  of 
these  documents  were  vague  enough 
to  include  millions  of  acres.  In- 
deed, a  single  one,  still  existing  at 
Auckland,  granted  the  happy  pur- 
chaser "  all  the  land  from  this 
kauri-tree  to  that  rock." — a  defini- 
tion which  might  be  held  to  apply 
to  the  whole  island.  As  the  Mao- 
rie.s  in  theory  claim  all  land  that 
has  been  at  any  time  conquered  by 
their  forefathers,  and  as  each  of  the 
chief  tribes  has  had  its  turn  of  de- 
vastation and  pre-eminence,  there 
was  no  piece  of  fertile  ground  which 
had  not  its  set  of  undefined  claims 
hanging  over  it,  good  enough  to 
sell,  if  not  to  enter  into  possession 
with.  Such  rights  were  frequently 
parted  with  for  a  moderate  supply 
of  blankets,  kettles,  or  gunpowder, 
to  meet  present  wants  ;  and  in  the 
short  space  of  the  reign  of  the 
Kesident,  an  excellent  foundation 
was  laid  for  multiplied  litigation 
in  the  courts  and  survey  otlices  of 
the  future  colony,  and  for  a  crop  of 
"native  difficulties"  of  the  most 
inextricable  character.  Whilst  such 
were  the  doings  in  the  interior, 
the  brawling  and  violence  at  the 
coast-settlements  increased  ;  and  so 
urgent  became  the  necessity  for  a 
stronger  rule  that  the  Bay  of  Is- 
land settlers  were  actually  driven 


to  form  a  government  of  their  own 
for  police  purposes,  in  anticipation 
of  that  for  which  they  had  repeat- 
edly applied.  Thus  far,  indeed, 
the  intervention  from  Sydney  had 
wrought  nothing  but  mischief,  and 
a  decision  of  the  Imperial  Govern- 
nient  in  favour  of  the  establish- 
ment of  a  regular  colonial  authority 
was  impatiently  invoked. 

It  is  at  this  point  in  the  history 
of  \ew  Xealand  that  we  look  in 
vain  for  any  trace  of  statesmanlike 
views  as  to  the  future  of  the  inlands 
and  of  the  native  race.  Sutlicielit 
information  had  been  transmitted 
to  the  Colonial  Office  to  have  en- 
aided  the  home  authorities  to  see 
that  the  work  before  them  was  one 
of  a  serious  nature  ;  and  that  to 
postpone  the  settlement  of  the 
difficult  questions  arising  from  the 
juxtaposition  of  the  two  races  w;us 
but  to  plaster  over  an  increasing 
sore,  and  leave  greater  evils  to  be 
dealt  with  hereafter.  At  the  same 
time  the  physical  conformation  of 
the  islands  offered  a  ready  and  in- 
expensive solution  of  the  problem 
of  the  preservation  of  our  rights 
without  a  direct  sweeping  away  of 
those  admitted  as  belonging  to  the 
tribes.  The  latter,  it  may  be 
granted,  might  have  been  at  this 
time  bought  up  by  a  lavish  Impe- 
rial payment  ;  but  a  corresponding 
expenditure  in  protecting  forces 
would  have  been  necessary  to  place 
the  new  colony  beyond  the  danger 
of  attack  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
perhaps  expecting  too  much  breadth 
of  view  in  our  Colonial  ( Mliee.  and 
too  great  liberality  in  our  Legisla- 
ture, to  have  called  on  them  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  a  province  at  the 
antipodes  on  so  munificent  a  scale. 
This  being  so,  the  proper  alterna- 
tive was  easily  to  be  discerned  by 
those  who  looked  into  the  matter. 

The  country  of  New  Zealand, 
containing  an  area  somewhat  ex- 
ceeding that  of  Great  Britain,  is 
divided  by  the  narrow  and  stormy 
sea  of  Cook's  Strait  into  the  nearly 
equal  parts  called  the  Northern  and 
Middle  Islands.  Of  these,  the 


742 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  New  Zealand. 


[June, 


former  is  of  the  more  varied  char- 
acter of  formation,  having  some 
single  giant  mountains,  as  well  as 
several  chains  of  great  height.  The 
latter  lie  chiefly  about  the  southern 
extremity  towards  the  Strait ;  the 
former  are  near  the  centre,  and 
throw  off  towards  the  north  ranges 
of  hills  clothed  for  the  most  part 
with  magnificent  forests,  and  se- 
parating valleys  where  the  trees 
give  way  to  natural  grass  or  ferns. 
The  eastern  coast  is  pierced  by 
numerous  fine  harbours  ;  the  west- 
ern has  the  embouchures  of  several 
rivers  of  a  volume  surprising  as 
compared  with  the  size  of  the  island 
they  drain,  and  discharging  in  some 
instances  into  large  tidal  lagoons. 
Thus  from  either  side  the  interior 
may  be  reached  without  difficulty 
in  peaceful  times;  and  as  a  natural 
consequence,  the  course  of  trade  had 
flowed  along  the  shores  of  these 
streams  and  havens,  and  connected 
itself  with  the  native  settlements 
on  the  fertile  portions  of  the  valleys, 
whither  the  missionaries  had  also 
gone  to  seek  their  flocks.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  dense  nature  of  the 
forests,  and  intricacies  of  the  coun- 
try, where  trackless  swamps  in 
many  places  have  been  formed  by 
the  overflow  of  the  rivers,  bade  de- 
fiance to  any  effort  at  conquest ;  as 
indeed  the  existence  of  a  body  of 
natives,  estimated  at  the  close  of  a 
long  series  of  internecine  wars  at 
nearly  the  same  amount  as  in  the 
days  of  Cook,  sufficiently  attested 
the  means  of  escape  and  defence  af- 
forded the  weaker  parties.  More 
than  this, — it  was  self-evident  that 
a  very  large  community  of  whites 
might  occupy  the  coast  and  its  har- 
bours, spread  themselves  round 
bays  and  lagoons,  settle  on  the 
rivers,  and  cultivate  the  valleys  far 
inland,  and  yet  for  many  a  long 
year  be  infinitely  more  at  the  mercy 
of  the  adjacent  Maori  tribes  than 
ever  was  Lowland  laird  at  that  of 
Highland  cateran. 

Very  different  were  the  circum- 
stances of  the  so-called  Middle 
Island.  Bordered  along  the  whole 


western  shore  from  end  to  end  by 
a  huge  chain  of  Alpine  mountains, 
the  wide  space  between  their  base 
and  the  eastern  coast  is  in  great 
part  a  series  of  grassy  plains,  with- 
out any  more  difficult  feature  than 
the  frequency  of  the  rivers,  and 
with  but  a  very  moderate  propor- 
tion of  wood.  As  far  as  can  be 
judged  from  the  oral  history  of  the 
natives,  it  has  never  presented  the 
same  attractions  to  them  as  its 
northern  sister.  The  mountains 
were  too  steep  and  bleak  for  their 
subsistence ;  the  plains  denied  them 
the  shelter  of  the  strong  positions 
needed  by  warlike  habits  for  their 
villages ;  and  the  already  small 
population  had  been  slaughtered 
down  to  insignificance  by  the  last 
invasion  from  the  other  side  of  the 
Strait.  Here  then,  was  all  that 
could  be  wished  for  in  the  future 
of  the  colony  :  boundless  and  easily 
accessible  lands  ;  facility  of  inter- 
communication ;  pasturage  ready 
provided  ;  above  all,  freedom  might 
be  at  once  secured  from  the  native 
difficulty,  for  the  resident  Maories, 
for  the  most  part  a  broken-spirited 
race,  were  ready  to  part  with  their 
claims  at  an  easy  rate  ;  and  the 
country  afforded  no  facilities  for 
irregular  warfare  or  depredation  on 
the  settlements. 

These  conditions  understood,  the 
course  of  wisdom  for  the  Imperial 
Government  was  clear.  The  sys- 
tem of  bit-by-bit  purchase  and  oc- 
cupation in  the  Northern  Island 
should  have  been  decisively  check- 
ed in  its  outset  by  the  refusal  to 
recognise  any  claim  to  protection 
on  the  part  of  those  who  had  vol- 
untarily made  their  homes  among 
the  pahs  of  the  Maori,  and  placed 
themselves  at  hi.s  mercy.  The  ra- 
bid speculation  which  had  begun  at 
the  expense  of  his  ignorance  and 
thriven  on  his  temptation,  should 
have  been  sternly  discouraged  by 
the  absolute  declaration  of  the  ille- 
gality of  all  such  pretended  pur- 
chases of  land  by  private  individ- 
uals from  a  race  not  yet  placed 
under  British  law,  and  whose  own 


1SG5.] 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  AV«' 


customs  disowned  the  right  of  sale. 
The  missionaries  and  traders  should 

liuve  been  made  to  feel,  that  to 
their  own  wisdom  and  forbearance 
they  must  trust  in  all  extension  of 
their  operations  ;  and  that  their 
petty  differences  with  each  other 
and  the  tribes  were  not  to  be  made 
the  pretext  for  drawing  in  the  Im- 
perial flag  to  sully  it  by  interfering 
in  private  quarrels  or  supporting 
pains  bought  by  fraud.  A  few  years 
of  delay  in  settling  the  lands  which 
had  already  their  native  claimants 
for  every  acre,  would  have  been 
abundantly  compensated  by  the 
avoidance  of  the  little  wars  which 
have  three  times  marred  the  pro- 
gress of  the  colony  and  disfigured 
our  history.  In  the  south,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  were  invited  alike  by 
the.  nature  and  circumstances  of  the 
country  to  enter  into  possession  ; 
and  a  mere  fraction  of  the  resources 
expended  at  the  other  extremity  of 
New  Zealand  would  have  made 
what  are  now  known  as  Canterbury, 
Otago,  and  Southland,  flourishing 
provinces  long  years  before  private 
enterprise  and  gold  discoveries 
forced  them  into  importance.  And 
this  might  have  been  effected  with- 
out even  the  semblance  of  displac- 
ing the  fine  race  of  aborigines, 
of  whose  number  and  disposition 
enough  was  known  at  that  time  to 
the  Colonial  Otlice  to  have  guided 
our  policy  to  a  decision  both  just 
and  safe. 

Far  other  was  the  course  actually 
chosen,  being  indeed  the  very  con- 
trary of  that  which  a  clear  general 
view  of  the  conditions  might  have 
led  us  to  select.  Acting  upon  the 
system  of  blind  chance,  which  has 
often  brought  us  into  questionable 
positions  in  our  dependencies,  and 
allowing  our  policy  to  be  swayed 
by  the  self-created  emergencies  of 
the  handful  of  white  men  who  had 
selected  the  native-peopled  portion 
of  New  /calami  as  the  most  avail- 
able site  for  their  operations,  the 
Imperial  Ministry  resolved  there 
to  plant  the  seat  of  the  Colonial 
Government  which  they  had  de- 


cided to  found.  Captain  llobson 
was  accordingly  despatched  to  the 
Hay  of  Islands  early  in  1>  lo  to  :is- 
sume  the  administration;  and  in  the 
same  year  a  small  detachment  of 
troops  from  Sydney  arrived  to  sup- 
port his  authority,  which  he  had 
already  discovered  would,  without 
arms  to  aid  it.  be  as  worthless  as 
the  olden  Spanish  claims  to  Ame- 
rica. For  a  brief  space  the  avoid- 
ance of  all  interference  with  the 
natives,  and  a  certain  superstitious 
dread  which  these  at  tirst  enter- 
tained of  the  strange  soldiery, pre- 
served the  new  governor  and  his 
staff  from  a  collison  with  the  tribes  ; 
and  the  certain  result  of  the  attempt 
to  assert  the  (Queen's  supremacy 
with  totally  inadequate  means  was 
further  postponed  by  the  early  re- 
nioval  of  the  capital  to  a  new  .site 
at  Auckland.  Meyond  the  excel- 
lence of  its  harbour,  the  Kay  of 
Islands  had  not  a  single  recommen- 
dation. Placed  very  near  the  north- 
ern end  of  New  Zealand,  the  coun- 
try adjoining  was  of  narrow  width 
from  sea  to  sea.  and  broken  by 
continual  ridges  of  steep  wooded 
hills.  Its  valleys  were  too  confined 
to  give  fair  prospect  of  space  to  the 
settlers,  whil>t  the  whaling  trade 
had  attracted  to  it  a  formidable 
number  of  the  most  warlike  tribes, 
who  could  at  all  times,  within  a  few 
hours,  retire  on  some  of  the  strong- 
est positions  which  the  fastnesses 
of  their  picturesque  islands  afford. 
Viewed  as  a  strategic  choice — as  a 
base  wherefrom  to  carry  on  the 
subjugation  of  the  country — Auck- 
land had  certainly  peculiar  advan- 
tages ;  and  for  these  it  was  in  all 
probability  as  much  selected  by 
Captain  Hobson  as  for  the  superior 
trading  facilities  which  were  the 
ostensible  reasons  for  the  removal. 
For,  short  as  was  the  time  for  which 
he  had  held  his  commission,  he 
was  clearsighted  enough  to  discern 
wherein  lay  the  real  difficulties 
which  he  had  to  surmount.  From 
the  immediate  pressure  of  the.se  the 
transference  of  his  capital  removed 
him. 


744 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  New  Zealand. 


[June, 


Auckland  is  placed  upon  a  heavy 
clay  soil,  unfavourable  to  the  tim- 
ber growth  which  encroaches  on 
most  of  the  other  ports.  A  con- 
siderable space  of  open  country 
surrounds  it,  allowing  the  town  to 
expand  freely  without  being  held 
in  constant  peril  by  a  forest  border. 
The  harbour  is  a  fine  one,  opening 
to  the  west ;  while  a  vast  inlet  of 
the  sea,  running  from  the  other  side 
of  the  island,  brings  the  eastern  tide 
within  seven  miles  of  the  town. 
Holding  the  neck  of  land  thus 
formed,  which  was  destined  to  be 
the  very  first  part  to  be  closely  oc- 
cupied, the  white  man's  territory 
at  once  completely  severed  the 
northern  tribes  from  those  of  the 
central  districts,  and  rendered  any 
coalition  between  them  at  once  less 
likely,  and  less  formidable  if  made. 
A  minor  advantage,  as  matters  then 
stood,  was  the  facility  of  reaching 
the  fertile  centre  of  the  island  by 
the  two  natural  highways  of  the 
natives,  the  Thames  and  Waikato 
rivers,  which  discharge  into  the  sea 
on  the  west  and  east  coasts  respec- 
tively, at  points  but  little  to  the 
south  of  the  neck  of  land  just  men- 
tioned. This  was  a  feature  parti- 
cularly acceptable  to  the  mission- 
aries and  more  active  of  the  traders ; 
and  notwithstanding  the  immediate 
losses  to  many  settlers  which  such 
a  removal  involves,  the  governor's 
plan  was  carried  out  in  November 
1840  with  a  very  general  sense  of 
acquiescence  in  i  ts  j  ustice.  A  strong 
opposition  was  raised  at  home  by  the 
New  Zealand  Company — an  associ- 
ation lately  founded  in  England  by 
an  influential  party,  to  carry  out  a 
special  doctrinaire  theory  of  the  art 
of  colonisation — which  had,  in  the 
previous  year,  made  an  ostensible 
purchase  of  large  tracts  of  lands  at 
Cook's  Strait,  where  they  hoped, 
by  the  pressure  of  their  representa- 
tive speakers  and  writers,  to  com- 
pel the  Ministry  to  seat  the  new 
government,  and  confirm  them  in 
their  possessions.  But  their  first 
settlement,  Wellington,  was  at  one 
of  the  points  still  claimed  by  the 


Maories,  the  so-called  sale  being  re- 
pudiated by  influential  chiefs.  Its 
occupation  as  a  capital  would,  there- 
fore, have  by  no  means  solved 
the  inevitable  dilemma  ;  whilst  its 
confined  site,  lying  along  the  foot 
of  a  bold  range  of  hills  accessible 
to  the  neighbouring  tribes,  made  it 
peculiarly  undesirable  in  a  military 
point  of  view,  and  would  have  alone 
justified  its  rejection.  Yet  it  is  not 
surprising  that,  from  the  date  of 
Captain  Hobson's  decision,  there 
arose  a  bitter  jealousy  against  the 
favoured  capital  on  the  part  of  the 
city  raised  by  private  enterprise, 
which  has  complicated  local  politics 
down  to  the  present  time. 

Captain  Hobson  was  instructed, 
on  taking  charge  of  the  government, 
to  obtain  the  assent  of  as  many 
of  the  natives  as  possible  to  this 
assumption  of  sovereignty  on  the 
part  of  Great  Britain.  This  gave 
rise  to  the  famous  treaty  of  Wait- 
angi — a  document  drawn  up  at  the 
Bay  of  Islands  before  the  governor 
left  that  spot,  and  accepted  by  a 
few  of  the  principal  natives,  well 
paid  for  their  signatures.  Copies 
were  afterwards  circulated  in  other 
districts,  and  signed,  in  some  in- 
stances, by  chiefs  who  had  vague 
powers  over  the  will  of  their  tribes, 
and  in  some  by  private  individuals 
who  had  none.  To  any  one  who 
knows  the  divided  condition  of  the 
tribes,  their  conflicting  pretensions, 
and  the  communistic  tenure  of  the 
land  occupied  by  each,  the  idea  of 
these  scattered  signatures  conveying 
away  the  sovereignty  of  the  whole 
race  to  a  distant  power,  is  a  notion 
too  ridiculous  for  serious  argument. 
Speakers  in  England  have  referred 
to  it  as  the  abdication  of  the  Maori 
in  favour  of  our  Queen  ;  but  it 
would  be  idle  indeed,  if  not  'dis- 
honest, to  plead  it  as  the  basis  of 
our  action  in  the  years  succeeding. 
In  plain  truth,  it  was  a  well-meant 
but  very  feeble  attempt  to  give  a 
legal  colour  in  the  native  eyes  to 
the  claims  which  prior  discovery 
gave  us  over  the  islands  under  the 
international  practice  of  Europe. 


1865. 


Tltirty  Years   I'vlicy  in  Xew  Zealand. 


'45 


Its  acceptance  might  have  made  a 
few  legal  rebels  amongst  the  Ma- 
ories.  hut  could  not  in  any  way 
affect  the  position  of  the  nice  ;us  re- 
garded ourselves,  they  being  hound 
to  it  neither  by  ]>ersonal  nor  vicari- 
ous concession  of  their  own  rights, 
whatever  these  rights  might  be. 

Not  long  after  the  foundation  of 
Auckland,  Captain  Hobson  was  re- 
moved by  death  from  the  scene  of 
his  labours,  and  a  short  interreg- 
num followed  under  an  acting 
governor.  Mr  Shortland.  The  tirst 
overt  attempt  was  made  at  this 
time  to  assert  a  general  control 
over  the  natives  beyond  the  juris- 
diction of  the  local  courts,  by  in- 
terfering in  their  tribal  wars.  One 
of  these  had  broken  out  at  Tauran- 
ga,  on  the  east  coast  ;  and  thither 
Mr  Shortland  despatched  his  tiny 
garrison — less  than  one  company — 
from  Auckland,  with  three  pieces 
of  artillery.  Notwithstanding  the 
ostensible  cause  of  this  arrival,  the 
plunder  of  some  adjacent  settlers, 
the  Maories  were  keen  enough  to 
see  deeper  into  the  matter,  and 
to  unite  in  protesting  against  any 
armed  interposition  in  their  quar- 
rel ;  and  his  means  being  found  by 
the  commanding  otHcer  obviously 
unequal  to  the  reduction  of  the 
least  formidable  of  the  native  pahs 
(fortifications  now  for  the  first 
time  examined  with  professional 
eyes),  Mr  Shortland  was  glad  to 
escape  from  his  embarrassment  by 
the  offer  of  the  contending  parties 
to  accept  his  friendly  arbitration. 
He  then  withdrew  the  command, 
which  returned  to  Auckland  with 
considerable  loss  of  the  prestige 
which  the  possession  of  big  guns 
had  at  the  outset  given  the  1'akeha 
soldiers.  The  feud  they  were  power- 
less to  stop  had  died  out,  all  knew, 
from  the  native  weariness  of  it ; 
and  although  our  failure  in  the 
grand  policy  of  armed  neutrality 
produced  but  little  effect  on  the 
spot,  because  of  the  comparative 
insignificance  of  the  tribes,  yet  the 
rumour  of  it  spread  through  the 
Waikato  and  other  adjoining  cen- 


tral districts,  and  determined  their 
inhabitants  to  exclude  all  British 
claims  and  pretensions  from  the 
banks  of  their  noble  streams — a 
resolve  adhered  to  firmly  for  the 
twenty  years  that  followed. 

This  Tauranga  war,  memorable 
as  the  last  in  which  the  practice  of 
cannibalism  was  resorted  to,  ceased 
early  in  181:5.  In  November  of  that 
year  arrived  the  new  (lovernor,  Cap- 
tain Fitxrov,  appointed  rather  for 
his  reputation  as  a  man  of  science 
than  for  practical  statesmanship. 
Moral  force  and  moral  suasion  were 
the  weapons  with  which  the  good 
man  sought  to  overcome  the  native 
difficulty.  Appeals  to  the  chiefs 
and  evangelical  discourses,  translat- 
ed verbatim  for  the  Maori  benefit, 
were  his  artillery.  He  confounded 
the  purposes  of  governing  and  of 
christianising  so  closely  as  to  desire 
to  accomplish  both  by  the  same 
mild  means  ;  and  as  human  nature 
at  the  antipodes  is  human  nature 
still,  he  met  with  about  the  same 
success  as  our  Government  would, 
if  confiding  the  collection  of  taxes 
to  the  dissenting  Ministry,  and  the 
police  of  (Jreat  Britain  to  the  clergy 
of  the  Church.  The  ill-regulated 
energy  of  the  New  Zealand  Com- 
pany's agents  had  already  produced 
one  formidable  conflict  between  the 
Maories  and  settlers,  and  the  con- 
duct of  the  new  Governor  confirmed 
the  former  in  their  resolve  to  limit 
the  encroachments  of  the  new 
comers.  But  it  is  time  that  we 
should  detail  the  causes  of  this 
"  Massacre  of  the  Wairau." 

It  is  difficult,  even  after  the  short 
interval  of  twenty  years,  to  under- 
stand in  their  full  force  the  ardent 
and  sanguine  views  of  the  founders 
of  the  Cook's  Strait  settlements. 
Their  exertions  had  produced  for  a 
time  a  perfect  Jtimrt  for  colonisa- 
tion among  very  superior  classes  to 
those  which  usually  emigrate  ;  and 
shipload  after  shipload  of  well-edu- 
cated men  and  women  was  dis- 
charged on  the  narrow  beach  of 
Wellington,  to  lament  the  delusions 
which  had  brought  them  over  the 


746 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  Neiv  Zealand. 


[June, 


ocean,  to  despond  for  a  while,  and 
then,  resigned  to  their  new  fate, 
to  throw  themselves  with  the  full 
energy  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  upon 
the  task  of  digging  the  foundations 
of  a  new  province.  The  bargains 
made  on  behalf  of  the  Company 
for  land  near  the  port  were  repudi- 
ated by  the  natives  as  mere  jokes 
of  individuals,  and  the  immediate 
local  difficulties  which  arose  were 
not  overcome  for  years,  and  then 
only  by  the  exertions  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, the  pressing  dangers  hav- 
ing been  at  first  temporised  with 
until  increased  numbers  gave  some 
security  to  the  settlers.  Those  of 
Nelson  (settled  in  1841  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  Strait)  were  less 
fortunate.  Their  chief  grazing 
ground,  the  AVairau  Valley,  sup- 
posed by  them  to  have  been  once 
fairly  paid  for,  they  found  to  be 
closed  against  their  surveyors  by  a 
powerful  chief,  Rauperaha ;  and  an 
attempt,  which  must  now  be  ad- 
judged as  ridiculous  and  dangerous, 
to  overcome  his  opposition  by  serv- 
ing a  magistrate's  warrant  upon 
him,  produced  the  slaughter  of  "the 
posse  comiiatus,  who  were  both 
armed  and  sufficiently  numerous 
to  justify  the  native  belief  that 
their  act  was  one  of  war.  The 
whole  affair  was  reported  to  the 
tribes  as  a  victory  in  fair  fight,  and 
this  view  received  but  too  much 
countenance  from  the  conduct  of 
Fitzroy,  who,  on  his  arrival  soon 
after,  not  only  made  no  attempt  (as 
indeed  he  had  no  power)  to  punish 
the  slayers,  but  affected  to  treat 
the  whole  matter  as  merely  a  warm 
but  not  improper  assertion  of  Ma- 
ori right. 

A  few  months  of  fool's  paradise 
succeeded  the  advent  of  the  new 
Governor.  Notwithstanding  al- 
most daily  reports  of  the  dangerous 
state  of  feeling  which  prevailed 
round  all  the  settlement,  and  which 
was  specially  manifested  in  the 
growing  insolence  of  the  Maori 
since  the  Wairau  affair,  extending 
even  to  breaches  of  law  in  the 
streets  of  Auckland,  he  persisted  in 


his  belief  that  "  this  noble  race  " 
would  learn  to  do  right  under 
moral  direction,  and  limited  his 
precautions  to  the  appointment  of 
a  "  Chief  Protector  of  Aborigines," 
whose  duty  seems  to  have  been  to 
congratulate  his  superior  periodi- 
cally on  the  tranquillity  and  peace 
of  the  country,  in  order  that  the 
congratulations  might  be  transmit- 
ted to  England.  Alas  for  the  rose- 
coloured  visions  of  Protector,  Gov- 
ernor, and  Secretary  of  State  !  The 
whole  colony  was  seething  with 
the  elements  of  mischief.  At  the 
Bay  of  Islands  particularly  the  set- 
tlers who  had  remained  were  ex- 
posed to  constant  petty  outrage, 
and  could  hold  their  property  only 
by  acknowledging  the  practical 
suzerainty  of  the  Maori,  and  sub- 
mitting to  his  every  whim.  Fortu- 
nately for  them  the  tribes  congre- 
gated there  were  divided  in  origin 
and  sentiment ;  and  when,  after 
some  months  of  this  miserable  sys- 
tem of  concession,  an  open  and 
public  rejection  of  the  European 
claims  to  rule  was  made,  the  out- 
break was  headed  by  a  native 
known  only  as  the  son-in-law  of  a 
great  warrior  now  dead.  Himself 
ambitious,  but  of  humble  origin, 
this  Heki  would  have  made  the 
movement  the  tool  of  his  own  ad- 
vancement, and  was  looked  on  from 
the  first  by  the  older  chiefs  with 
jealousy  and  dislike.  In  the  month 
of  July  1844  the  rebellion  which 
he  had  prepared  began,  the  little 
town  was  partly  pillaged,  and  the 
Queen's  flagstaff  cut  down. 

Governor  Fitzroy,  thus  rudely 
awakened  from  his  dreams,  in  haste 
sent  a  demand  to  Sydney  for  the 
troops  whose  employment  he  had 
hitherto  denounced.  On  their  ar- 
rival he  visited  the  disturbed  set- 
tlement, and  partly  by  show  of 
force,  partly  by  taking  off  the  cus- 
toms dues  objected  to  by  the 
natives  as  interfering  with  their 
trade,  succeeded  in  restoring  order 
for  a  time.  This  done,  to  show 
his  confidence  in  the  friendly  feel- 
ing of  the  Maories,  this  most  gentle 


1805.] 


Thirty  Yiars  Policy  in  Xttc  Zealand. 


of  rulers  forthwith  dismissed  his 
troops  to  Sydney — ;i  measure  which 
Heki  and  his  party  with  less  charity 
ascribed  to  fear,  and  grow  trouble- 
Hunie  once  more.  The  flagstaff  be- 
in^  publicly  cut  down  ;i  second  time 
earily  in  lslf>,  Fit/roy  found  it 
necessary  to  take  some  jiermanent 
means  to  protect  the  emlilem  of 
British  sovereignty,  and  sent  a  de- 
tachment of  fifty  men  to  guard  it 
and  the  town.  This  feeble  force 
was  enough  to  provoke  Heki  and 
liis  supporters  to  decided  action, 
though  inadequate  for  any  useful 
purpose  ;  and  after  some  threats, 
the  place  was  attacked  and  plun- 
dered l>y  the  Maories  in  March,  the 
little  garrison  and  most  of  the  in- 
habitants (the  latter  receiving  no 
personal  injury  in  the  atlair)  being 
driven  on  board  a  Queen's  ship 
which  lay  in  the  bay. 

Thus  began  our  first  war  with 
the  Maories,  which  lasted  nearly 
two  years,  and  the  chief  scene  of 
which  lay  within  a  few  miles  of 
the  spot  where  Heki's  outrage  had 
been  committed.  To  represent  our 
final  success  as  a  triumph  of  Briti>h 
arms  is  an  error  natural  to  be  made 
at  a  distance,  but  which  needs  but 
a  few  lines  to  correct.  The  plain 
fact  is,  that  Ileki  had  been  joined 
in  the  rebellion  by  fragments  only 
of  the  adjacent  tribes,  and  that  the 
personal  jealousy  of  his  designs 
which  prevailed  among  the  chiefs, 
led  most  of  them  willingly  to  act 
as  allies  on  our  side.  The  British 
force  therefore  moved  on  their 
marches  to  attack  the  various  pahs 
which  the  enemy  erected,  with  an 
accompaniment  of  Maories  equal 
to  the  defenders  of  the  hostile 
camp,  and  were  thus  both  saved 
from  peril  of  surprise  in  the  woods, 
and  supplied  (on  payment)  with 
provisions  and  transport.  The  so- 
called  campaigns  consisted  of  toil- 
some movements,  repeated  time 
after  time  against  the  native  works, 
dragging  with  great  labour  through 
the  rough  forest  covered  country  a 
somewhat  inadequate  train  of  guns, 
and  finally  forcing  Heki's  warriors 


from  their  position,  after  a  series  of 
operations  equivalent  in  length  to 
a  European  siege,  but  inferior  in 
principle,  inasmuch  as  the  garrison 
in  every  case  effected  a  safe  retreat. 
Long  before  these  wearisome  opera- 
tions were  over,  ( Jovenior  (I rev  had 
arrived  to  supersede  the  well  mean- 
ing but  unfortunate  Fitxroy,  who 
had  begun  too  late  to  retrace  his 
steps  and  to  call  for  the  supplies 
of  men  and  money  which  were  the 
only  true  means  of  pacification. 
His  mind,  freed  from  the  toils  of 
an  otlice  which  his  gentle  nature 
was  wholly  unfitted  for,  turned 
once  more  to  the  peaceful  pursuits 
of  science,  in  which  he  had  early 
been  distinguished,  and  from  which 
he  has,  to  the  loss  of  the  nation, 
been  prematurely  removed  since 
this  paper  was  begun.  The  new 
ruler  brought  to  the  spot  the  pres- 
tige of  a  name  already  noted  for 
decision  and  energy,  together  with 
liberal  aid  from  the  Home  (lovern- 
ment,  now  thoroughly  awakened  to 
a  sense  of  their  responsibility  in 
the  matter :  for  great  as  Fitxroy's 
mistakes  had  been,  the  Colonial 
Otlice  had  had  other  information 
than  his;  and  the  first  great  error, 
be  it  remembered — the  attempt  at 
occupying  the  Northern  Island  with 
no  sufficient  means  to  enforce 
authority — must  be  fastened  upon 
it  alone. 

Heki  and  his  chief  ally  Kawiti 
protracted  the  struggle  until  it  was 
plainly  seen  that  their  cause  would 
receive  no  accession  of  strength. 
The  neighbouring  chiefs  found  it 
more  pleasant  and  profitable  to 
keep  to  the  white  man's  side,  be- 
ing well  paid  through  the  commis- 
sariat expenditure  for  their  task 
of  looking  on  at  the  tedious  de- 
molition of  the  different  pahs,  pre- 
pared rather  as  a  challenge  than 
for  any  really  military  purpose. 
The  hostile  sections  began  in  Ih45 
to  evince  weariness  of  the  labour 
they  had  imposed  on  themselves, 
and  but  for  Fitxroy's  having  re- 
quired them  to  surrender  their 
lands  as  a  preliminary  of  peace,  it 


748 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  Neio  Zealand. 


[June, 


might  possibly  have  been  made  in 
his  day.  The  capture,  with  but 
small  loss,  of  Kawiti's  stronghold, 
Euapekapeka  (the  Bat's  Nest),  early 
in  1846,  showed  plainly  the  in- 
creasing strength  of  the  foe  whom 
they  had  defied,  although  their  de- 
fence had  fully  satisfied  the  native 
idea  of  honour ;  and  its  fall  led  to 
their  suing  for  terms,  whicli  were 
granted  in  the  most  liberal  sense 
by  Governor  Grey.  He  gave  them 
full  pardon  without  the  condition 
of  any  forfeiture,  desiring  to  con- 
vince the  surrounding  tribes  that 
the  war  was  one  of  justice  and  not 
of  gain.  The  wisdom  of  this  meas- 
ure, combined  with  the  wholesome 
display  of  force,  and  of  the  subse- 
quent liberal  pensioning  of  the 
chief  of  our  native  allies,  has  been 
abundantly  manifested  by  the  peace 
which  has  ever  since  prevailed  at 
this,  once  the  most  disturbed  part 
of  the  islands. 

From  the  Bay  of  Islands  Gov- 
ernor Grey  hurried  southwards. 
There  another  crop  of  difficulties 
awaited  him  at  Wellington  and  her 
offshoot  settlements,  at  the  princi- 
pal of  which,  Wanganui,  there  were 
open  hostilities ;  whilst  near  the 
former  town  the  natives  had  used 
threats  and  erected  pahs  on  disput- 
ed land.  Every  day  promised  to 
add  to  the  danger,  whilst  the  or- 
dinance of  Fitzroy  remained  unre- 
voked,  by  which  that  mistaken  ruler 
had  abandoned  the  crown  right  of 
preemption  of  lands,  and  revived  in 
full  vigour  the  old  system  of  private 
purchase,  with  all  its  attendant 
roguery  and  and  its  train  of  quar- 
rels. Grey  lost  no  time  in  check- 
ing this  evil  by  revoking  that 
measure ;  and  from  that  date  pur- 
chases were  long  effected  solely  by 
a  regular  department,  as  they  are 
now  examined  by  it,  great  care  being 
used  before  completing  each  trans- 
action. The  action  of  the  Land 
Commission  was  revived,  by  which 
all  former  "land-shark"  grants  were 
submitted  to  a  proper  tribunal,  and 
reduced  in  every  case  within  the 
decent  dimension  of  four  square 


miles.  Whilst  thus  providing  with 
care  against  a  continuance  of  the 
abomination  (for  such  the  system 
thus  destroyed  appeared  to  all  save 
those  whose  interests  lay  in  it),  the 
Governor  took  active  measures  for 
checking  the  flame  of  rebellion 
Avhich  flickered  round  the  settle- 
ments on  Cook's  Strait.  The  force 
which  he  brought  from  the  north 
after  the  submission  of  Heki  was 
just  in  sufficient  time  for  this  pur- 
pose, so  perfectly  disconnected  were 
the  Maories,  as  a  race,  in  their  ac- 
tion. Even  in  the  single  province 
of  Wellington  their  tribes,  though 
evincing  a  general  tendency  to  hos- 
tility and  defiance,  were  as  yet  un- 
combined  in  any  effort;  and  our 
forces  having  surprised  and  carried 
off  from  his  pah  an  old  enemy, 
Rauperaha,  the  only  head  capable 
of  forming  them  into  one  hostile 
camp,  peace  was  easily  restored  to 
the  frightened  settlements  by  a 
judicious  display  of  vigour  and  of 
justice  in  the  treatment  of  their 
wild  neighbours.  A  bolder  course 
of  action  would  have  been  agree- 
able to  some  of  the  higher  spirits 
among  "the  Company's"  colonists, 
who  were  for  conceding  nothing  to 
native  demand;  but  that  Governor 
Grey's  policy  was  eminently  suc- 
cessful in  its  objects  can  hardly  be 
denied,  for  it  gave  a  settled  secu- 
rity to  the  whole  district  of  the 
Strait,  which  was  maintained,  it  is 
fair  to  add,  by  the  efforts  of  the 
local  authorities,  and  endured 
even  when  the  second  war  broke 
out. 

Before  the  end  of  1847  the  Gov- 
ernor could  report  the  existence  of 
a  real  tranquillity  in  all  the  settle- 
ments under  his  charge,  and  for  the 
next  few  years  the  progress  of  the 
colony  was  as  rapid  as  its  founders 
could  desire.  The  increasing  popu- 
lation of  Auckland  especially  soon 
placed  the  capital  at  tolerable  ease. 
Moreover,  Governor  Grey  took  the 
useful  precaution  of  causing  the 
isthmus  just  to  the  south  of  the 
city  to  be  occupied  by  military 
pensioners,  brought  from  England 


18G5.] 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  Xfw 


for  the  purpose,  and  kept  under 
regular  discipline  and  training  ; 
thus  making  a  barrier  to  any  sud- 
den advance  of  the  tribes  of  the 
central  districts,  whilst  a  regiment 
of  regulars,  whose  barracks  were  so 
enclosed  as  to  form  a  rough  citadel, 
guarded  the  town  itself.  A  single  se- 
rious alarm  was  caused  during  this 
period  of  peace,  by  the  Maoriesof  the 
Thames,  who  visited  Auckland  for 
the  purpose  of  threatening  its  in- 
habitants, by  performing  the  war- 
dance,  whilst  their  chiefs  preferred 
some  local  complaint.  But  the 
CJovernor  met  this  appearance  by 
the  refusal  to  entertain  the  alleged 
grievance  until  placed  before  him 
in  a  fitting  manner  ;  and  so  prompt- 
ly drew  up  his  little  force  into  a 
commanding  position  above  that 
occupied  by  the  natives,  that  the 
latter  were  glad  to  obey  his  order 
to  re-embark,  and  returned  to  en- 
counter the  ridicule  of  their  neigh- 
bours, rather  than  hold  their  ground 
beyond  the  time  allowed. 

Meanwhile  the  increased  prices 
given  by  the  Land  Department  pro- 
cured many  unexceptionable  pur- 
chases in  the  districts  not  occupied 
by  the  Maories.  And  although  the 
more  compact  and  powerful  tribes 
of  the  Waikato  and  other  central 
portions  refused  to  part  with  any 
of  their  territory,  yet  even  these 
felt  the  advantage  of  the  rapidly- 
growing  trade  of  the  city,  and  were 
divided  on  the  great  question  of 
opposing  the  farther  advance  of  the 
line  of  I'akeha  occupation.  Eight 
years  of  this  transition  state  changed 
the  face  of  affairs  so  rapidly,  that 
the  resources  of  Auckland,  and  of 
Wellington  also,  made  those  places 
above  the  reach  of  attack  :  and 
( although  the  Maori  still  rolled 
through  their  streets  with  a  warrior's 
swagger,  worthyof  a  Zouave  in  some 
captured  town,  he  yet  could  discern 
that  his  claim  as  the  ma-ster  of  the 
soil  had  here  passed  away,  and  that 
his  self -asserting  ways  would  in 
future  have  to  be  limited  to  the 
scattered  settlements,  which  still  lay 
at  his  mercy.  For,  be  it  remembered, 


the  Parliamentary  idea  of  his  form- 
ing "  one  of  a  subject  race,''  had 
never  entered  the  native's  mind. 
He  could  see  that  the  I'akeha  was 
more  numerous,  more  wealthy, 
more  ingenious  in  art,  than  his  own 
people.  But  neither  our  conduct 
in  war  nor  in  peace  had  ever  shown 
him  treated  as  less  than  equal ;  and 
the  old  idea  of  his  being  the  patron 
of  the  stranger,  was  maintained  by 
the  dependent  bearing  of  the  out- 
settlers,  whose  personal  interests 
caused  them  to  put  up  with  much 
that  was  mere  insolence,  but  which, 
for  convenience  sake,  was  allowed 
to  pass  for  Maori  habit. 

Meanwhile  the  able  but  despotic 
rule  of  Sir  (J.  (!rey  grew  more  and 
more  distasteful  to  the  intelligent 
settlers  of  the  towns.  "  Everything 
by  the  people,  and  nothing  without 
them."  must,  in  these  days,  be  the 
motto  of  any  colonial  governor  who 
would  hold  well  with  the  thriving 
Anglo-Saxons  of  our  scattered 
daughter-provinces.  The  very  re- 
verse— a  purely  paternal  govern- 
ment in  fact — had  been  the  prac- 
tice during  his  reign,  for  his  first 
care  had  very  properly  been  to  pre- 
serve tranquillity,  at  any  cost,  until 
the  colony  should  grow  to  strength 
and  security.  To  give  much  local 
power  would  have  been  to  reopen 
at  once  the  old  disputes.  Hut  when 
the  time  came  for  his  own  promo- 
tion to  another  charge,  after  six 
years  of  successful  government,  the 
dangers  to  the  towns  having  now 
been  much  diminished,  and  the 
land  shark  mania  fairly  strangled, 
Sirdeorge  saw  the  impossibility  of 
continuing  the  mere  pretence  of 
representation  which  had  hitherto 
been  the  rule,  and  went  into  the 
other  extreme  in  his  anxiety  to 
leave  a  fair  name  behind  with  all. 
The  Xew  Zealand  Constitution  pro- 
moted by  him,  and  partially  inau- 
gurated before  his  departure  at  the 
close  of  1M>3,  not  only  gave  repre- 
sentative government  to  the  islands 
at  large,  but  created  a  local  assem- 
bly in  each  of  the  six  provinces, 
with  the  novel  addition  of  an  elec- 


?50 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  Neiv  Zealand. 


[June, 


tive  lieutenant-governor,  entitled 
the  Superintendent.  To  avoid  the 
ominous  peril  of  interference  with 
the  interests  of  the  natives,  the 
Governor  was  still  to  have  the 
sole  control  of  all  dealings  with 
them,  and  their  lands  were  now 
publicly  proclaimed  as  out  of  the 
pale  of  the  laws  which  bound  the 
colonists.  But  in  this  reservation 
in  Maori  favour  was  the  germ  of 
a  constant  struggle  between  the 
Governor  and  the  Ministry,  who 
were  responsible  for  the  rest  of  his 
policy. 

The  departure  of  Grey  (whom  the 
Maories  justly  regarded  as  their  per- 
sonal friend),  coupled  with  the  ex- 
citement among  the  settlers  follow- 
ing their  assumption  of  the  rights 
and  duties  of  self-government,  pro- 
duced a  natural  ferment  in  the  na- 
tive mind.  The  parties  among  them- 
selves who  were  for  and  against  the 
selling  of  land  to  the  neighbouring 
provinces  grew  hotter,  and  the  ani- 
mus of  the  latter  section  (we  regret 
to  have  to  say  it)  was  enhanced  by 
the  general  teaching  of  the  mission- 
aries, moved  by  a  class  jealousy  of 
the  growth  which  was  rapidly  swal- 
lowing up  their  own  conquests  and 
throwing  the  civilisation  they  had 
created  into  the  shade.  Not  that 
the  exertions  of  any  class,  or  of  all, 
could  have  prevented  the  inevitable 
struggle.  The  hostile  party  among 
the  Maories  had  constantly  enlarged 
as  the  weakening  of  their  once  su- 
perior strength  grew  more  obvious, 
and  in  many  tribes  the  resolution 
had  long  since  been  come  to  by  the 
majority  to  give  at  no  price  more 
room  to  the  Pakeha,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, to  take  up  arms,  and  sacrifice 
all  present  profits  of  trade  to  the 
maintaining  the  line  of  demarcation 
intact,  and  the  ancient  sovereignty 
of  the  islands  with  it.  At  Taranaki 
the  matter  first  came  to  an  issue. 

This  petty  province,  lying  on 
the  east  coast,  about  half-way  from 
Auckland  to  Wellington, was  found- 
ed soon  after  the  latter  by  a  separate 
society.  Its  site  was  fixed  on  a 
tract  of  country  as  charming  as 


either  hemisphere  can  show.  It 
forms  the  fertile  base  of  a  magnifi- 
cent isolated  mountain,  whose  snowy 
cap  pierces  the  clouds,  and  is  reflect- 
ed in  the  neighbouring  bay,  the  ap- 
parent nearness  of  the  ocean,  and 
the  solitary  nature  of  the  peak,  giv- 
ing an  impression  of  vast  height 
more  striking  than  any  single  view 
of  the  Alps.  Here,  in  1841,  a  large 
purchase  of  lands  had  been  made 
by  private  agency,  and,  as  at  other 
places,  repudiated  as  soon  as  made  : 
so  that  the  settlers  had  been  obliged, 
after  much  dispute,  to  limit  their 
farms  to  less  than  a  tenth  part  of 
that  which  they  had  supposed  to  be 
theirs.  The  room  for  occupation 
being  thus  restricted,  the  accession 
of  population  soon  ceased ;  whilst 
the  natives  of  the  vicinity — at  first 
a  mere  remnant  of  the  former  in- 
habitants who  had  escaped  destruc- 
tion or  slavery  in  the  wars  of  Hongi 
— increased  rapidly  as  their  captive 
kinsmen  were  restored  to  freedom 
from  bondage  in  the  north  by  the 
exertions  of  the  missionaries.  Their 
late  degradation  proved  to  have  de- 
teriorated their  moral  bearing  great- 
ly ;  and  their  white  neighbours  early 
found  them  an  intrusive,  greedy, 
thievish  race.  So  manifestly,  how- 
ever, were  the  scattered  strangers 
and  their  peaceful  little  farms  at  the 
mercy  of  these  Maories,  that  tran- 
quillity was  purchased  for  many 
years  by  constant  submission  to  a 
system  of  petty  extortion  which 
amounted  to  a  regular  black-mail. 
The  discomfort  produced,  and  the 
slow  progress  of  the  colony,  conti- 
nued throughout  the  rule  of  Fitzroy 
and  of  Grey.  These  governors  would 
have  been  willing  to  remove  this 
special  danger  by  transferring  the 
whole  of  the  colonists — less  than 
2000  in  all — to  some  of  the  larger 
provinces;  but  this  proposal  was 
made  nugatory  by  the  attachment 
of  the  settlers  to  the  attractive  spot 
in  which  their  homes  were  fixed. 
Time  had  accustomed  many  of 
them  to  a  state  of  dependence 
which  would  have  been  incredible 
if  not  witnessed  by  disinterested 


1865.] 


Thirty  Yca>s   Policy  in  Afw  Zealand. 


observers:  and  their  own  conduct  in 
bearing  it  gives  distinctly  the  lie  to 
the  allegation  sometimes  in;ule,  that 
they  sought  the  kindling  of  the  war. 
The  simple  fact  is,  that  after 
Grey's  departure  the  conduct  of 
the  Maories  grew  more  and  more 
hostile,  and  finally  became  altogether 
unendurable.  In  ls">5,  a  petty  war 
having  arisen  between  two  sections 
of  the  tribes,  pahs  were  built  within 
six  miles  of  the  little  town,  and 
armed  parties  roved  about  the  set- 
tlement, committing  outrages  in  an 
open  manner,  and  threatening  the 
lives  of  any  who  interfered.  One 
of  the  contending  chiefs,  Katatore, 
publicly  announced  that  the  ulti- 
mate object  of  his  arming  was  to 
drive  the  1'akeha  into  the  sea  ;  and 
this  threat  (which  brought  him 
many  allies),  with  the  increasing 
insecurity  of  life  and  property,  over- 
came the  reluctance  of  the  whites  to 
invoking  the  aid  of  military  force, 
and  incurring  the  risk  of  being 
driven  for  a  while  from  their  home- 
steads. An  urgent  appeal  to  the 
acting  governor,  Colonel  Wynyard, 
was  made,  and  complied  with  (in 
September)  in  a  manner  very  credit- 
able to  that  official.  A  completely 
equipped  force  of  55u  men  was 
despatched  to  the  scene  of  disturb- 
ance, under  an  able  olHcer  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  Maori  tongue  and 
customs.  In  a  few  days  the  plun- 
dering incursions  were  checked, 
European  law  restored  within  its 
former  compact  boundary,  and  the 
hostilities  limited  to  ground  lying 
beyond  its  pale.  The  death  of  Kata- 
tore soon  afterwards,  by  the  hands 
of  a  hostile  native,  seemed  to  pro- 
mise a  more  secure  state  of  things. 
But  the  jealousy  of  race  had  now 
risen  too  high  to  be  allayed  by  the 
removal  of  a  single  leader,  and 
Wirema  Kingi  soon  stepped  into 
the  place  of  the  fallen  man,  and 
the  control  of  the  chief  part  of  the 
neighbouring  tribes,  on  the  avowed 
policy  nf  restraining  all  native  snlcs 
of  land  in  the  riciniti/,  and  thus 
preventing  the  growth  of  the  Pa- 
keha  settlement. 


We  do  not  purpose  to  enter  into 
the  details  of  the  vexed  question  of 
the  Waitara  purchase,  the  ostensible 
cause  of  the  second  New  Zealand 
war.  Stripped  of  the  technicalities 
by  which  it  has  been  purposely 
overlaid  by  the  missionary  party, 
and  by  the  opposition  formed  (a.s 
in  all  colonies  with  responsible  gov- 
ernment) against  the  Governor  and 
his  advisers,  the  matter  is  simple 
enough.  Colonel  Gore  Browne  was 
legally  wrong  in  insisting  on  the 
purchase,  if  it  is  to  be  taken  for 
granted  that  any  chief  might  inter- 
rupt all  sales  to  Government  in  his 
vicinity,  by  merely  securing  a  single 
objector  of  the  tribe  selling,  and 
supporting  his  veto  by  the  strong 
hand.  But  if  this  process  of  ob- 
struction was  to  be  put  an  end  to, 
and  the  sovereignty  of  the  Queen 
to  be  shown  to  have  any  substantial 
reality,  the  Governor  did  but  his 
duty  in  bringing  matters  to  a  simple 
issue.  Contusion  can  only  follow 
the  attempt  to  treat  the  commun- 
istic tenure  of  the  Maori  by  the  real 
property  laws  of  Great  Britain  ;  and 
the  reversal  of  his  predecessor's 
policy  by  Sir  G.  Grey  on  his  return 
to  office  (though  with  his  antece- 
dents in  native  dealings  it  can  hardly 
be  blamed),  has  effected  positively 
nothing  towards  the  pacification  of 
the  island.  The  opposition  of  Kingi 
was  merely  the  local  development  of 
the  same  feeling  of  defiance  which 
led  the  Waikato  tribes  somewhat 
earlier  to  elect  a  king  of  their  own, 
in  token  of  their  independence  of 
British  rule,  and  their  resolve  to 
permit  no  further  encroachments 
on  the  part  of  the  fast  multiplying 
1'akeha. 

Once  begun,  this  war  of  Taranaki 
dragged  its  slow  length  on  into 
1SG1,  to  the  destruction  of  the  set- 
tlement, and  to  no  other  purpose 
whatever.  It  was  managed,  on  our 
side,  with  a  thoroughly  amiable  re- 
gard to  the  mode  of  fighting  popular 
with  the  Maories,  and  with  a  total 
rejection  of  all  the  proper  maxims 
of  conducting  hostilities  against  a 
savage  race.  We  did  not  employ  na- 


Thirty  Years'  Policy  in  New  Zealand. 


[June, 


tive  auxiliaries,  though  such  might 
have  been  raised  from  the  north  in 
any  number  required.  We  did  not 
diminish  our  men's  equipment,  so 
as  to  gain  the  necessary  quickness 
of  movement.  We  made  no  attempt 
to  pierce  the  hostile  district  with 
light  parties,  and  to  destroy  the 
cultivations  on  which  the  enemy 
depended  for  supplies.  Such  were 
the  principles  which  Washington 
recommended  for  similar  cases, 
but  here  they  were  exactly  re- 
versed. Our  commander  remain- 
ed strictly  on  the  defensive,  under- 
taking the  hopeless  task  of  pro- 
tecting the  whole  settlement,  a 
strip  of  ground  about  twelve  miles 
by  four,  scattered  over  with  home- 
steads, and  bordered  by  as  dense  a 
forest  as  the  world  can  show !  The 
enemy,  therefore,  had  only  to  erect 
a  pah  or  two  along  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  to  which  we,  as  a  point  of 
honour,  laid  siege  in  regular  form, 
whilst  the  Maories  sent  out  thence 
small  plundering  parties  to  carry 
off  all  that  was  worth  taking  from 
the  farms.  Moreover,  by  way  of 
preventing  the  war  from  spreading, 
a  tacit  understanding  was  made 
that  no  distant  tribes  should  be 
considered  as  hostile,  as  long  as 
they  left  their  own  immediate  white 
neighbours  unmolested.  The  result 
was,  that  the  adventurous  spirits  of 
the  Waikatos  soon  appeared  on  the 
scene  by  fifties  at  a  time,  to  enjoy 
a  pah-defending  season,  just  as  the 
young  fashionables  of  London  and 
Paris  made  their  campaign  in  the 
wars  of  Louis  Quatorze.  Fortun- 
ately for  our  reputation,  their  con- 
tempt for  the  Pakeha  soldiery  grew 
so  rapidly,  that  a  considerable  body 
ventured,  early  in  1861,  to  meet 
General  Pratt  and  his  troops  on 
open  ground,  and  received  so  in- 
stant and  decisive  a  defeat  as  took 
away  their  stomach  for  fighting  for 
the  nonce,  and  left  Kingi — never  a 
popular  leader,  being  violent,  and 
at  times  drunken,  it  was  said,  in 
his  habits — without  support.  Hav- 
ing no  more  out-settlers  left  to 
plunder,  our  local  opponents  were 


glad  to  make  a  truce,  which  was 
called  a  peace  for  the  sake  of  effect, 
and  lasted  from  1861  to  the  middle 
of  1863. 

No  sensible  observer,  much  less 
the  keen  vision  of  Sir  G.  Grey  (now 
appointed  to  his  old  charge)  and 
of  General  Cameron,  could  mistake 
this  temporary  tranquillity  for  more 
than  a  useful  breathing-time.  The 
Waikatos  and  their  neighbours  un- 
animously rejected  all  our  attempts 
at  asserting,  in  the  remotest  degree, 
the  supremacy  of  the  Queen.  The 
efforts  of  their  chief  men  were  con- 
stant to  produce  some  more  general 
combination  for  resistance  than  the 
mere  local  struggles  of  1847  and 
1860  ;  and  every  day  the  feeling 
of  hostility  to  the  Pakeha,  and  of 
resolve  to  resist  his  progress,  grew 
with  what  it  fed  on  ;  until,  finally, 
the  system  of  organisation  had 
spread  so  far  that  the  use  of  armed 
guards,  to  protect  the  road-exten- 
sion works  carried  on  upon  our  own 
lands  to  the  south  of  Auckland, 
was  met  by  the  murder  of  a  weak 
detachment  on  the  other  side  of 
Taranaki,.  250  miles  away.  Then 
at  last  began  the  real  war,  which 
our  whole  previous  history  in  New 
Zealand  had  but  led  up  to. 

So  instructed  a  soldier  as  our 
new  general  was  perfectly  aware  of 
that  method  of  conducting  it  which 
has  been  previously  adverted  to  as 
recommended  by  North  American 
experience  —  viz.,  the  continually 
taking  the  offensive  in  such  light 
bodies,  supported  by  native  allies, 
as  might  permeate  the  whole  hostile 
territory,  and  make  the  native  feel 
the  really  unpleasant  side  of  war- 
fare, to  him  too  often  hitherto  but 
an  exciting  and  honourable  pastime. 
Such,  doubtless,  would  have  been 
the  policy  of  Grey  and  Cameron, 
but  that  the  large  resources  which 
their  joint  representations  had  ob- 
tained from  the  Home  Government 
gave  them  the  choice  of  a  more  per- 
manent method  of  securing  peace. 
To  pierce  with  good  roads  the  ter- 
ritories hitherto  closed  to  us — to 
open  the  noble  water  communica- 


1865.] 


TJiirty  Years'  7W«Vy  in 


tions  of  the  interior  by  means  of 
steamboats — to  occupy  the  import- 
ant points  connecting  these  lines 
of  transit  by  small  garrisons  first, 
by  military  settlements  afterwards, 
which  the  rapid  process  of  colonial 
society  is  already  changing  into 
thriving  towns:  such  are  the  etl'cc- 
tive  measures  now  in  progress  to 
guard  our  provinces  against  the 
evils  of  future  wars.  Let  the  true 
friends  of  the  native  see  and  recog- 
nise the  fact  that  he  had  already 
suffered  the  evils  induced  by  Kuro- 
pean  intercourse  (and,  to  dispel 
some  painful  imaginings  on  this 
head,  we  would  just  state  that  the 
deadliest  enemies  the  1'akeha  has 
brought  him  are  simple  measles  and 
influenza  —  maladies  often  made 
fatal  by  the  careless  habits  of  the 
savage),  and  that  it  is  time  the 
transition  state  of  pahs  and  petty 
wars  should  end  by  the  universal 
recognition  of  that  Hritish  law  for 
which  the  more  reasonable  of  the 
Maories  long  had  sighed.  Why 
wait  until  a  .solitude  is  made  before 
proclaiming  peace  !  As  to  the  tak- 
ing forcibly  their  estates  from  the 
lawful  holders — to  use  the  favour- 
ite phrase  of  certain  writers  for  the 
press — is  it  not  enough  to  say  that 
the  Northern  Island  contains  as 
much  fertile  land  nearly  as  England 
proper,  and  that  the  Maories  in  it 
are  estimated  at  a  bare  5( »,()()»>  / 

As  all  parties  appear  now  to  be  a- 
greed  on  the  necessity  of  fullyassert- 


ing  the  royal  prerogative  before  re- 
moving the  imperial  forces,  we  may 
safely  leave  the  details  to  be  worked 
out  on  the  spot.  It  is  beside  our 
present  theme  to  enter  into  the 
petty  intrigues  of  the  three  late 
and  the  future  ministries  of  Sir  (I. 
( Jrey  and  of  their  respective  opposi- 
tions. .John  Hull  made  satisfac- 
tory proof  of  his  ancient  gullibility 
when  he  listened  fur  a  moment  to 
the  voice  of  .Mr  Weld,  declaring 
that  he  purposed  to  finish  this  war 
of  races  without  our  aid.  That 
acute  gentleman  meant  as  much 
by  his  independent  speech  as  the 
schoolboy  who  protests  he  is  not  in 
present  need  of  a  tip,  the  while  he 
thrusts  his  uncle's  sovereign  deep 
into  the  recesses  of  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  The  colonial  Premier,  like 
our  own  Cabinet,  was  quite  aware 
that  the  honour  of  the  Kmpire  is 
too  deeply  involved  with  both  col- 
onists and  natives  to  leave  them  to 
work  out  by  internecine  contest 
their  claims  to  the  sovereignty  and 
the  soil  they  have,  hitherto  divided. 
Meanwhile  the  plains  of  Canter- 
bury, teeming  with  bounteous  flocks, 
and  the  ,L.r"ld  strewn  valleys  of  <  Hago, 
attract  their  thousands  yearly  to 
enter  in  and  occupy  with  undis- 
puted possession  ;  and  whilst  as- 
suring us  of  the  future  wealth  and 
power  of  the  England  of  the  anti- 
podes, point  the  moral  of  our  tale 
as  to  where  her  systematic  coloni- 
sation should  have  begun. 


754 


Tlie  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June, 


THE  GOVERNMENT  AND  THE  BUDGET. 


IP  any  evidence  were  required  to 
prove  that  Lord  Palmerston  is  the 
present  Government,  and  the  pre- 
sent Government  Lord  Palmerston, 
the  exhibition  which  the  Ministers 
made   of   themselves  on  the   occa- 
sion of  the  recent  debate  on   Mr 
Baines' s  motion  would  abundantly 
supply  it.     Poor  old  Pain  was  down 
with  a  fit  of  the  gout  when   the 
dreaded  motion  came  on.     He  was 
too  ill  even  to  see  and  advise  with 
his   colleagues   as    to    the    course 
which  they  ought  to  pursue  ;  and 
so,   on  the   Wednesday,  when   Mr 
Baines  rose  to  address  the  House, 
nobody  on  the  Ministerial  benches 
knew  either  what  he  was  to  do  or 
what  was  expected  of  him.     Then 
followed  a  scene  which  few  of  those 
who  witnessed  it  are  likely  ever  to 
forget.  The  great  Liberal  party,  as  it 
is  called,  broke  off  into  two  camps. 
What  Mr  Baines  advocated  Lord 
Elcho  ably  and  gallantly  resisted  ; 
what   Mr   Stansfeld   pressed   with 
such  weight    of    argument    as   he 
could    bring    to    bear,    Mr    Lowe 
utterly     demolished.       Then    was 
seen  on  the  Cabinet  bench  a  spec- 
tacle such  as  in  modern  times  has 
rarely  astonished  the  Senate.     The 
Ministers  spoke   together — not   in 
quiet    whispers — but   with    eager- 
ness,     much      gesticulation,     and 
warmth.      The  Chancellor   of   the 
Exchequer  made  a  movement  as  if 
to  get  upon  his  legs,  and  was  with 
difficulty  restrained ;  and  the  Lord 
Advocate     jumping     up,     nobody 
would  hear  him.     Fortunately  for 
the   Cabinet  time  ran  his  course, 
and  the  bell  rang  to  announce  that 
the  fatal  hour  of  six  was  at  hand. 
The  debate  stopped  at  the  bidding 
of  the  Speaker,  and  the  members 
went  home. 

Poor  Lord  Palmerston  was  still 
very  ill — so  ill  that  his  medical 
attendants  had  forbidden  his  tak- 
ing any  part  in  public  business. 
But  Pam  is  a  brave  old  man  ;  and, 


to  do  him  justice,  thinks  little  of 
personal  ease  and  personal  comfort 
when  higher  things  are  at  issue. 
He  has  long  arrived  at  the  con- 
viction that  after  him  will  come 
chaos  ;  and  as  far  as  his  own  party 
is  concerned,  we  believe  that  he  is 
right.  Whether  his  past  conduct 
has  been  such  as  to  satisfy  him, 
when  he  looks  back  upon  it,  that 
no  portion  of  the  blame  attaches 
to  himself,  is  more  than  we  can 
say.  Perhaps  the  time  may  come 
when  we  shall  be  tempted  to  mete 
out  to  him  something  of  the  same 
measure  of  justice  which  we  have 
considered  it  our  duty  to  mete  out 
to  Mr  Gladstone,  and  then  it  will 
be  seen  how  far  such  a  retrospect 
could  be  attended  with  satisfaction 
to  anybody.  Meanwhile,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  to  the  future  he  looks 
forward  with  an  alarm  which  he 
scarcely  takes  the  trouble  to  dis- 
guise, and  that  his  great  bugbear  of 
all  is  the  almost  certain  advance  of 
democracy.  The  progress  and  issues 
of  the  debate  he  insisted  upon 
knowing.  They  were  communi- 
cated to  him  unreservedly,  and  he 
at  once  summoned  a  Cabinet 
Council,  which  met  at  Cambridge 
House.  Not  having  been  present 
at  that  meeting,  Ave  cannot  pretend 
to  give  a  detailed  account  of  its 
proceedings,  but  the  issues  to 
which  it  led  have  leaked  out.  Lord 
Palmerston,  we  understand,  in- 
formed Mr  Gladstone  that  if  he 
was  determined  to  speak  in  favour 
of  Mr  Baines's  motion  he  must  re- 
sign the  seals  of  office.  Mr  Glad- 
stone, proud  and  irritable,  and  full 
of  self-conceit,  at  once  accepted  the 
alternative,  and  was  with  difficulty 
prevailed  upon  to  give  way,  rather 
than  break  up  the  Cabinet.  Hence 
his  silence  during  the  second  de- 
bate on  Monday  the  8th  of  May ;  a 
reticence  so  painful  to  himself,  that 
it  would  not  at  all  surprise  us  if  he 
took  an  early,  and  probably  a  most 


1865.1 


The  Gownnifnt  and  the 


inconvenient,  opportunity  of  ac- 
counting for  it.  lie  this,  however, 
as  it  may,  Mr  Gladstone  held  his 
peace,  when  his  friends  of  Leeds, 
Manchester,  Liverpool,  and  1'olton 
expected  him  to  speak,  and  sub- 
mitted to  be  marched  out,  a  silent 
and  disgusted  voter,  into  the  same 
lobby  with  Sir  George  Grey,  Mr 
Milner  Gibson,  and  Mr  Haines. 

Two  consequences  seem  to  us  to 
be  inevitable  from  these  events : 
there  is  an  end  to  cordiality  on 
any  point  between  the  opposite 
factions  in  the  Cabinet  ;  there  is  a 
complete  split  in  what  is  called  the 
Liberal  party.  Sir  George  Grey's 
enunciation  of  Ministerial  views, 
in  reference  to  the  past  and  the 
future,  satisfies  nobody.  The  Man- 
chester men  can  never  forgive  the 
declaration,  that  Ministers  do  not 
intend  to  go  to  the  country  with  a 
Reform  cry.  Lord  Elcho,  Mr  Lowe, 
and  Conservative-Liberals  of  their 
class,  can  never  again  trust  men 
who  voted  for  a  measure  which 
they  had  unreservedly  condemned. 
Whether,  when  it  comes  to  the 
push,  they  will  utterly  desert 
their  old  leaders,  is  another  ques- 
tion. Lord  Elcho's  extraordinary 
proposal  to  inquire,  by  Koyal  Com- 
mission, into  the  defects  in  the  re- 
presentative system  of  the  country, 
and  the  best  means  of  supplying 
them,  would  seem  to  indicate  a  sort 
of  understanding  between  him,  at 
least,  and  a  portion  of  the  Cabinet ; 
and  the  guarded  approval  with 
which  the  'Times'  has  spoken  of 
the  device,  leaves  little  room  to 
doubt  with  what  section  of  the 
Cabinet  this  understanding  pre- 
vails. Kut,  as  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  that  either  the  Radicals  or 
the  Tories  will  listen  to  a  device  so 
entirely  unconstitutional,  it  appears 
to  us  that  to  Lord  I'almerston,  at 
least,  no  good  will  arise  from  the 
stratagem.  The  truth  Is,  that  the 
chaos  which  the  Premier  antici- 
pated as  a  necessary  consequence 
on  his  own  relinquishment  of 
office,  has  begun  already  ;  and 
nothing,  as  it  seems  to  us,  will  stop 

VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  DXCVI. 


its  spreading  beyond  the  Liberal 
ranks,  except  such  a  change  of 
Ministers  as  shall  place  the  direc- 
tion of  public  affairs  in  the  hands 
of  true  men,  by  whatever  tioi/i  </^ 
i/uerre  they  may  at  this  moment  be 
designated. 

While  these  things  are  going 
on  in  the  House  of  Commons,  the 
Lords  have  been  scandalised  by 
the  exposure  of  such  a  course  of 
jobbery,  or,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
of  nepotism  and  lack  of  judgment, 
in  the  Lord  High  Chancellor  of 
England,  a.s  is  without  a  parallel  in 
modern  times.  The  consequence 
is,  that  Lord  Westbury  has  become 
to  the  Cabinet  a  source  of  weak- 
ness almost  more  telling  than  their 
Radical  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer. Let  us  not,  however,  be 
misunderstood.  We  by  no  means 
accept  the  judgment  which  has 
been  passed  upon  the  learned  Lord 
by  the  masses,  and  indeed  almost 
everywhere,  except  in  the  House 
over  which  lie  presides.  Obnoxious 
in  very  many  respects  we  know  him 
to  be — flippant  in  speech — not  over 
scrupulous  in  playing  with  truth — 
rude — unmannerly — we  may  say,  at 
once,  offensive  ;  but  the  tenor  of  his 
life  pa.st  has  indicated  no  disposi- 
tion on  his  part  to  do,  deliberately 
and  in  cool  blood,  either  harsh  or 
dishonest  things.  We  quite  believe 
that  the  discovery  of  Mr  Edmunds':} 
delinquencies  neither  shocked  him 
very  much  nor  pained  him.  He 
doubtless  saw  in  them  a  ready  means 
of  making  a  provision  for  his  son, 
and  was  indifferent  as  to  what 
might  become  either  of  the  detected 
peculator  or  of  the  public  money ; 
but  that  he  enticed  Mr  Edmunds 
to  resign  by  holding  out  to  him  the 
prospect  of  a  pension,  with  a  view 
to  the  more  speedy  instalment  of 
Mr  Edmunds' s  successor,  cannot, 
in  our  opinion,  be  credited  for  a 
moment.  Why  should  he  commit 
so  palpable  a  mistake  f  Mr  Ed- 
munds's  removal  was  certain.  Whe- 
ther it  came  a  few  weeks  earlier  or 
a  few  weeks  later  could  not  be  of 
the  smallest  consequence.  To  nil 
3  E 


The  Government  and  tlie  Budget. 


[June, 


human  appearance  the  Government 
was  as  safe  as  it  ever  had  been, 
and  nothing  except  the  downfall 
of  the  Cabinet  could  defeat  the 
Chancellor's  benevolent  paternal 
purposes.  To  bribe  a  delinquent 
into  seeking  that  retirement  into 
which  the  sentence  of  a  high 
court  of  judicature  was  certain  in  a 
few  days  to  drive  him,  would  have 
been  to  commit  an  act  of  folly  of 
which  Lord  Westbury  is  incapable. 
]S"o  doubt  his  letter  to  Mr  Lemon 
reads  very  much  as  if  he  had  fallen 
into  this  blunder ;  and  the  im- 
pression is  deepened  by  the  recol- 
lection of  the  positive  contradiction 
to  the  contents  of  that  letter,  which 
he  uttered  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
But  all  this  only  the  more  confirms 
us  in  our  persuasion  that  he  did  a 
most  improper  act  from  no  improper 
motive;  and  that  at  the  bottom 
of  the  whole  proceeding  lay  that 
substratum  of  good-nature  which, 
strange  to  say,  forms  a  large  ingre- 
dient in  one  of  the  least  reputable 
natures  with  which  we  happen  to 
be  acquainted.  The  whole  matter, 
in  short,  began,  continued,  and 
ended  as  the  Committee  of  the 
House  of  Lords  reported  that  it 
did,  in  error  of  judgment.  Still, 
a  Lord  Chancellor  whose  judg- 
ment lies  so  open  to  impeachment 
is  anything  but  an  element  of 
strength  to  the  Administration 
which  works  with  him  ;  and  when 
we  add  to  this  the  knack  which 
he  has  of  offending  all  who  ap- 
proach him,  there  cannot  be  two 
opinions  in  regard  to  the  damage 
which  he  has  done,  and  must  con- 
tinue to  do,  to  the  Government  of 
which  he  is  a  member.  But  then 
comes  the  question,  Can  Lord  Pal- 
merston  afford,  at  a  critical  junc- 
ture to  his  party  like  this,  to 
change  his  Chancellor  ]  And  if  he 
could  afford  to  run  this  risk,  is  it 
probable  that  he  will  care  to  do  so  ? 
An  old  man  of  eighty-one  abhors, 
for  the  most  part,  changes  of  every 
sort ;  and  Lord  Palmerston  espe- 
cially is,  and  always  has  been, 
most  creditably  noted  for  standing 


by  his  friends.  It  is  open  to  him, 
therefore,  to  support  Lord  West- 
bury,  but  it  will  be  at  the  manifest 
risk  of  offending  adherents  more  use- 
ful to  him  than  the  Chancellor.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  cannot  displace 
the  Chancellor  without  promoting  to 
the  woolsack  one  whom  the  Whigs 
can  ill  spare  from  the  House  of 
Commons.  Sir  Roundell  Palmer, 
take  him  for  all  in  all,  is  perhaps 
the  ablest  and  best  speaker  that  the 
Government  has ;  yet  Sir  Roundell 
Palmer  would  hardly  consent  to  be 
slighted,  particularly  by  one  whom 
he  did  not  consent  to  support  with- 
out a  struggle,  and  whose  great  age 
prevents  the  possibility  of  his  ever 
being  able  at  some  future  time  to  re- 
pair an  immediate  wrong.  Lord  Pal- 
merston is  thus  between  the  horns 
of  a  dilemma.  To  keep  his  present 
Chancellor  will  be  very  inconveni- 
ent, because  a  high  functionary 
who  requires  a  committee  to  vindi- 
cate his  character  is  worse  than  an 
encumbrance  to  his  party ;  to  lose 
a  good  speaker  from  the  House 
would  be  inconvenient  also :  he 
will  probably,  therefore,  keep  the 
Chancellor,  and  perhaps  live  long 
enough  to  repent  it. 

Here,  then,  are  two  rocks  ahead 
of  Lord  Palmerston — an  unsavoury 
Lord  Chancellor  in  the  Upper 
House  of  Parliament,  and  a  crotch- 
ety and  unmanageable  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer  in  the  Lower. 
As  to  any  effective  support  against 
the  latter,  while  illness  and 
the  infirmities  of  age  keep  the 
Premier  himself  at  home,  the 
unbecoming  conduct  of  the  party 
on  the  occasion  of  the  first  night's 
debate  about  the  L^nion  Rating  Bill, 
shows  that  none  need  be  looked 
for  at  all  events  in  the  Cabinet. 
Now,  entertaining,  as  we  do,  a 
latent  kindness  for  Lord  Palmer- 
ston— remembering  that  he  was 
once  a  Tory  stanch  as  the  stanch- 
est — believing  that  there  is  still  a 
pretty  strong  leaven  of  Toryism 
about  him — of  such  Toryism,  at 
least,  as  went  to  form  the  public 
character  of  his  brilliant  chief,  Mr 


1865.] 


The  Government  and  tlit  Pnuljet. 


757 


Canning — we  should  be  very  glad 
if  it  were  in  our  power  to  help  him 
in  this  strait  ;  and  it  really  does 
appear  to  us  that  his  cose,  so  far  as 
regards  the  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, is  by  no  means  so  desper- 
ate as  it  appears  to  be. 

Lord  Palmerston  clings  to  Mr 
Gladstone  because  he  has  been  suc- 
cessful as  a  financier.  Had  his  cal- 
culations only  miscarried  a  little — 
had  there  been  a  deficiency  last 
year  instead  of  a  surplus,  or  had 
the  surplus  been  less  considerable 
than  it  is — without  doubt  Mr  Glad- 
stone would  have  been  ostracised 
long  ago.  But  to  ostracise  a  Finance 
Minister,  whose  schemes  the  gene- 
ral progress  of  the  country  has  ren- 
dered harmless,  and  to  the  vulgar 
eye  successful,  is  in  these  days  no 
easy  matter.  But  surely  Lord  Pal- 
merston cannot  be  ignorant  that 
Mr  Gladstone's  schemes  have 
proved  successful,  not  so  much 
through  any  merit  inherent  in 
themselves,  as  by  the  force  of  cir- 
cumstances over  which  he  had  no 
control.  With  exports  and  imports 
continually  increasing,  and  a  trade 
extending  itself,  through  the  opera- 
tion of  railroads,  steam  navigation, 
and  the  electric  wire,  there  would 
be  needed  positive  ingenuity  on 
the  part  of  the  Finance  Minister  to 
prevent  the  public  revenue  from 
rising.  Whether  the  people  pro- 
fit as  they  ought  to  do  by  this  in- 
crease— whether  comforts  are  dif- 
fused through  all  classes  propor- 
tionate to  the  growing  money  value 
of  the  exports  and  imports  of  which 
we  make  our  boast — these  are 
points  on  which  we  propose  to 
touch  by-ami  by.  Meanwhile,  with 
a  view  to  bring  Mr  Gladstone's 
merits  to  the  test,  we  shall  address 
ourselves  to  his  last  financial  state- 
ment, with  the  details  of  which,  as 
it  is  still  little  more  than  six  weeks 
old,  we  may  assume  that  most  of 
our  readers  are  acquainted. 

And  first,  in  reference  to  the 
manner  in  which  this  statement 
was  brought  forward — a  considera- 
tion not  without  weight  in  such 


cases.  Mr  Gladstone  has  not,  in 
the  present  instance,  deviated  in 
any  measure  from  his  usual  method 
of  doing  business.  He  is  one  of 
those  unlucky  public  men  who  can- 
not propose  measures,  even  if  in 
themselves  they  be  satisfactory, 
without  doing  outrage  to  the  feel- 
ings of  somebody,  and  not  un fre- 
quently of  the  very  persons  whom 
he  professes  himself  anxious  to 
benefit.  Had  lie  been  content,  on 
the  27th  of  April  Lust,  with  enunci- 
ating simply  that  there  was  a  con- 
siderable surplus  at  his  disposal, 
and  that  he  proposed  to  apply  it  to 
the  reduction  of  certain  taxes,  all  of 
them  unpopular,  the  chances  are, 
that  Opposition  members,  equally 
with  the  members  who  usually  sup- 
port the  Government,  would  have 
acquiesced  in  his  determination, 
and  thanked  him  for  it.  He  might, 
indeed,  have  added,  and  added  with 
perfect  truth,  that,  in  dealing  with 
one  of  these  unpopular  taxes,  he 
only  obeyed  the  pressure  of  a  moral 
necessity.  After  a  decision  against 
him  in  the  Hou.se  of  Commons  so 
recent,  he  could  not  well  avoid 
lowering  the  duty  on  fire  insurance, 
which,  nevertheless,  he  manages 
still  to  keep  at  a  figure  considerably 
above  that  which  the  House  and 
the  country  had  contemplated.  But 
there  his  concessions  might  have 
ended ;  for  the  substitution  of  a 
fourpenny  for  a  sixpenny  tax  on 
incomes,  and  the  reduction  of  duty 
on  tea  to  sixpence,  are  confessedly 
his  own  devices.  And  as  both  have 
much  to  commend  them  to  public 
favour,  so  both,  had  they  been 
brought  forward  on  their  own  me- 
rits, would  have  carried,  to  a  great 
extent  at  least,  the  sense  of  the 
House  and  of  the  country  with 
them. 

A  course  so  obviously  wise  as 
well  as  modest,  was  not,  however, 
one  which  Mr  Gladstone  could  bring 
himself  to  follow.  He  must  not 
only  justify  his  present  policy  by 
contrasting  the  benefits  to  be  de- 
rived from  the  reduction  of  one  par- 
ticular tax,  with  the  mischief  which 


758 


The  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June, 


Avould  accrue  from  tampering  with 
another ;  but  he  must  preface  even 
this  by  an  elaborate  review  of 
the  incidents  of  former  years,  so 
put  together  as  to  glorify  himself 
and  his  own  statesmanship  at  the 
expense  of  the  statesmanship  of 
better  men,  which  he  either  mis- 
understands or  misrepresents.  In 
order  to  effect  this,  he  divided  the 
interval  between  1842  and  1864 
into  cycles  of  years,  each  of  which, 
according  to  his  showing,  present- 
ed an  aspect  peculiar  to  itself,  but 
of  which  the  general  effect  was  to 
prove  that  as  often  as  it  fell  to  his 
lot  to  manage  the  financial  affairs 
of  the  country  the  country  flour- 
ished ;  as  often  as  others  under- 
took to  do  what  he  ought  to  have 
done,  the  country  decayed.  As, 
however,  the  management  of  the 
national  finance  has  been  more  in 
his  hands  than  in  those  of  anybody 
else,  the  steady  tendency,  subject 
to  occasional  drawbacks,  has  been 
towards  improvement ;  and  now 
things  have  arrived  at  such  a  pass 
that,  while  we  have  a  larger  public 
income  than  was  ever  before  raised 
from  taxation,  the  taxes  press  less 
heavily  than  they  ever  did  upon 
the  people ;  and  we  are  actually 
beginning  to  pay  off  the  national 
debt  at  the  rate  of  three  millions 
a-year. 

If  it  were  worth  Avhile  to  expose, 
one  by  one,  the  string  of  sophistries 
which  pervade  the  whole  of  this 
statement,  the  task  would  be  as 
easy  to  ourselves  as  it  would  pro- 
bably be  tedious  and  little  profit- 
able to  our  readers.  The  fact  is, 
that  throughout  the  whole  of  this 
portion  of  his  speech,  Mr  Gladstone 
played  with  figures,  and  never  once 
stopped  to  say  a  word  about  the 
realities  which  they  are  supposed  to 
represent.  He  dealt  with  the  value 
of  imports  and  exports,  rising  year 
after  year  by  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  of  pounds  sterling  ;  but 
he  never  once  condescended  to  ex- 
plain what  the  articles  are  which 
go  and  come,  and  who  the  persons 
may  be  who  chiefly  benefit  by  the 


process.  In  like  manner,  though 
he  cannot  avoid  all  reference  to  the 
falling  in  of  the  long  annuities,  he 
is  careful  to  make  as  little  of  it  as 
possible  :  and  especially  to  show 
that  it  goes  but  a  small  way  to  make 
up  the  amount  by  which  the  nation- 
al debt  has  been  diminished — an 
amount  not  a  little  boasted  of,  yet 
barely  reaching  eighteen  millions. 
So,  also,  he  forgets  to  acknowledge 
that,  after  these  eighteen  millions 
have  been  deducted,  we  are  not  yet 
brought  back  to  the  state  in  which 
we  were  when  Lord  Aberdeen's  Ad- 
ministration, of  which  he  was  a 
member,  plunged  us  into  the  war 
with  Russia.  But  the  worst  feature 
in  the  case  is,  that  he  never  once 
alludes  to  facts  which  are  as  noto- 
rious as  they  are  distressing,  that 
the  prosperity  of  which  he  boasts 
is  shared  in  by  the  favoured  few 
only,  while  the  great  bulk  of  our 
countrymen  are  as  hard  put  to  it  as 
they  ever  were,  many  of  them  more 
so,  to  earn  a  scanty  subsistence. 
What  has  become  of  our  silk  fabric, 
with  the  large  number  of  hands 
which  depended  upon  it  1  What 
sale  is  there  for  cutlery  in  compa- 
rison with  that  which  it  formerly 
commanded  ?  What  for  ribbons 
of  British  manufacture  at  home  or 
abroad  1  And,  almost  sadder  still, 
why  are  the  classes  which,  in  their 
various  departments,  contribute  to 
produce  the  works  of  the  watch, 
and  live  by  so  doing,  reduced  to  the 
straits  to  which  foreign  competi- 
tion has  brought  them  ]  As  to  the 
agricultural  labourer,  it  is  too  well 
known  that  he  never  lived  harder 
or  fared  worse  than  he  does  now. 
His  wages,  rising  and  falling  with 
the  price  of  wheat,  grow  year  by 
year  more  scanty,  so  that  the  cheap 
bread  which  others  eat  is  very  dear 
bread  to  him.  And  why  do  the 
large  manufacturing  towns  desire 
a  new  system  of  rating,  except 
that  they  may  throw  the  burden  of 
their  poor,  which  is  growing  intol- 
erable, as  they  throw  everything 
else  that  they  can,  upon  the  land. 
Nor  is  it  any  answer  to  say  that 


1865.] 


The  Goifrnment  and  th(  BmJyet. 


751) 


laiul  never  brought  such  enormous 
prices  as  it  does  now.  No  doubt 
it  does,  but  why  I  Because  capital 
accumulates  so  fast  in  the  hands  of 
our  trading  and  manufacturing  mag- 
nate's, that  they  find  themselves 
unable  to  employ  it  all  in  com- 
merce, and  purchase  land,  partly 
because  it  is  a  safe  investment, 
partly  because  they  are  ambitious  of 
taking  rank  among  the  territorial 
aristocracy  of  England.  It  is  easy 
to  show  by  figures,  as  Mr  Gladstone 
docs,  that  our  exports  and  imports 
''  inerea.se  and  are  increasing."  But 
if  it  should  turn  out  that,  in  the 
former  case,  the  increase  consists 
chiefly  of  raw  produce — coal  and 
iron,  for  example,  in  the  ore  or  in 
bars,  and  suchlike — and  in  the  lat- 
ter, of  manufactured  goods,  silks, 
ribbons,  gloves,  watches,  wine,  Arc. ; 
then  a  grave  question  arises  as  to 
how  far  the  people  gain  by  this  in- 
crease, or  whether  the  result  of  mo- 
dern legislation  be  not  to  render 
the  prosperous  or  capital  class  more 
prosperous,  while  the  masses  or 
working  men  have  greater  difficulty 
than  they  ever  did  in  finding  a  re- 
munerative market  for  their  labour. 

So  much  for  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer's  glowing  generalities. 
Now,  let  us  examine  one  by  one  a 
few  of  the  more  prominent  of  his 
particular  statements,  in  order  that 
our  readers  may  be  enabled  to 
judge  of  the  soundness  of  the  logic 
by  which  they  are  supported. 

The  repeal  of  the  paper-duty 
seems  to  haunt  Mr  Gladstone's 
memory  as  the  ghost  of  his  victim 
is  said  to  haunt  the  memory  of  a 
parricide  ;  and  no  wonder.  It  was 
the  most  wanton  sacrifice  ever  per- 
petrated of  a  revenue  large  in 
amount,  easily  collected,  and  of 
•which  no  human  being  complained. 
Not  a  single  paper-maker  asked  to 
be  relieved  from  the  tax  ;  the 
more  respectable  portions  of  the 
publishing  trade  spoke  against  the 
repeal  ;  general  dealers  were  in- 
different about  it,  because  they 
well  knew  that  the  saving  on  the 
rough  commodity  which  they  made 


use  of  in  wrapping  up  their  goods, 
infinitesimally  small  as  it  must  be, 
would  never  be  felt  by  them,  nor 
yet  be  given  to  their  customers. 
The  only  people  that  were  in  con- 
cert in  the  matter  were  the  pro- 
prietors of  penny  newspapers  and 
the  politicians  of  the  Manchester 
school,  whom  the  less  reputable  of 
the  penny  newspapers  generally 
support.  To  gratify  these  persons, 
and  to  cement  Mr  Gladstone's 
political  alliance  with  them,  the 
duty  was  repealed,  and  repealed 
with  double  relish  because  an  op- 
portunity was  afforded  at  the  same 
time  of  coercing  the  House  of  Lords. 
What  has  been  the  result  ]  Be- 
tween two  and  three  millions  are 
lost  to  the  revenue,  without  any 
corresponding  benefit  arising  to  any 
section  of  the  people.  A  large  con- 
sumer of  writing-paper  may  save, 
perhaps,  a  penny  in  a  ream,  but  the 
paper  which  he  does  consume  is 
either  not  of  home  manufacture  at 
all,  or  has  become  so  deteriorated 
in  quality  as  to  be  detestable  in  the 
use.  Ask  the  paper-makers  of  Eng- 
land and  Scotland  how  it  fares 
with  them  ]  Xo  steps  being  taken 
to  obtain  a  repeal  of  the  export- 
duty  which  foreign  governments 
still  levy  upon  rags,  they  find  them- 
selves paralysed,  to  a  great  extent, 
from  lack  of  material  :  while  the 
French  and  German  paper  makers 
throw  their  goods,  duty  free,  into 
British  markets,  and  deluge  us  with 
an  inferior  article,  because  they 
can  sell  it  cheap.  These  are  facts 
against  which  there  is  no  contend- 
ing ;  yet  observe  how  characteris- 
tically Mr  Gladstone  fences  with 
them.  He  cannot  deny  that  con- 
siderable suffering  has  followed  the 
course  of  his  legislation  ;  he  as- 
sumes, however,  that  the  period  of 
suffering  is  past,  and  that  a  brighter 
era  is  dawning  on  the  paper  trade. 

"That  is  a  trade,"  ho  says,  "in 
which  this  House  has  felt  a  peculiar, 
a  natural,  and  an  aluding  interest.  I 
will,  therefore,  just  refer  to  the  condi- 
tion of  the  paper  trade.  1  am  very  far 
from  deny  ing  —on  the  contrary,  I  greatly 


760 


The  Government  and  tlie  Budget. 


[June, 


deplore  it — that  the  period  of  transition 
ha,  3  been  for  many  members  of  that 
trade  a  period  of  very  great  severity. 
Of  that  1  make  no  doubt  whatever.  At 
the  same  time,  it  is  right  to  say  that 
the  paper  trade,  as  a  whole,  not  only 
has  not  left  the  country,  but  it  shows 
no  intention  of  leaving  the  country ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  evidently  means  to 
strike  its  roots  deeper  and  deeper  here, 
for  it  calls  continually  from  year  to 
year  for  the  importation  of  more  mate- 
rials from  abroad,  while  at  the  same 
time  the  consumers  of  paper  in  this 
country  are  supplied  with  paper  more 
largely  and  more  cheaply  than  at  any 
former  period.  The  importations  of 
paper  and  paper-hangings  from  abroad 
have  risen  from  the  insignificant  amount 
at  which  they  stood  six  years  ago  to  no 
less  than  £477,000  in  value  in  1864, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  importation 
of  materials  for  paper-making  rose  from 
13,700  tons  in  1859  to  20,400  tons  in 
1862,  to  44,000  tons  in  1863,  and  to 
67,000  tons  in  1864.  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  this  cannot  be  accounted 
for  by  the  disappearance  of  cotton- 
waste,  because  for  the  last  year  or  two, 
at  any  rate,  the  supply  of  cotton- waste 
has  been  tending  to  increase.  It  was 
in  1861  and  1862  that  the  supply  of 
cotton- waste  was  at  the  lowest  ;  but, 
while  the  supply  of  that  material  from 
our  manufactures  has  been  somewhat 
reviving,  here  is  that  immense  increase 
in  the  importation  of  other  paper-mak- 
ing materials  from  abroad.  [An  hon. 
Member — '  Rags.']  Eags  are  included, 
but  I  do  not  distinguish  between  rags 
and  other  materials  for  paper-making, 
of  which  there  are  a  great  variety.  No 
doubt  rags  only  form  a  small  propor- 
tion of  the  whole,  and  raw  vegetable 
products  represent  the  mass  of  the  im- 
ports. But  that  is  a  remarkable  fact. 
Such  has  been  the  advantage  of  the 
stimulus  given  to  the  search  for  new 
materials  for  the  manufacture  of  paper, 
that  the  owners  of  cotton-waste  now 
complain  that  they  can  only  obtain  half 
the  price  for  that  material  which  they 
used  to  obtain.  That  is  the  state  of 
the  case;  and  speaking  of  the  paper- 
makers  as  a  class,  I  may  say  that  it  is 
not  because  less  paper  is  made  that 
cotton-waste  does  not  fetch  the  same 
price  as  formerly,  but  because  the  paper- 
maker  has  found  that  he  can  obtain 
cheaper  materials  from  other  sources. 
A  gentleman  who  himself  produces  a 
large  quantity  of  cotton-waste  has  in- 
formed me  by  letter  that  in  1860,  when 
middling  cotton  cost  him  5|d.  per  lb., 


he  could  get  22s.  per  sack  for  his  sweep- 
ings ;  yet  now,  when  he  was  paying  so 
much  more  for  his  cotton,  he  could  not 
get  more  than  9s.  a  sack  for  the  waste." 

It  is  really  worth  while  to  linger 
for  a  brief  space  over  this  rare  speci- 
men of  oratorical  clap-trap.  That 
our  paper-makers  are  flourishing,  is 
proved  by  two  circumstances — first, 
that  cotton-waste  fetches  no  such 
price  as  it  did  ten  years  ago  ;  and 
next,  that  instead  of  13,700  tons,  as 
in  1859,  not  less  than  67,000  tons 
of  material  for  the  fabric  are  now 
imported  from  abroad.  Is  Mr  Glad- 
stone ignorant  that  the  waste  from 
the  cottons  produced  in  India  and 
Egypt  is  far  less  valuable  to  the 
paper-maker  than  the  waste  from  the 
American  cotton  ?  And  cannot  he 
put  two  and  two  together,  so  far  as 
to  discover  that  if  the  cotton- waste 
be  worthless,  the  paper-maker  must 
look  elsewhere  for  his  materials, 
the  weight  of  which  is  great  in 
exact  proportion  to  its  compara- 
tive worthlessness  for  the  purpose 
to  which  it  is  applied.  Ask  any 
man  skilled  in  the  industry,  and 
he  will  tell  you  that  13,000  tons 
of  good  light  rags  would  go  farther 
to  make  paper  than  30,000  or  pos- 
sibly 60,000  tons  of  heavy  vegetable 
substances.  Now,  we  cannot  pro- 
duce rags  enough  at  home  to  avert 
the  necessity  of  importing  them 
from  abroad.  We  cannot  ship  them 
in  a  foreign  port  without  the  pay- 
ment of  such  a  duty  as  renders  them 
too  costly  for  use.  We  are  driven, 
therefore,  to  work  up  jute,  hemp, 
and  other  vegetable  substances, 
which,  for  the  present  at  least, 
scarcely  repay  the  money  and  la- 
bour bestowed  upon  them.  Mean- 
while, in  farther  proof  how  ad- 
mirably the  device  succeeds,  we  are 
told  that  "the  importations  of  paper 
and  paper-hangings  from  abroad 
have  risen  from  the  insignificant 
amount  at  which  they  stood  six 
years  ago  to  no  less  than  ,£477,000 
in  value  ! " 

We  are  far  from  pretending  to 
deny  that  the  consumers  of  paper, 
and  still  more  of  paper-hangings, 


18G5.] 


The  Government  ami  (he  Jiti<I</ft. 


pain  something  by  the  repeal  of  the 
duty.  The  rich  man  who  is  about 
to  decorate  his  palace  will  do  it  now 
at  a  considerably  less  price  than  it 
would  have  cost  him  to  execute  the 
same  amount  of  work  six  years  ago. 
Indeed,  so  great  is  the  power  of 
luxury  in  this  country,  that  the 
rich  are  beginning,  we  understand, 
to  supersede  the  most  delicate 
paper-hangings  with  calico- hang- 
ings, and  even  with  silk.  But  this 
by  no  means  proves  that  another  of 
our  native  industries  has  not  been 
struck  at,  or  that  the  owners  of 
paper-mills  are  not  working  among 
us  wellnigh  at  a  loss.  Men  cannot 
change  their  habits  of  life  at  a  day's 
notice,  or  withdraw  their  capital, 
which  ha.s  been  sunk  in  buildings 
and  machinery,  as  often  as  it  suits 
the  policy  of  a  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  to  carry  measures  fatal 
to  the  industry  in  which  they  are 
engaged.  They  keep  their  mills 
going,  and  will  doubtless  continue 
to  do  so,  hoping  against  hope  to 
the  end.  But  the  end  must  come  ; 
and  then  will  the  operative  paper- 
makers  be  thrown,  like  the  opera- 
tive ribbon-weavers,  upon  the  gene- 
ral labour  market,  which  is  already 
overstocked,  and  from  which  the 
last  resource  will  be  emigration  to 
the  United  States  or  to  Australia. 

Next  to  the  repeal  of  the  paper- 
duty  the  financial  arrangement  on 
which  Mr  Gladstone  chiefly  prides 
himself  is  the  French  treaty.  And 
knowing  how  sceptical  the  general 
public  is  in  regard  to  the  benefits 
thence  arising,  he  proceeds  to  show 
in  the  following  terms  that  his  cal- 
culations have  come  right,  and  that 
we  who  grumble  have  no  reason  at 
all  for  the  complaints  which  we 
make  : — 

"I  will  now  notice  our  trade  with 
Franco,  which  is  also  a  subject  of  special 
interest  to  this  country,  and  then'  I  find 
an  increase.  It  varies,  and  although 
the  export  of  British  produce  has  slightly 
diminished  since  two  or  three  years 
back,  yet  the  total  increase  of  trade 
with  France  has  been  steadily  on  the 
increase  on  iin]N>rt.s  as  well  as  exports. 
lu  1859  the  total  amount  of  our  tnulo 


with  France  was  A''JtVI.11,OoO,  and  in 
18G4  it  was  CW.T'.'T.OOO,  showing  an 
increase  of  rj;j,:!G(;,<tOO,  .,r  nearly  IX) 

per  Cent." 

"Though  the  export  of  British 
produce  has  slightly  diminished 
since  two  or  three  years  back,  still 
the  total  increase  of  trade  with 
I1' ranee  has  been  steadily  on  the 
increase  on  imports  as  well  a.s  ex- 
ports." I'e  it  so.  We  have,  at 
all  event-*,  certain  admissions  here, 
which  are  worth  noting,  and  these 
naturally  suggest  the  questions, 
What  is  it  that  we  import  from 
France  since  the  treaty  which  we 
did  not  import  before  (  and  what 
have  we  exported  in  excess  of  for- 
mer exportation  ?  The  answers 
are,  We  have  imported  more  wine, 
a  great  deal  of  it  execrably  bad  ; 
more  ribbons,  more  gloves,  more 
paper-hangings,  more  watches.  We 
have  exported  more  coal,  more  iron, 
in  ore  or  in  bars,  a  little  more  of 
our  coarser  crockery,  and  perhaps  a 
little  more  thread.  Our  calicoes 
and  muslins  are  still  kept  out  of 
the  French  market  by  heavy  im- 
posts ;  our  steel  the  French  people 
never  buy.  They  drink  a  little 
more  beer  than  they  used  to  do  ; 
but  as  the  rich  only  can  afford  the 
luxury,  the  benefit  to  our  general 
commerce  is  very  inconsiderable. 
We  should  really  like  to  see  Mr 
Gladstone's  statement  carefully  an- 
alysed, so  as  to  bring  the  parti- 
culars both  of  exports  and  imports 
clearly  before  us  ;  for  we  greatly 
deceive  ourselves  if  there  be  not  a 
purpose  in  his  extraordinary  throw- 
ing together  of  details,  which,  to 
be  fairly  dealt  with,  ought  to  be 
considered  separately.  Granting 
that  our  trade  with  France  has  in- 
creased, since  18.r>9,  (JO  per  cent, 
what  we  want  to  know  is,  which  of 
the  two  nations,  France  or  England, 
has  gained  most  by  this  increase  ? 
For  cordially  as  we  wish  well  to 
our  neighbours,  we  cannot  pretend 
to  such  an  enlarged  philanthropy 
a-s  to  rejoice  in  their  success  if  it 
be  achieved  at  our  loss.  It  seems, 
by  Mr  Gladstone's  own  admission, 


762 


The  Government  and  the  -Budget. 


[June, 


tliat  within  the  last  two  or  three 
years,  the  export  of  British  produce 
to  France  has  slightly  diminished. 
This  is  awkward  ;  and  still  more 
awkward  will  it  be  if,  on  a  division 
of  profits,  it  should  appear  that  of 
the  90  portions  of  which  the  Minis- 
ter boasts,  80,  or  even  60,  have  gone 
to  France,  and  only  10  or  30  accrued 
to  England. 

Having  thus  disposed  of  the 
French  treaty,  Mr  Gladstone  pro- 
ceeds to  institute  a  comparison  be- 
tween the  public  expenditure  in 
France  under  the  Empire,  and  the 
public  expenditure  of  England, 
blessed  as  it  has  of  late  years  been 
with  a  Whig  Administration.  What 
necessity  there  was  for  such  a  com- 
parison at  all,  we  are  at  a  loss  to 
conceive.  Still,  as  he  judged  it  ex- 
pedient to  entertain  the  House  with 
an  exercitation  so  purely  gratui- 
tous, the  least  that  the  House  had  a 
right  to  expect  from  him  was,  that 
he  would  make  his  statements 
fairly ;  this,  however,  he  has  not 
done.  Desiring,  as  it  would  ap- 
pear, to  show  that  the  Imperial 
Government  has  been  maligned  on 
the  score  of  extravagance,  he  la- 
boured to  show  that  it  costs  nearly 
ten  millions  more  to  carry  on  the 
affairs  of  England  than  to  manage 
the  public  affairs  of  France.  Now, 
it  is  not  our  business  to  vindicate 
the  Whigs  from  the  charge  which 
their  own  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer brings  against  them  ;  but 
the  facts  of  the  case  really  do  not 
bear  out  his  assertion.  He  abstracts 
from  the  public  expenditure  of  our 
neighbours  all  the  sums  that  are 
required  for  local  purposes,  yet 
omits  to  add  to  the  public  expendi- 
ture of  England  the  sums  required 
for  poor-rates,  highway-rates,  coun- 
ty-rates, and  so  forth.  Now,  if  in 
calculating  the  general  costs  of  ad- 
ministration, you  add,  as  you  surely 
ought  to  do,  these  charges  on  both 
sides  to  what  is  called  the  taxation 
of  the  country,  you  will  find  that 
there  is  a  nearer  approach  to  equal- 
ity between  the  burdens  borne  by 
the  French  and  the  English  people 


than  our  astute  Finance  Minister 
supposes.  And  if  you  further  take 
into  account  the  octroits,  or  duties 
levied  on  all  articles  of  consumption 
carried  into  French  towns,  then  we 
are  very  much  mistaken  if  the  bal- 
ance be  not  considerably  against 
France,  and  in  favour  of  England. 

This  is  curious.  What  follows 
is  more  than  curious — it  is  sophisti- 
cal, and  scarcely  honest.  Whether 
Mr  Gladstone  is  replying  to  cer- 
tain observations  which  we  felt  it 
our  duty  to  make  in  the  April  num- 
ber of  this  Magazine,  we  cannot  pre- 
tend to  say.  It  certainly  looks  as 
if  he  had  our  argument,  if  not  our- 
selves, in  his  mind  when  he  spoke. 
Here  is  his  declaration  : — 

"And  here  I  come  to  a  point  of  veiy 
great  and  clear  interest  which,  may  de- 
serve a  few  moments'  attention.  There 
is,  again,  a  misapprehension  that  while 
the  increase  of  trade  of  this  country  of 
late  years  has  been  undoubtedly  a  re- 
markable increase,  yet  that  it  has  been 
less  than  the  increase  in  the  trade  of  for- 
eign countries.  That  is  a  matter  which 
somewhat  touches  not  only  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  Parliaments  of  England, 
which  for  the  last  twenty-five  years 
have  attached  so  much  consequence  to 
the  removal  of  shackles  from  industry 
and  commerce,  but  also  appears  to  press 
materially  upon  the  wisdom  or  necessity 
of  continuing  that  policy  for  the  future. 
It  is  quite  true  that  the  trade  of  France 
exhibits  a  larger  relative  increase  of  late 
years  than  ours  has  done,  but  I  will  ven- 
ture to  say  it  would  have  been  strange 
indeed  if  that  had  not  been  the  case. 
And  why  ?  The  trade  of  France  lan- 
guished after  the  close  of  the  great  war, 
and  especially  after  the  wasting  and 
crushing  depopulation  of  the  last  years 
of  that  war,  which  destroyed  almost 
one-half  of  the  labouring  and  produc- 
tive power  of  the  country.  It  was  not 
surprising,  then,  that  for  thirty  or  forty 
years  that  great  country  should  have 
remained  in  an  unnatural  position  as 
regarded  its  trade.  It  is  not  wonder- 
ful, then,  that  the  trade  of  France  should 
show  a  greater  relative  increase  than 
that  of  England,  which  has  never  lost 
the  energy  and  vigour  of  her  commer- 
cial operations,  and  which  happily  has 
never  been  subjected  to  such  sweeping 
losses  of  her  best  blood  through  the  de- 
solating influence  of  war.  I  am  only 
able  to  compare  the  exports,  but  they 


1605.] 


The  Gviernment  and  the  JiaJjd. 


703 


HIV  quite  sufficient  ami  cflWtual  for  the 
purpose.  Thocxportsof  France  in  IS.lt 
were  .i'7S,< MX >,(•(»( I,  and  in  JSU.'J  they 
wcreX'l  11,000,01(0,  ln-ing  .111  increase  «>f 
SI  i»ercent.  The  exports  of  tin-  I'nited 
Kingdom  in  1S.">4  were  X 1 1 U,  000,  OOO, 
and  in  1S03  x'H^.OOO.OOO,  an  increase 
of  no  more  than  70  per  cent.  1  grant 
that  if  that  fact  stood  alone  it  would 
aiithori.sc  you  to  say  that  a  country 
which  had  done  little  in  the  way  of  re- 
laxing its  commercial  laws,  had  achiev- 
ed relatively  more  than  a  country  which 
had  d»ne  much  and  had  made  great 
progress  on  the  road  of  commercial  free- 
dom. Hut  when  we  look  at  the  abso- 
lute increase,  we  find  that  while  France 
has  added  Xii.S.OOO.OOO  to  her  exports, 
Kngland  has  added  X'Sl, 000,000.  But 
if  we  \vant  to  have  a  fair  comparison  we 
should  not  take  a  country  like  France, 
placed  under  circumstances  so  abnormal 
in  consequence  of  the  ruin  and  ravages 
of  war;  let  us  take  two  neighbouring 
countries  with  free  institutions,  which 
have  not  undergone  the  same  sufferings, 
which  have  been  in  a  more  normal 
condition,  and  which  have  been  free 
from  war  and  revolution — and  it  is  dif- 
iicult  to  find  countries  on  the  Conti- 
nent which  have  been  free  from  war 
and  revolution- let  us  take  Belgium 
and  Holland.  There  is  no  country 
which  has  benefited  more  fully  and 
more  enormously  than  Belgium  from 
the  application  of  the  railway  system. 
The  increase  in  the  imports  of  Kngland, 
as  1  have  shown,  from  isr>4  to  18G.'J, 
has  been  71  j»er  cent ;  but  the  imports 
of  Belgium,  one  of  the  most  flourishing 
countries  of  the  Continent,  only  grew 
in  the  same  period  from  £28,000,000  to 
X'40,OOO,OOO,  or  4.'{  IKT  cent,  and  the 
exports  of  Holland  only  grew  from 
£".>4, 000.000  to  £30,000,000,  or  '25  per 
cent.  With  regard  to  Austria  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  make  a  favourable  com|«irison. 
It  is  really  lamentable  to  lind  that  in  a 
country  of  that  vast  extent,  and  with 
that  immense  capacity,  the  ex|*>rts, 
which  amounted  to  £11,000,000  in  1S44, 
in  1S.").S  (though  there  had  Itcen  a  great 
increase)  had  only  risen  to  X±2,OOO,oOO. 
Let  us  hope  that  my  right  honourable! 
friend  who  is  now  in  Vienna  engaged 
in  the  good  work  of  communicating  to 
Austria  the  results  of  our  ex]>erience, 
may  succeed  in  persuading  the  lm|>crtal 
(Jovernment — not  that  it  is  a  matter  of 
vital  ini|M)rtance  to  Kngland  that  they 
should  alter  their  tariffs,  but  that  it  is  of 
vital  inijtortance  to  themselves,  and  that 
if  they  will  act  in  that  spirit,  with  a 
view  to  their  own  interests,  we  shall  Im- 


perfectly satisfied  with  the  share  of 
the  benefits  which  must  necessarily  re- 
dound to  us  in  a  process  which  always 
'  blesses  him  that  gives  more  than  him 
that  takes.'" 

Before  we  call  in  question  the 
acounicy  of  Mr  Gladstone's  figures, 
it  is  right  that  attention  should  be 
drawn  to  the  characteristic  loose- 
ness of  his  logic.  He  is  willing 
enough  to  accept  a.s  a  test  of  the 
relative  prosperity  of  the  three 
nations  the  general  state  of  trade 
in  England  as  compared  with  the 
general  state  of  trade  in  Belgium 
and  in  Holland.  He  will  acknow- 
ledge no  such  criterion  when  un- 
dertaking to  judge  between  Eng- 
land and  France,  and  England  and 
Austria.  He  reasons  thus  :  the 
trade  of  France  has  undoubtedly 
increased,  in  the  interval  between 
1854  and  18(55,  considerably  more 
than  that  of  England.  The  former 
has  expanded  to  the  extent  of  bl  per 
cent,  the  latter  to  no  more  than  7<> 
percent ;  but  that  is  a  matter  of  no 
moment.  The  addition  to  English 
export*  in  that  interval  amounts 
to  £81,000,000  —  the  addition  to 
French  esj><trt*,  to  £(j;},ooo,ooo 
only;  therefore  France  has  by  no 
means  kept  pace  with  England. 
Comparing  England  with  Belgium, 
and  England  with  Holland,  he 
again  changes  his  ground.  He 
tries  them  by  their  im}u>rt«  ;  and 
finding  that  England  has,  between 
1854  and  18G3.  imported  more  than 
she  used  to  do  by  71  percent,  while 
Belgium  has  advanced  only  43,  and 
Holland  not  more  than  25,  he  de- 
cides absolutely  in  favour  of  Eng- 
land. Rather  slippery  arithmetic 
this.  Xordoes  the  cantrip  end  there. 
Belgium  and  Holland  equally  enjoy, 
which  France  does  not,  free  or  con- 
stitutional governments,  and  both 
have  benefited,  the  former  especially, 
more  than  any  other  Continental 
countries,  from  the  application  of 
the  railway  system.  "  Besides," 
continues  our  loquacious  financier, 
"France  is  only  just  beginning  to 
recover  from  a  state  of  chronic  war 
and  revolution  ;  and  having  recently 


The  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June, 


turned  her  attention  to  the  affairs 
of  trade  and  commerce,  it  is  natu- 
ral that  her  first  strides  should  be 
gigantic."  Why,  what  have  Belgium 
and  Holland  been  doing  all  the 
while  that  France  suffered  as  here 
described  1  Were  they  passing  their 
days  in  peace,  each  man  living  hap- 
pily under  his  own  vine  and  his 
own  fig-tree  1  Quite  otherwise.  In 
"  the  wasting  and  crushing  depop- 
ulation of  the  last  ten  years  of  the 
great  war,"  Belgium  and  Holland 
had  their  full  share.  Indeed  they 
had  more  than  their  share ;  for 
they  had  to  bear  first  the  pressure  of 
conquest,  which  is  always  "  wasting 
and  crushing  "  to  the  vanquished  ; 
and  then,  being  annexed  to  the  Em- 
pire, they  contributed,  as  all  the 
outlying  provinces  did,  a  larger 
number  of  soldiers  to  the  Imperial 
armies  than  were  supplied  by 
France.  If,  then,  it  was  owing  to 
her  exemption  from  the  "  crushing 
and  wasting  depopulation,"  that 
France  made  such  a  sudden  start 
in  the  race  of  commerce,  why  did 
not  Belgium  and  Holland,  whose 
condition  in  this  respect  exactly 
assimilated  to  hers,  make  a  similar 
start  1  No  doubt,  France  has  in- 
dulged more  in  revolutions  than 
either  Belgium  or  Holland.  They 
were  content  with  one  in  1830  ;  she 
has  had  three  :  first,  that  of  1830  ; 
then  that  of  1848  ;  and,  last  of  all, 
the  coup  d'etat  in  1851.  But  will 
Mr  Gladstone  pretend  to  say  that 
the  rebound  of  her  revolutions  was 
not  felt  injuriously  on  the  commerce 
of  both  Belgium  and  Holland  1 — 
that  it  did  not  create  such  a  panic 
as  paralysed  all  energy,  not  in  Bel- 
gium and  Holland  only,  but  all 
over  the  Continent  ?  Why,  if  such 
things  act  like  moral  blisters  upon 
paralysed  nations,  were  not  Belgium 
and  Holland  equally  stimulated  by 
them  to  push  their  trade  as  France 
has  pushed  hers  ] 

Mr  Gladstone's  reasoning  abounds 
with  such  transparent  incongruities 
that  we  feel  as  if  some  apology  were 
due  to  our  readers  for  having  wast- 
ed so  much  time  in  exposing  them. 


If  wars  and  revolutions  prevent 
nations  from  applying  their  ener- 
gies to  commerce,  France,  Belgium, 
and  Holland,  as  they  were  equally 
the  subjects  of  these  evils  for  many 
years,  so  must  they  have  been 
equally  paralysed  by  the  evils  thence 
arising.  If  a  sudden  exemption 
from  these  evils  gives  a  stimulus  to 
commercial  exertion,  the  stimulus 
must  have  been  equally  felt  in 
France,  Belgium,  and  in  Holland. 
But  the  effect  of  the  stimulus  is 
represented  as  more  striking  in  the 
former  than  in  either  of  the  latter 
countries  ;  yet  the  commercial  sys- 
tems on  which  the  three  nations 
act  are  essentially  the  same. 
Granting,  then,  that  one  outstrips 
the  rest,  we  must,  it  is  presumed, 
seek  for  some  cause  of  that  success 
different  from  any  which  Mr  Glad- 
stone suggests  for  our  consideration. 
Where  is  it  1  In  this  :  that  Mr 
Gladstone  tests  France  by  its  ex- 
ports, Belgium  and  Holland  by 
their  imports.  Is  this  fair — is  it 
even  common  sense  ? 

It  is  not  fair — it  is  not  even  com- 
mon sense  ;  but  it  shows  that  thus 
far  in  his  financial  statement  Mr 
Gladstone  is  labouring  to  effect  two 
objects,  both  of  them  illusory,  and 
one  perfectly  unattainable.  First, 
he  wishes  to  convey  the  impression 
that  the  Tory  party  is  hostile  to  free 
trade,  and  would  return  to  a  system 
of  protection  if  it  could.  This  is 
not  the  fact.  The  Tory  party  has 
accepted  free  trade,  and  approves  it 
where  it  is  a  reality.  It  objects 
only  to  a  system  of  trade  of  which 
the  freedom  is  all  on  one  side.  The 
Tory  party  would  as  much  resent 
the  reversal  of  a  commercial  policy 
to  which  the  nation  has  become  ac- 
customed as  Mr  Gladstone  himself. 
But  the  Tory  party  believes  and 
affirms  that  the  increase  of  trade,  of 
which  so  much  boast  is  made,  origi- 
nates in  incidents  with  which  nei- 
ther parliaments  nor  governments 
have  anything  to  say,  and  not  on 
the  headlong  abandonment  of  that 
commercial  policy  which  made  us 
what  we  are.  We  export  and  import 


1865.1 


The  Government  and  the  Budget. 


threefold  as  much  as  we  did  thirty 
years  ago.  Who  denies  it  1  Hut  this 
multiplication  of  our  transactions 
may  easily  be  accounted  for,  when 
it  is  remembered  that  railway  com- 
munication makes  our  business  day 
now  equal  to  four  business  days 
thirty  years  ago  ;  that  the  tele- 
graphic wire  enables  the  merchant 
to  communicate  with  the  most  dis- 
tant parts  of  the  earth  in  as  many 
hours  as  it  used  to  take  him  months; 
that  steam  navigation  renders  at 
once  expeditious  and  comparatively 
certain  all  our  mercantile  voyages  ; 
and  that  the  gold  discoveries,  while 
they  give  immense  facilities  to 
trade,  enhance  the  apparent  value 
of  every  article  of  barter  except  the 
precious  metals.  What  has  legis- 
lation, what  have  commercial  sys- 
tems, had  to  do  with  these  things? 
That  is  all  for  which  we  have  ever 
contended  ;  and  that  we  are  justified 
in  holding  to  this  opinion,  the  fol- 
lowing facts  will  show  : — 

It  is  long  since  England  took  the 
lead  of  every  other  nation  in  trade 
and  commerce.  Within  the  memory 
of  living  men,  her  exports  and  im- 
ports fell  very  little  short  of  those 
of  all  the  other  nations  of  Europe 
put  together,  and  she  is  still  at  the 
head  of  them  taken  separately. 
But,  looking  to  the  interval  between 
1847  and  1864,  we  find  that  in  these 
years  her  imports  increased  by  90 
per  cent,  while  those  of  France  in- 
creased by  9(5  per  cent ;  her  exports 
by  96  per  cent,  and  those  of  France 
by  1 59  per  cent.  We  do  not  dispute 
that  England's  progress  has  been 
great  ;  but  surely  the  progress  of 
France  must  be  admitted  to  be 
greater  ;  yet  France  adheres  to  that 
system  of  protection  from  which 
we  have  emancipated  ourselves. 
So,  also,  it  is  with  Austria.  The 
geographical  position  of  that  em- 
pire, her  exclusion  from  the  sea — 
except  by  the  circuitous  navigation 
of  the  Danube,  or  the  toilsome  and 
expensive  railway  traffic  to  Trieste 
-»-must  always  prevent  her  becom- 
ing a  rival,  in  commerce,  to  Eng- 
land, to  France,  or  even  to  Belgium. 


Yet  Austria,  in  spite  of  her  adher- 
ence to  the  system  of  protection,  h;is 
made  such  strides,  that  her  exports 
now  exceed,  by  124  per  cent,  what 
they  were  in  1M7.  These,  then,  are 
the  fallacies  in  which  Mr  Gladstone 
indulges.  He  accuses  us  of  being 
hostile  to  free  trade,  which  we  are 
not ;  and  endeavours  to  deduce  from 
the  premises  which  we  have  now  set 
fairly  before  our  readers,  conclusions 
which  they  will  not  carry. 

Thus  clearing  the  way  for  him- 
self, as  he  usually  does,  by  a  skilful 
intermixture  of  sophisms  and  sta- 
tistics, Mr  Gladstone  advances  to 
the  real  business  before  him,  and 
does  his  best  to  secure  a  favourable 
hearing,  by  first  enunciating  a  con- 
siderable surplus,  and  then  explain- 
ing how  he  proposes  to  apply  it  to 
the  reduction  of  taxation.  Against 
his  surplus  we  have  nothing  to  say. 
There  it  is,  a  fact  not  to  be  disputed  ; 
and  an  agreeable  fact,  too,  though 
somewhat  marred  by  the  recollec- 
tion that  the  country  was  made  to 
eat  a  good  deal  of  dirt,  in  order 
to  bring  the  consummation  about. 
Neither  is  it  worth  our  while 
to  notice  the  trifling  bonus  award- 
ed to  dealers  in  small  tenements, 
— to  insurers  against  accidents, 
to  special  pleaders,  and  persons 
possessed  of  incomes  under  .£50 
a-year.  It  is  a  good  thing  to 
get  rid  of  petty  grievances  wher- 
ever they  exist,  and  the  benefits 
which  the  classes  of  persons  just 
enumerated  are  about  to  receive 
no  one  will  grudge  them.  But  we 
do  object  to  all  that  follows  ;  not 
because  we  are  sorry  to  have  two- 
pence in  the  pound  taken  from  the 
income-tax,  and  that  sixpence  less 
should  be  charged  as  duty  upon 
the  pound  of  tea ;  but  because 
the  agricultural  interest  has  been 
cruelly  outraged  in  this  budget,  and 
because  the  reasons  assigned  for 
keeping  the  malt-tax  at  the  figure 
which  it  assumed  under  the  pres- 
sure of  the  great  French  war,  are 
unsound,  unstatesmanlike,  and  Jes- 
uitical. Let  us  give  our  reasons  for 
this  protest : — 


766 


Tlie  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June, 


And  here,  at  tlie  outset,  we  de- 
mur, in  the  most  decided  manner, 
to  the  dictum  with  which,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  Mr  Gladstone  endeav- 
ours to  close  the  door  against  all 
argument.  We  deny  that  "  the  con- 
sistent man  who  supports  the  repeal 
of  the  malt-tax  is  the  sly  but  deter- 
minate foe  of  indirect  taxation." 
Why  should  the  abolition  of  the 
malt-tax  be,  any  more  than  the  repeal 
of  the  duty  upon  paper,  "  the  death- 
warrant  of  the  whole  of  our  sys- 
tem of  indirect  taxation"?  There 
is,  indeed,  a  difference  in  the  ef- 
fects of  the  two  taxes,  which  is 
this  —  that  whereas  the  tax  on 
foreign -made  paper  encouraged  a 
domestic  industry,  the  tax  on  malt 
is  a  burden  which  domestic  in- 
dustry is  made  to  bear.  But  upon 
what  ground  that  can  be  asserted 
of  the  one  which  was  never  so  much 
as  insinuated  in  reference  to  the 
other,  is  more  than  we  can  conceive. 
The  repeal  of  the  malt-tax,  were  it 
forced  upon  the  Government,  might, 
and  probably  would,  involve,  for 
the  present,  the  keeping  up  of  the 
income-tax  at  five,  or  perhaps  six, 
pence  in  the  pound.  But  if  the 
paper-duty  had  been  left  as  all  ex- 
cept the  Manchester  men  desired, 
and  the  tax  on  tea  continued  at  a 
shilling,  this  could  not  have  oc- 
curred. And  even  now,  with  the 
paper-duty  abolished,  a  fivepenny 
income-tax,  and  a  tea-tax  at  the  old 
rate,  would  carry  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  through  his  diffi- 
culty. We  propose  to  consider  this 
part  of  our  subject  a  good  deal  at 
length,  for  the  consequences  in- 
volved in  the  issue,  whatever  these 
may  be,  are  of  the  gravest  kind. 

Mr  Gladstone  rests  his  refusal  to 
touch  the  malt-tax  on  two  grounds  : 
first,  because  the  beer-trade  flour- 
ishes in  spite  of  the  drawbacks  to 
which  it  is  subjected  ;  and  next,  be- 
cause, having  ceased  to  legislate  for 
classes,  we  may  not,  on  the  plea  of 
its  bearing  hard  upon  the  cultivators 
of  the  soil,  repeal  a  tax  which  is  at 
once  so  productive  and  so  easily 
collected.  The  collateral  reasons 


with  which  he  fortifies  his  main 
argument  are  these  : — that  if  you 
cheapen  beer,  you  will  drive  spirits, 
to  the  revenue  a  most  profitable 
fabric,  out  of  the  market ;  and  that 
the  Scotch  and  Irish,  who  drink 
very  little  beer,  and  a  great  deal 
of  spirits,  will  have  just  reason  to 
complain  if  you  deal  less  liberally 
with  them  than  with  the  beer-drink- 
ing English. 

' '  Now,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I 
cannot  put  out  of  sight  in  dealing  with 
this  matter  the  Irish  and  the  Scotch 
question.  I  think  that  in  the  nature  of 
the  Scotch  there  is  great  patience,  and 
in  the  nature  of  the  Irish  great  vivacity ; 
and  I  believe  that  the  patient  and  the 
vivacious  would  combine  together  were 
we  to  reduce  the  malt-duty  for  the  bene- 
fit of  this  country,  and  would  say,  ;  In 
some  manner  or  another — you  may  find 
out  the  way  for  yourselves — we  insist, 
if  you  reduce  this  tax  for  the  advantage 
of  England,  upon  your  doing  something 
for  us.'  To  the  three  other  sources  of 
loss,  therefore,  which  I  have  mentioned, 
a  fourth  would  be  added,  arising  out  of 
the  demands  of  the  representatives  of 
Scotland  and  Ireland.  That,  I  am  sure, 
it  will  be  admitted,  would  not  be  a  very 
hopeful  prospect  for  us  ill  a  financial 
point  of  view." 

From  what,  we  would  venture  to 
ask,  in  reply  to  all  this,  does  Mr 
Gladstone  suppose  that  good  whisky 
is  made  1  Good  whisky,  whether  of 
Scotch  or  Irish  origin- — such  whisky 
as  respectable  distillers  prefer  to 
produce — is  made  of  pure  malt,  and 
nothing  else.  There  is,  no  doubt, 
a  spirit,  not  by  any  means  noxious, 
though  of  a  quality  inferior,  and 
therefore  fetching  an  inferior  price, 
which  is  produced  from  an  intermix- 
ture of  two-thirds  raw  barley  and 
one-third  malt.  But  the  vile  com- 
pound of  raw  wheat,  or  rye,  or  oats, 
or  big,  and  sugar  or  molasses,  which 
takes  the  name  of  whisky,  and 
poisons  all  who  consume  it,  is  the 
legitimate  offspring  of  the  same  tax 
which  keeps  the  poor  Englishman 
from  brewing  his  beer  at  home.  So 
far,  therefore,  is  it  from  being  a  fact, 
that  repeal  of  the  malt-tax  would 
be  resisted  by  Scotch  and  Irish 
members,  that  all  among  them  who 


1865.] 


TJif  Government  and  the  Rudytt. 


707 


know  anything  about  the  subject 
would  su]>port  tlie  repeal,  because 
malt  would  thus  be  brought  within 
the  reach  of  the  small  as  well  as  of 
the  great  distiller,  and  the  Scotch 
and  Irish  people  supplied  with  a 
spirit  infinitely  better,  and  certainly 
not  dearer,  than  that  which  they 
consume  at  the  present  moment. 

Encouraged  by  the  cheer  which 
this  rash  assertion  elicited,  Mr  Glad- 
stone went  on  to  indulge  a  little 
further  in  those  statistical  details 
which  no  man  knows  better  than 
he  how  to  toss  about  with  a  view 
to  serve  his  own  purposes. 

"  What,  let  me  ask,  are  the  grounds 
for  this  great  innovation,  this  dangerous 
inroad  on  our  established  fiscal  system  ? 
Is  the  consumption  of  beer  declining  ? 
Is  the  trade  a  dying  trade?  Has  the 
Englishman  changed  his  nature?  Has 
he  ceased  to  supply  himself  with  a  suf- 
ficiently liberal  proportion  of  this  excel- 
lent and  truly  national  drink  ?  On  the 
contrary,  the  figures  all  point  upwards. 
The  meml)crs  of  the  present  Uovern- 
mcnt,  and  the  right  hon.  gentlemen 
opposite  too,  may  claim  the  honour  of 
cacli  having  done  a  good  deal  to  pro- 
mote the  consumption  of  malt  by  means 
of  the  burdens  laid  on  the  consumption 
of  spirits,  and  what  has  happened?  I 
find  I  cannot  give  the  returns  for  Ire- 
land, but  for  the  purjx>se  of  what  I  am 
about  to  state  that  is  not  material — that 
in  1841  the  consumption  of  malt  in  Great 
Britain  was  1.701  bushels  per  head  of 
the  population,  while  in  18153  it  had 
risen  t<>  1.71*3  i>er  head.  Now,  that,  I 
think,  furnishes  evidence  of  a  very  hand- 
some growth.  Hut  how  stands  the  ease 
with  spirits,  on  which  year  after  year 
during  the  period  to  which  I  am  refer- 
ring additional  burdens  have  In-en  laid? 
In  1S41  the  consumption  ]KT  head  of 
spirits  in  (Ireat  Britain  was  .7(53  gallons  ; 
while  in  18(53,  to  my  great  joy  and  satis- 
faction, it  sank  to  .645.  The  case,  then, 
as  represented  by  those  figures,  is  not 
such  a  very  hard  one  after  all  ;  but 
there  is  another  way  of  nutting  it.  It 
may  l)c  said —  'It  is  perhaps  true  that 
things,  as  regards  the  consumption  of 
malt,  are  a  little  better  now  than  they 
were  some  few  years  ago  ;  but,  then, 
let  us  go  back  to  the  good  old  times  of 
our  forefathers  and  see  how  the  matter 
stands. '  Well,  adopting  that  course, 
and  going  back  to  the  year  1722 — for  I 
dare-say  that  will  lx-  far  enough  -  I  find 


that  the  consumption  of  boor  in  Eng- 
land was  (5,OOO,(MH)  barrels— or  at  the 
rate  of  a  barrel  ]»er  head,  fur  the  jHipu- 
lation  at  the  time  was  only  f>,<MM),(M)0. 
In  KS.'M)  tho  consumption  was  8,000,000 
barrels,  and  in  that  year,  I  regret  to  say, 
it  had  sunk  from  one  barrel  to  two- 
thirds  of  a  barrel  JMT  head.  In  1S»54, 
however,  HO  jxiwerful  were  the  restora- 
tive processes  which  had  lieen  intro- 
duced, and  so  much  had  the  consump- 
tion of  beer  l>een  a-s.si.sted  by  the  legis- 
lation which  took  place  with  regard 
to  spirits,  and  otherwise — we  go  back, 
with  a  population  of  20,0<)0,(H)O,  to  the 
good  old  scale,  and  consume  20,  CM  10,0(10 
barrels,  or  exactly  the  same  quantity 
per  head  as  in  1722." 

Anything  more  grossly  delusive 
than  this  statement,  from  beginning 
to  end,  was  never,  we  suspect,  put 
forth  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Assume  that  Mr  Gladstone's  statis- 
tics are  correct,  and  to  what  do 
they  amount  ?  That  the  consump- 
tion of  malt  in  18G3  had  become 
greater  than  it  was  in  1841  by 
T^B,  and  that  the  average  con- 
sumption of  beer  per  head  of  the 
population  is  about  the  same  now 
that  it  was  in  1722.  But  Mr  Glad- 
stone's statistics  arc  not  correct,  and 
we  beg  leave  to  tell  him  why. 

In  1730  the  population  of  Eng- 
gland  and  Wales  amounted  to  five 
millions  and  a  half  of  souls  ;  the 
duty  levied  then  upon  malt  was  at 
the  rate  of  7d.  in  the  bushel,  and  the 
consumption  of  malt  itself  amount- 
ed to  not  less  than  five  bushels  per 
head  of  the  population  annually. 
In  183(1  the  population  had  in- 
creased to  fourteen  millions  ;  the 
duty  was  then  2s.  8d.,  and  the 
consumption  at  the  rate  of  two  and 
a  half  bushels  per  head.  The  popu- 
lation is  now  nearly  twenty  millions  • 
the  duty  is  still  2s.  8d..  and,  not- 
withstanding the  enormous  quan- 
tity of  beer  produced,  the  consump- 
tion of  malt  falls  considerably  short 
of  three  bushels  per  head.  Mr 
Gladstone  may  make  what  he  pleases 
of  his  twenty  millions  of  people 
and  twenty  million  barrels  of  beer. 
We  all  know  that  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  beer  which  is  consumed 
in  public  houses  very  little  malt  is 


768 


The  Government  and  tJte  Budget. 


[June, 


used,  and  a  great  deal  of  quassia  and 
other  drugs.  Be  this,  however,  as 
it  may,  the  fact  remains  incontro- 
vertible, that  the  consumption  of 
malt  among  these  twenty  millions 
is  proportionally  less  by  two-fifths, 
if  not  by  one-half,  than  it  was  among 
five  and  a  half  millions  of  people 
140  years  ago. 

Again,  Mr  Gladstone  obstinately 
shuts  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  malt 
and  beer  are  not  convertible  terms 
— that,  however  greatly  we  may 
wish  to  see  wholesome  beer  cheap- 
ened, and  facilities  of  brewing  at 
home  afforded  to  all  classes  of  her 
Majesty's  subjects,  we  denounce 
the  malt-tax  as  impolitic  and  unfair 
on  other  and  wider  grounds  than 
this.  The  malt-tax  operates  as  a 
direct  and  positive  hindrance  to 
agriculture.  There  are  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  acres  of  land  in 
this  country  which  would  produce 
excellent  crops  of  inferior  barley, 
were  it  worth  the  farmer's  while 
to  grow  them ;  but  barley  is  very 
little  used  in  this  country  except 
for  malting  purposes,  and  the  malt 
which  inferior  barley  produces 
would  not  meet  the  expense  inci- 
dent to  the  tax.  But  this  is  not 
all.  Agriculture,  to  be  permanently 
successful,  must  be  conducted  on  a 
system  of  rotation  in  tillage,  so  man- 
aged that  each  successive  crop  shall 
seek  its  nutriment  from  those  qual- 
ities in  the  soil  which  the  crop  pre- 
ceding it  had  not  devoured.  Now, 
if  you  be  driven  out  of  this  rotation 
by  pressure  from  without,  you  have 
no  choice  except  to  adopt  one  or 
other  of  two  courses  :  either  you 
must  have  recourse  to  fallows — that 
is,  you  must  do  without  the  pro- 
duce of  one-third  or  one-fourth  of 
your  arable  land  every  year;  or  you 
must,  for  the  sake  of  an  immediate 
gain,  wear  out  your  land  by  drench- 
ing it  with  stimulants.  We  say 
with  stimulants,  because  artificial 
manures — lime,  guano,  and  such- 
like— are  mere  drugs.  They  pro- 
mote a  rapid  circulation  for  the 
time  being  ;  but  in  exact  propor- 
tion as  they  produce  this  effect 


they  exhaust  the  soil.  Now,  this 
affects  injuriously  not  the  agricul- 
turist alone,  but  all  classes  of  the 
people.  The  former  cannot  afford 
to  grow  inferior  barley,  such  as 
would  do  admirably,  when  con- 
verted into  malt,  for  feeding  stock  ; 
if  he  cannot  increase  his  stock,  he 
cannot  accumulate  the  very  best 
kind  of  manure — that  which  the 
barnyard  supplies.  Without  this 
manure  his  wheat-culture  itself  is 
curtailed ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  the 
stock  which  should  have  produced 
it,  the  price  of  wheat  rises  or  is 
kept  down  by  increased  importa- 
tion from  abroad.  Indeed,  we  will 
go  further.  Not  only  are  these 
evil  results  brought  about  where 
the  land  is  good  and  fit  for  the 
highest  order  of  cultivation,  but  in- 
different land,  where  wheat  would 
not  grow,  is  rendered  all  but  worth- 
less both  to  the  owner  and  to  the 
public.  Bepeal  or  diminish  by  one- 
half  the  obnoxious  malt-tax,  and 
many  a  field  now  lying  waste  would 
teem  with  crops  of  barley,  and  fat 
cattle  be  so  multiplied  as  to  render 
beef  accessible — which  at  this  mo- 
ment it  certainly  is  not — to  others 
than  the  well-to-do  classes  of  so- 
ciety. 

But,  demands  Mr  Gladstone, 
what  right  have  you  to  complain  1 
We  must  raise  a  revenue  somehow ; 
and  unless  you  are  prepared  to 
throw  all  the  burdens  of  the  State 
upon  realised  property,  you  have 
no  ground  for  demanding  that  this, 
which  is  the  most  productive  of  all 
our  indirect  taxes,  should  be  tam- 
pered with.  Beer  and  spirits  bear 
their  share,  and  no  more  than  their 
share,  in  the  public  burdens  with 
wine  and  tea.  Indeed,  the  duties 
levied  upon  beer  are  lighter  than 
those  upon  wine  and  tea. 

"If,"  he  observes,  "you  want  to 
estimate  the  relative  taxation,  you  must 
take  articles  capable  of  coming  into 
competition  with  one  another ;  you 
must,  therefore,  take  the  poorer  and 
lower  wines  capable  of  being  sold  at 
prices  somewhat  approaching  that  of 
beer,  and  therefore  of  coming  into  com- 


1865.] 


The  Goifwmott  and  the  Bmlytt. 


7G9 


]>etition  with  it.  I  have  inquired  into 
the  character  of  tin-  wines  consumed  l>y 
the  poor,  who  arc  the  great  drinkers  of 
l>eer,  and  one  of  them  is  called  llam- 
Imrg  sherry.  The  j>eople  of  Hamburg 
liave  the  reputation  of  being  adulteraters 
of  wine  ;  hut  it  is  always  to  he  home  in 
mind  that,  according  to  their  own  view, 
they  understand  the  chemistry  of  wine  ; 
and  what  we  call  'adulteration,'  they 
say  is  nothing  hut  scientific  mixture. 
The  price  of  Hamburg  sherry  is  f>s.  a- 
gallon,  duty  paid,  and  of  that  '2s.  Gd., 
or  50  ]>er  cent,  is  duty  ;  In-er  is  only 
taxed  at  'J((  IKT  cent.  Spanish  red 
•wines  have  recently  been  imported  to 
some  extent,  and  the  same  observation 
applies  as  to  duty  upon  them.  The 
common  sherries  from  Cadiz  pay  about 
the  same  rate — that  is  to  say,  they  are 
Hold  at  ">s.  ]H>r  gallon,  the  duty  Wing 
tls.  Gd.,  or  50  ]>er  cent.  The  common 
clarets  imported  from  France  for  ]M>pular 
consumption  are  sold,  duty  paid,  at 
about  '_'s.  a-gallon.  The  duty  upon 
them  is  Is.  a-gallon,  or  at  the  rate  of 
f>0  j>er  cent.  This  class  of  wines,  there- 
fore, which  might  enter  into  competition 
with  beer,  is  subject  to  a  taxation  of 
50  j>er  cent. ;  while  l>ecr  itself  contri- 
butes but  '20  IKT  cent.  I  pass  now  to 
another  view  of  the  question.  Malt 
lies,  we  may  say,  half-way  between  the 
stronger  liquors, such  as  wine  and  spirits, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  tea  on  the  other; 
and  appealing,  as  I  do,  to  gentlemen 
who  make  honourable  manifestations  of 
the  strength  of  their  disapproval  of  the 
consumption  of  spirits,  I  apprehend  I 
shall  lind  a  way  to  their  hearts  with- 
out any  difficulty  when  I  plead  for 
moderation  in  the  import  upon  tea.  If 
l>eer  ought  to  be  taxed  more  lightly 
than  the  wines  which  comjH'te  with  it, 
and  more  lightly  than  spirits — -as  I 
grant  it  ought  to  l»e  —  then  I  put  it 
confidently  to  the  House,  ought  tea  to 
be  taxed  more  heavily  than  lx>er?  I 
ask  attention  to  that  proposition,  be- 
cause it  is  one  which  entails  consequen- 
ces. If  the  principle  that  tea  ought  to 
l>e  taxed  more  heavily  than  beer  ]>e 
sound,  then  it  is  desirable  to  uphold 
that  distinction  ;  but  if  the  principle 
IK;  unsound,  then  it  is  very  desirable 
that  it  should  IK-  exploded.  The  tax  on 
beer,  as  I  have  already  stated,  is  about 
20  per  cent ;  the  tax  on  tea  cannot  In- 
stated at  less  than  4<)  JHT  cent.  The 
short  price  of  tea  for  some  years  past 
lias  not  IHMMI  al>ove  Is.  6d.  perlb.,  sold 
by  the  chest  ;  a  few  days  ago  it  stood 
at  Is.  .3d.  If  we  take  the  price  at  Is. 
Gd.,  the  tax  upon  tea  will  be  at  least  40 


percent ;  if  we  take  the  price  at  Is.  3d., 
the  tax  will  be  al>out  45  per  cent.  I'nder 
the  circumstances  of  such  undue  rela- 
tive taxation.  I  a.-k,  what  ground  is 
there  for  making  the  vast  sacrifice  of 
revenue  that  I  have  shown  would  }>e 
entailed  by  reduction  of  the  malt-duty? 
And  do  I  not  further  show  that  up  to 
this  moment  we  have  failed  to  do  full 
justice  to  the  consumers  of  the  article 
of  tea  ? " 

It  is  not  without  a  purpose  that 
Mr  Gladstone,  throughout  the  whole 
of  1m  financial  statement,  persists 
in  contrasting  and  comparing  things 
which  have  nothing  in  common  ttv- 
gether.  "Wine  is  the  produce,  tbe 
manufactured  produce,  of  foreign 
countries.  Tea  is  an  article  pro- 
duced abroad,  and  imported  largely 
for  home  consumption.  Barley  is 
the  growth  of  English  soil — a  raw 
material  to  be  worked  up  at  home 
into  a  valuable  and  useful  com- 
modity. Barley  unmalted  cannot  be 
compared  with  tea  as  it  grows  on  the 
tea-tree  in  China,  or  with  wine  as 
it  lies  in  the  cellar  of  the  merchant 
at  Bordeaux  ;  but  it  docs  bear  a 
strong  resemblance  to  ironstone  in 
the  mine.  Now,  what  would  our 
ironmasters  and  the  people  of  Eng- 
land say  if  Mr  Gladstone  were  to 
propose  a  tax  of  even  20  per  cent 
upon  iron  ore  after  it  had  under- 
gone the  process  of  smelting  1  The 
tax  upon  beer  is  not,  we  believe, 
20,  but  only  l~2\,  percent ;  but  the 
tax  upon  malt,  without  which,  we 
believe,  beer  cannot  be  made,  is 
not  less  than  70  per  cent  ;  so  that 
the  beer-drinker  pays  to  the  reve- 
nue 92i  per  cent  in  the  shape  of 
duty,  while  the  drinker  of  wine 
pays  50,  and  of  tea  45,  per  cent. 
Granting  the  one  to  be  as  legitimate 
an  object  of  taxation  as  the  other, 
is  there  anything  like  equality  in 
the  extent  to  which  they  are  re- 
spectively called  upon  to  bear  this 
burden  ?  Besides,  you  halt  in  the 
application  of  your  own  principle. 
If  it  be  sound  policy  to  lay  a  heavy 
tax  on  barley  after  it  becomes  malt, 
why  should  not  wheat  be  taxed 
after  it  becomes  bread  ?  No,  we 
shall  be  told,  the  cases  are  different. 


770 


Tlie  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June, 


Beer  is  not,  like  bread,  a  necessary 
of  life.  Granted  ;  but  malted  bar- 
ley is  not  used  exclusively  for  brew- 
ing beer;  it  goes  to  fatten  cattle, 
or  would  go  were  the  tax  repealed. 
Is  meat  less  a  necessary  of  life  than 
bread  ? 

Again,  the  Chanceller  of  the 
Exchequer  and  the  President  of 
the  Board  of  Trade  equally  fall 
back  upon  the  assumption,  that  the 
consumers  of  beer  in  reality  pay 
the  malt -tax,  and  that,  till  they 
complain,  the  farmers  only  make 
donkeys  of  themselves  in  trying  to 
get  rid  of  it.  We  deny  that  the 
tax  is  paid  wholly  by  the  consumers 
of  beer.  It  is  paid,  if  not  out  of 
their  piirses,  in  their  bellies,  par- 
tially at  least,  by  all  the  poor  men 
and  women  who  cannot  now  afford 
to  eat  a  morsel  of  butcher- meat. 
But,  allowing  that  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent the  consumers  of  beer  do  pay 
the  tax,  is  their  apparent  reticence 
in  not  complaining  of  it  any  reason 
why  they  should  continue  to  be 
subject  to  that  burden  ?  You  lower 
the  duties  on  French  wines  and 
brandies,  avowedly  in  the  hope 
that  you  shall  tempt  your  neigh- 
bours to  take  woollen  goods  and 
cottons  in  exchange  for  these 
things.  Your  success  has  been  by 
no  means  extraordinary.  Mean- 
while the  rich,  or  comparatively 
rich,  who  alone  consume  French 
wines  and  brandies,  get  these 
things  at  a  greatly  reduced  price ; 
while  the  poor,  such  of  them  at 
least  as  are  able  to  drink  beer  at 
all,  pay  upon  each  pint  which  they 
consume  a  larger  amount  by  far 
into  the  public  treasury  than  the 
rich  man  pays  upon  his  pint  of 
claret  or  of  sherry.  Is  this  fair  i 

"Oh!"  but  exclaims  Mr  Milner 
Gibson,  "  would  you  have  us  break 
in  upon  a  system  of  indirect  taxa- 
tion which  produces  not  less  than 
twenty  millions  a-year,  knowing 
that  if  six  millions  be  taken  from 
us  we  must  reimpose  the  income- 
tax  at  sevenpence  in  the  pound  at 
least?"  We  are  not  aware  that  any 
such  extravagant  proposal  has  been 


made.  Keep,  on  moral  grounds, 
your  spirit-duties  as  they  are — raise 
them,  indeed,  if  you  please — only 
taking  care  so  to  manage  matters 
that  the  smuggler  shall  not  step  in 
and  defraud  all  parties.  This  will 
secure  to  you  what  you  now  re- 
ceive —  thirteen  millions  or  there- 
abouts. Your  wine-duties  on  the 
reduced  scale  produce  about  one 
and  a  half  millions,  leaving  a  defi- 
ciency of  six  and  a  half  millions ; 
but  we  do  not  ask  at  the  present 
moment  for  a -total  repeal  of  the 
malt-tax.  Keep  it  at  one-half,  or 
three  millions,  and  the  loss  to  the 
revenue  will  be  no  more  than  three 
and  a  half  millions.  Now  nobody,  as 
far  as  we  are  aware,  has  complained 
of  the  duty  upon  tea  as  excessive 
at  Is.  in  the  pound.  The  tea- 
dealers,  indeed,  confiding  in  Mr 
Gladstone's  assurances,  operated,  as 
their  representatives  took  care  to 
inform  him,  on  the  conviction  that 
the  minimum  reduction  had  been 
obtained  two  years  ago.  Why  dis- 
turb them  in  this  conviction — at 
all  events  for  the  present — more 
especially  as  it  must  have  been 
known  to  every  one  conversant 
with  the  habits  of  the  poorer  classes 
that  they  at  least  will  gain  nothing 
from  the  reduction  ?  How  can  the 
retail  dealer  manage  to  distribute 
6d.  through  ounces  of  tea  ?  Will  not 
the  whole  saving,  such  as  it  is,  go 
into  his  pocket  1  The  rich,  and  the 
comparatively  rich,  may  gain  from 
the  proposed  reduction — the  poor 
will  derive  no  benefit. 

We  have  devoted  so  much  space 
to  what  may  be  called  the  great 
wrong  of  Mr  Gladstone's  Budget, 
that  we  have  left  ourselves  no  room 
to  notice,  except  very  briefly,  his 
other  mistakes,  wilful  or  accidental. 
One  of  these,  conspicuous  above  the 
rest,  is  the  assertion  that  the  malt- 
tax  enhances  the  price  of  his  beer 
to  the  consumer  only  one  halfpenny 
per  quart.  Now,  considering  that 
the  price  of  a  quarter  of  good  malt- 
ing barley  is  32s.,  and  that  the  duty 
on  malting  the  same  is  21s.  6d.,  it 
is  very  clear  that  the  price  of  the 


1865.] 


Tht  (joiermnent  and  the 


771 


barrel  of  beer,  and  consequently  of 
each  of  tlu>  quarts  which  go  to  make 
it  up,  must  l>o  enhanced,  through 
the  pressure  of  the  malt-tax,  exactly 
one-third.  We  are  far  from  wish- 
ing it  to  be  supposed  that,  were  the 
tax  repealed  tomorrow,  the  great 
brewer,  much  less  the  publican, 
would  reduce  the  article  to  that  ex- 
tent. Hut  every  person  brewing  at 
home  would  be  able  to  drink  his 
beer  fur  just  two-thirds  of  what  it 
HOW  costs  him  ;  and  without  doubt 
the  numbers  so  using  the  cheapened 
malt  would  multiply  exceedingly. 
Compare  this  with  the  benefit  se- 
cured to  the  consumer  of  tea.  by 
the  reduction  of  the  duty  to  Gd.  in 
the  pound.  An  ounce  of  tea  may 
be  supposed  to  fro  as  far  at  the  la- 
bourer's table  as  two  quarts  of  beer. 
Supposing  him  to  get  all  the  benefit 
of  the  promised  reduction,  he  will 
save  just  one  farthing  and  a  half. 
His  two  quarts  of  beer,  which  now 
cost  him  from  bd.  to  Is.,  he  would 
be  able  to  purchase  for  Md.  or 
M.  ;  and  if  he  brew  at  home,  the 
saving  will  be  infinitely  greater. 
"Which  would  benefit  the  labouring 
man  most  \ 

Another  of  Mr  Gladstone's  falla- 
cies had  best  be  given  in  his  own 
words  : — 

"  It  is  constantly  stated,  '  In  all  your 
resolutions  you  have  done  nothingfor  the 
class  of  agriculturists.'  ('  Hear,  hear,' 
from  the  Opposition.)  Well,  I  should 
like  to  know  the  class  for  whom  you 
Lave  done  anything.  In  my  opinion 
the  ino.-t  marked  of  all  tlie  characteris- 
tics of  our  legislation  of  recent  years  is 
that  wo  have  l>con  steadily  endeavour- 
ing to  restrain  ourselves  from  the  vicious 
habit  of  looking  to  classes,  and  to  as 
Hteadily  legislate  for  the  interests  of 
the  country  generally.  I  know  there 
nr<-  constituencies  in  the  country  by 
•whom  the  opposite  view  has  been  ta- 
ken, and  by  whom  gentlemen  who  were 
disposed  to  place  confidence  in  the  pre- 
sent Administration  have  been  rejected, 
on  the  ground  that  her  Majesty's  <!ov- 
t-rninont  were  in  favour  of  a  policy  in- 
jurious to  the  interest  of  the  agricultural 
class.  Hut  I  want  to  know  in  what 
instance'  we  have  asked  Parliament  to 
surrender,  or  in  what  instance  Parlia- 
ment lias  consented  to  surrender,  any 
VOL.  XCVII. — NO.  I>.\<  VI. 


jxirtion  of  the  revenue  of  the  country, 
which  is  the  property  of  the  country,  on 
any  other  interest  but  the  broad  and 
comprehensive  interest  of  the  country. 
I  l.rli.-ve  that  legislation  for  tin-  beneiit 
of  a  i  !;;>s  is  a  mistake  of  the  grossest 
order." 

If  the  tendency  of  our  recent 
commercial  policy  has  not  been  to- 
wards class  legislation  on  the  larg- 
est scale,  we  must  confess  ourselves 
ignorant  of  what  class  legislation 
is.  Kngland  used  to  be  a  nation 
which  could  boast  of  its  cotton 
trade,  its  woollen  trade,  its  silk 
trade,  its  agricultural  interest,  its 
colonial  interest,  its  shipping  in- 
terest, all  of  them  protected  more 
or  less  from  foreign  competition, 
all  blended  harmoniously  together, 
and  contributing  to  the  prosperity 
of  the  empire.  The  indirect  taxa- 
tion necessary  for  carrying  on  the 
a  flairs  of  the  Government  was  le- 
vied chiefly  on  goods  imported  from 
abroad;  on  the  natural  productions 
of  our  own  soil  no  heavier  burdens 
were  laid  than  the  exigencies  of  the 
times  required  and  the  state  of  the 
markets  rendered  equitable.  In  pro- 
portion as  one  of  these  many  classes 
succeeded  in  overshadowing  the 
rest,  a  new  principle  of  taxation 
came  into  vogue.  In  order  that  the 
cotton -weaver  might  pay  less  for 
certain  articles  which  he  consumed, 
the  colonial  interest  was  struck  at, 
and,  by  a  process  of  legislation  on 
which  we  cannot  even  now  look 
back  except  with  shame  and  anger, 
the  richest  of  our  colonies  were 
ruined.  The  next  to  suffer  was  the 
shipping  interest.  That  the  cost  of 
export  and  import  might  be  cheap- 
ened, the  navigation  laws  were  re- 
pealed ;  and  the  flower  of  our  sea- 
men seeking  employment  in  Ame- 
rica, we  are  reduced  too  often  to 
supply  their  place  with  the  scum  of 
the  earth,  liy-and-by  the  turn  of 
the  agricultural  interest  came,  and 
the  repeal  of  the  corn-laws  effected 
among  the  owners  and  occupiers 
of  land  a  social  revolution  far  more 
painful  than  the  outside  world  sup- 
poses. Now  we  would  not  so  much 
3  F 


772 


The  Government  and  the  Budget. 


[June,  1865. 


complain  of  this  if  the  repeal  had 
been  managed  on  any  principle  of 
equity;  but  the  Legislature  which 
refused  any  longer  to  protect  the 
home  grower  of  cereals  from  foreign 
competition,  refused  also  to  release 
him  from  certain  heavy  restrictions 
to  which,  under  very  different  cir- 
cumstances, he  had  been  subjected. 
It  continued  to  tax  his  barley  when 
converted  into  malt,  to  levy  a  heavy 
duty  upon  his  hops,  and  to  prohi- 
bit him  from  growing  tobacco.  Was 
this  common  justice  1  Did  not  Sir 
EobertPeel  himself  warn  the  House 
of  Commons  that  legislation  so  one- 
sided could  not  long  be  persevered 
in  1  Yet  now,  when  the  agricultur- 
ists desire  to  be  placed  on  a  footing 
of  equality  with  other  producers, 
they  are  met  with  a  peremptory 
refusal,  and  told,  "  We  do  not,  in 
our  legislation,  look  to  classes,  but 
to  the  interests  of  the  country  gen- 
erally." Not  look  to  classes  !  What 
then  are  we  looking  to1?  Can  the 
farmer  lay  no  claim  to  be  considered 
when  the  general  interests  of  the 
community  are  under  discussion1? 


Has  he  no  stake  in  the  country, 
nor  any  right  to  share  in  the  pro- 
sperity of  which  he  hears  so  much 
and  sees  so  little  1  Are  not  the 
honest  labourers  who  till  the  soil 
our  countrymen ;  and  the  operative 
silk-weavers,  ribbon-makers,  watch- 
makers, and  paper-makers  ]  And 
have  we  not  shown  that  all  these, 
with  the  poor  in  every  class,  would 
gain  infinitely  more  if  cheap  meat 
and  cheap  beer  were  brought  within 
their  reach,  than  can  ever  come  to 
them  from  the  importation  into 
English  markets  of  cheap  brandy, 
cheap  wine,  and  cheap  paper  ] 

We  cannot  doubt  that  at  the  com- 
ing general  election  these  truths, 
for  truths  they  are,  will  be  remem- 
bered. And  if  they  be.  then,  not 
in  the  country  only,  but  in  bor- 
oughs also,  where  men's  minds  are 
open  to  the  influence  of  reason,  her 
Majesty's  present  Ministers,  should 
they  refuse  to  the  people  what 
the  people  have  a  right  to  de- 
mand, will  find  the  people  choos- 
ing for  themselves  safer  and  wiser 
leaders. 


INDEX    TO    VOL.    XCV1I. 


Altcnlccn  Ministry,  the,  and  its  fall, 
031). 

Al  lea  tree,  Richard,  provost  of  Eton, 
222 

America,  our  policy  toward  our  West- 
ern and  Northern  possessions  in,  739. 

American  war,  O'Dowd  on  the,  57. 

Anaeapri,  the  village  of,  77,  84. 

Artillery,  the  Confederate,  42. 

Atlanta,  sketches  of,  37. 

Auckland,  settlement  and  history  of, 
743. 

Augusta,  sketches  at,  36— the  Confed- 
erate jMtwdcr-mills  at,  47. 

Austria,  policy  and  position  of,  121  ft 
*•//. 

Aztec  children,  the,  11)."). 

Haincs,  Mr,  his  nj»eech  on  the  Union 
Rating  Bill,  754. 

BALDWIN'S  LAWS  OF  SHOUT  WHIST, 
461. 

Balston,  Mr,  head-master  of  Eton,  3G4. 

Bank,  proceedings,  &c.,  of  the,  during 
the  recent  crisis,  602  rt  w/. — mono- 
poly granted  t<>  it,  70S  — its  action 
with  regard  to  discount,  &c.,  71-  ft 
seq. 

Banks,  the,  causes  which  lead  to  their 
raising  the  rate  of  interest,  707. 

Banks  of  issue,  effects  of  the  failure  of, 
710  ft  **•<]. 

Barker,  W.,  head-master  of  Kton,  213. 

Barnard,  Dr,  head-master  of  Kton,  227. 

Bay  of  Islands,  tirst  settlement  at  the, 
740. 

Ba/ire,  the  engraver,  Blake  trained  un- 
der, 297. 

Beckington,  Bishop,  opening  of  Eton 
College  by,  209. 

Beer,  Gladstone  on  the  consumption  of, 
767. 

Biographies  and  biographers,  modern, 
29 ' 

Bismarck,  the  policy,  &c.,  of,  110. 

BI.AKK,  WILLIAM,  21)1. 

Bland,  I>r,  head-master  of  Kton,  22."). 


Blue  Grotto,  the,  at  Capri,  77,  81. 

Boating  at  Eton,  471. 

Boats,  the  procession  of  the,  at  Eton, 
474. 

Boucher,  Catherine,  wife  of  Blake  the 
painter,  298. 

Bragg,  General,  failure  of,  at  Chatta- 
nooga, 40 -sketch  of,  169. 

Breckenridge,  General,  41. 

Brigandage  in  Italy,  671. 

Briggs,  Leech's  illustrations  of,  4(57. 

Bright,  Mr,  as  leader  of  the  Radicals, 
639. 

Brown,  the  Misses,  a  sketch,  ISO. 

Buchanan,  Admiral,  170,  171,  172. 

Bnckner,  General,  39,  40. 

Budget,  the,  and  Gladstone's  speech  on 
it,  "57  > I  ••>•''</. 

BIM.WKK'S  POKMS,  review  of,  330. 

Bureau,  the,  an  Kton  magazine,  484. 

Burton's  Nile  Basin,  review  of,  101. 

Cameron,  General,  in  New  Zealand, 
752. 

Canada,  our  policy  toward,  and  its  re- 
sults, 739. 

Canning,  the  Microcosm  edited  by, 
482 — the  accession  of,  to  power,  516. 

Canningites,  the,  in  the  Wellington 
Ministry,  516. 

Canterbury,  N.  Z.,  prosjtcrity  of,  753. 

Capital,  floating  and  fixed,  591. 

Capri,  sketches  in  island  of,  72  ct  seq. 

Capriote  women,  the,  74. 

Captain  of  the  boats,  the,  at  Kton,  473. 

Card  well,  Mr,  as  a  member  of  the  Min- 
istry, 636. 

Castlereagh,  defence  of  the  coercive 
policy  of,  511. 

Catholic  Emancipation,  conduct  of  Wel- 
lington and  Peel  on,  518. 

Changing  House,  410. 

Charleston,  sketches  at,  29  ft  «•</. — visit 
to,  during  the  siege,  151. 

Charterhouse,  Leech  at  the,  466. 

( 'hattanooga,  failure  of  the  Confederate! 
at,  40. 


774 


Index. 


Cherokee  Indians,  the,  44. 

Chess,  comparison  of,  with  Whist,  4G1. 

Chester  Gap,  skirmish  at,  27. 

Church,  O'Dowd  on  the,  565 — reaction 

in  favour  of  the,  639. 
Cialdini,  General,  sketch  of,  GG3. 
Cinicchia,  an  Italian  brigand,  672. 
Clebnrne,    General,  41 — at  Missionary 

Ridge,  155. 

Climate,  O'Dowd  on,  417. 
Cobden,  the  death  of,  638. 
Coleridge,  Henry  Nelson,  484. 
College  Magazine,  the,  at  Eton,  482. 
Colonial  policy,  results  of  the  change  in, 

520 — review  of  our,  739. 
Commerce,  Gladstone  on  the  increase 

of,  758  et  seq. 
Commercial  code,  relaxations  of  the,  by 

the  Tories,  512. 
Confederate  scouts,  the,  162. 
CONFEDERATE  STATES,  A  VISIT  TO  THE 

CITIES  AND  CAMPS  OF  THE,  Part  II., 

26 — Conclusion,  151. 
Conservative  party,  the,  breaking  up  of, 

by  Peel,  627 — present  position   and 

prospects  of,  640. 

Constance,  by  Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer,  337. 
Continental  excursionists,  230. 
Cooke,  W.,  head-master  of  Eton,  228. 
Costume,  disappearance  of  distinctive, 

427. 
Cotton,  the  recent  fall  in,  and  its  effects, 

597  et  se<i. 

Cowper  as  a  translator  of  Homer,  439. 
Coxe,  Richard,   head-master   of   Eton, 

212. 

Cricket  at  Eton,  475. 
Criminal  code,  reform  in  the,  under  the 

Tories,  512. 
Cruikshank,   comparison  between,  and 

Leech,  468. 
Cullen,   Dr,  medical  superintendent  in 

the  Confederate  armies,  43,  44. 
Cumberland,  the  Duke  of,  at  Eton,  471. 
CURATO,  IL,  an  Italian  portrait,  53. 
Currency,    importance  of  an   adequate 

supply  of,  590. 

Davenport  Brothers,  the,  194. 
Davies,  Dr,  head-master  of  Eton,  358. 
Davis,  President,  45. 
DAY  AND  NIGHT,  89. 
DERBY,  LORD,  HIS  TRANSLATION  OF  THE 

ILIAD,  439. 
Derby,  Lord,  his  speech  in  1859,  &c., 

627 — his  first  attempt  to  form  a  min- 
istry,   628  —  his  second,  629  —  again 

Premier,  632. 
Discount,  high  rates  of,  and  its  causes, 

596. 

Divine  Image,  the,  by  Blake,  306. 
Doctors,  about,  62. 
Dow,  General  Neil,  159. 
Draper,  Mrs,  Sterne's  connection  with, 

549. 


Dream,  a,  564. 

DRESS,  425. 

Droll  people,  on  certain,  65. 

Duncannon,  Lord,  one  of  the  commit- 
tee on  the  Reform  Bill,  514. 

Durham,  Lord,  and  the  Reform  Bill, 
513,  514. 

EARL  RUSSELL,  505. 

Edmunds  scandal,  the,  755. 

Education,  efforts  for,  in  Italy,  666. 

Edward  IV.,  hostility  of,  to  Eton,  211. 

Egyptian  Museum,  the,  at  Turin,  664. 

Elcho,  Lord,  course  followed  by,  on  the 
Union  Rating  Bill,  754. 

Election  Saturday  at  Eton,  475. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  visit  of,  to  Eton,  214. 

England,  present  position  of,  toward 
the  Continent,  118  —  the  old  laws 
against  witchcraft  in,  193 — the  cli- 
mate of,  417. 

English  Church,  O'Dowd  on  the,  565. 

English  Inquisition,  the,  556.  i 

English  tourists,  on,  72,  73. 

English  and  French  whist-players,  on, 
462. 

Englishwoman  in  Venezuela,  the,  177 
(t  scq. 

Established  Church,  danger  of  the,  520. 

Eton  College  Chronicle,  the,  484. 

Eton  Debating  Society,  the,  484. 

Eton  Miscellany,  the,  484. 

Etonian,  the,  its  rise,  &c.,  482. 

ETONIANA,  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN, 
Part  L,  209— Part  II.,  356— Conclu- 
sion, 471. 

EUROPEAN  SITUATION,  THE,  118. 

Exports,  Gladstone's  statements  as  to 
the  increase  of,  examined,  758. 

Fagging  at  Ebon,  368. 

Faraglioni,  the,  at  Capri,  81. 

Female  colporteur,  the,  187. 

Female  tourists,  176. 

Ferguson,  the  showman  of  the  Daven- 
ports, 198  et  seq. 

Ferriar,  Dr,  his  attack  on  Sterne,  553. 

Fielding,  comparison  of  Sterne  with, 
542. 

Fight  over  the  way,  the,  57. 

Fiocco,  MONSIGNORE  DEL,  an  Italian 
portrait,  49. 

Fisher,  Fort,  153. 

FITZGERALD'S  LIFE  OF  STERNE,  review 
of,  540. 

Fitzroy,  Captain,  his  administration  of 
New  Zealand,  745. 

Fixed  capital,  the  so-called,  592. 

Fleetwood,  James,  provost  of  Eton, 
221. 

Florence,  the  removal  of  the  Italian 
capital  to,  410,  659  el  seq. 

Foster,  John,  head-master  of  Eton,  227. 

Fourmantelle,  Sterne's  connection 
with,  549. 

Fourth  of  June,  the,  at  Eton,  474. 


Jnd(.r. 


Fox,  0.  J.,  educated  at  Kton.  350— his 

India  Hill,  conduct  of  George  III.  on, 

MM. 
Franco,  present  position  of,    !-.">  —  the 

trade  with,  Gladstone  on,  701. 
Franco  -  I t;ili.in    Convention,   tin-,    12.~> 

1 1  i"/. 

Frvdcricksburg,  a  visit  to,  10,"». 
Frciu  h     and    English    whist  •  players, 

cniii|iarisoii  of,  402. 
Gambling,  ctl'orts  for  suppression  of,  at 

Richmond,  l.'iO. 
George.   III.,  conduct  of,  on    tin-   India 

Hill,  ">08. 

George  IV..  secret  Camarilla  of,  ,~>17. 
George,  Dr,  head-master  of  Kton,  ±2."). 
Germany,  present  position,  tn\,  of,  120. 
GII.CHRIST'S  Lin:  UK  HLAKE,  review  of, 

291. 
Gilmore,     General,     bombardment     of 

( 'harleston  hy,  33. 

GLADSTONE,       IMF.     RltiHT      H'tN.      W II.- 

i.i.VM,  1'art  I.,  240     I'.irt  II.,  201. 
Gladstone,  W.  K.,   his  present  position 

and  objects,  030  -  course  followed  l>y, 

on  tin1   I'nioii   Rating   Hill,   7">4— his 

BjHH-ch  on  the  Hudget,  and  its  inisre- 

prcsentatiuns,  7">7  '  /  •<"/. 
Going  into  Parliament,  22S. 
Gold,  imports  and  exjHirts  of,  003 — drain 

of,  abroad,  its  ellects  on  trade,   &c., 

711. 

Goldsmith,  hostility  of,  to  Sterne,  ~)~>3. 
Goodall,  Joseph,    head-ina>ter  of  Kton, 

3.->S. 
GiNHlfonl.  Dr,  provost  of  Kton,  .'{til. 

GoVKilSMK.Vr     AM)    TJIK     HlIUJKT,    TIIK, 

754. 

Graham,  Sir  James,  one  of  the  Com- 
mittee on  the  Reform  Hill.  A 14. 

GIIAST,  CAPTAIN,  IMS  WALK  ACROSS 
AFRICA  reviewed,  Jn± 

Gray  as  a  student  at  Kton.  3.">0. 

Gray,  X.,  head-master  of  Kton,  '220. 

Grcnfell,  Colonel,  sketch  of,  K»2. 

Grenville.  Lord,  an  Ktonian,  .':.~>7. 

Grey,  luirl  de,  as  a  minister,  G.'C). 

Grey,  Sir  George,  his  administration  of 
New  /calami,  747  ft  /o1'/.  —his  second 
administration,  7/52. 

Grey    .Ministry,    tirst  measures  of  the, 

f)i:{. 

Grotto   A/znrro,   the,    at   Capri,   81  — 

Verde,  J>:i. 

Grv  NF.VII.I.I:'S  GHOST.  342. 
Hambledon  Cricket  Club,  the,  47t>. 
Harrison,  John,  master  of  Kton,  220. 
Harrow,  cricket  matches  l>etwecn  Kton 

and,  470. 
Hawtrev,  Dr,  as  bead-master  of  Kton, 

303. 

Tlayley,  connection  of  Blake  with,  209. 
Heath,  I)r,  head-master  of  Kton,  3,~>8. 
Heki,  the  New  Zealand  chief,  740,  747. 


Henry  VI.,  foundation  of  Kton  College 
by,  20!). 

Henry  VIII.,  visit  of,  to  Kton,  213. 

Herbert,  Sidney,  character,  iVc.,  of.  034. 

Hobson,  Captain,  tirst  governor  of  New 
/calami,  743. 

Home  the  spiritualist,  200. 

HOMF.K'S  liiu>,  i  KANSI.ATKD  KY  L«>i:n 
DKHIIY.  43'.». 

Hotel  charges  at  Richmond,  United 
States,  l.'>7. 

How  TOMAKF.  A  rKiucuKK,  721. 

Howitt,  W.,  on  the  supernatural,  H>4. 

Hunting  the  Ram  at  Kton,  471. 

Huskisson,  Mr,  secession  of,  from  Wel- 
lington, r>i7. 

Il.I.M),      TIIK,      TUANSIATF.D       I!V       LflHU 

DKIIHY,  4,'i'.). 

Ill-use<l  class,  .1  word  for  an,  230. 
Immoral  consideration,  an,  422. 
Imports,  Gladstone  on   the   increase  of, 

7">S. 
India  Hill,   conduct   of   George   III.  on 

the,    ")OS. 

Ingelo,  vice-provost  of  Kton,  222. 

lSTF.Kr.ST,    TIIK   R.VTK  OK,  .'nS'.l  —  1'art  II., 

7 1 10. 

Ionian  Islands,  our  policy  toward  tin1, 
739. 

Ireland,  former  position  of,  toward 
Kngland,  .">09 -  1'itt's  policy  toward, 
H>.  — diHicnlties  of  all  parties  from, 
A).-.. 

ISLAND,  LIKE  IN  AN.  72. 

Italian  capital,  the  transference  of,  to 
Florence,  0">9  >-'  •-'•</. 

Italian  financial  ]x>licy,  233. 

Italian  language,  the,  at  Ca]>ri,  7(5. 

ITALIAN  I'OKTKAITS,  No.  L,  In  the  ante- 
chamber of  Monsignore  del  Fiocco, 
49  II.,  II  Curato,  ")3. 

ITALY,  NUTKS  ANI>  NOTIONS  FROM,  G.">9. 

Italy,  tourists  in.  73  i>resent  posi- 
tion, ilc..  of.  127- -the  change  of  the 
capital  of.  410,  0">9  <-(  .vr7. 

J.  ('..  a  treatise  on  Whist  by,  402. 

James  I.,  his  denunciations  of  witch- 
craft, 192. 

James  Island,  visit  to,  31. 

Jones,  Miss,  a  sketch.  18S. 

Kalergi,  a  whist-player,  403,  404. 

Katatore,  a  New  /calami  chief,  7"»1. 

Keate,  Dr,  head  master  of  Kton,  3.~>9. 

Keyes,  Roger,  architect  of  Kton.  2o9. 

Kingi,  a  New  Zealand  chief,  7«">1. 

Knapp,  Henry,  under-master  at  Kt<in, 
487. 

KNIGHT-ERRANTRY  is  TIIK  NINETEENTH 
CEVITRY,  17<>. 

Lacaita,  sketch  of,  002. 

LARK,  TO  A,  singing  in  February,  02">. 

Laud,  Archbishop,  reforms  at  Kton  bv, 
221. 

Lawyers,  cross-examinations  by,  5T>0. 


776 


Index. 


Lee,  General,  sketch  of,  161. 

LEECH,  JOHN,  466. 

Lewis,  Sir  George  Cornewall,  631. 

Libby  Prison,  the,  at  Richmond,  159. 

Liberals,  divided  state  of  the,  754. 

LIFE  IN  AN  ISLAND,  72. 

Linnell,  friendship  of  Blake  with,  304. 

Little  Boy  Lost,  the,  by  Blake,  307. 

Longstreet,  General,  notices  of,  27,  36. 

Lowe,    Mr,   his  speech  011  the   LTnion 

Eating  Bill,  754. 
Lnmley,  Miss,  the  wife  of  Sterne,  545 

— her  character,  and  his  treatment  of 

her,  547. 
I/YTTON-BULWBR,    SlR    E.,     THE  PoEMS 

OF,  reviewed,  330. 

M.  O.  W.  0.,  Day  and  Night  by,  89. 
Macdonald,  Sir  James,  of  Sleat,  357. 
M'Laws,  General,  40. 
M 'Queen,  Mr,  his  attacks  on  Captain 

Speke,  101  et  seq.  pass. 
Mactavish,  Miss,  a  sketch,  184. 
Malim,  W.,  head-master  of  Eton,  214, 

215. 
Malt-tax,   Gladstone   on  the  proposed 

reduction  of  the,  765. 
Man,  present  and  former  relations  of 

dress  to,  427  et  scq. 
MAN  AND  THE  MONKEY,  THE,  92. 
MARJORIBANKS,  Miss,   Part  I.,    131 — 

Part  II.,  308— Part  III.,  387— Part 

IV.,  567— Part  V.,  675. 
Medical  department  in  the  Confederate 

armies,  the,  43. 
Microcosm,  the,  482. 
Middleton  Place,  a  visit  to,  152. 
Millais,  his  opinion  of  Leech,  470. 
Milner  Gibson,  Mr,  as  a  leader  of  the 

Radicals,  639. 
Milton,  by  Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer,  review  of, 

331. 
Miniature,    the,    an    Eton     magazine, 

482. 

Ministry,  divided  state  of  the,  754. 
Missionaries,  influence  of,  in  New  Zea- 
land, 740. 

Missionary  Ridge,  the  battle  of,  154. 
Mobile,  a  visit  to,  170. 
MODERN  DEMONOLOGY,  192. 
Monetary  crisis,  the  recent,  causes  of, 

596. 
Monetary  laws,   the  action  of  the,  in 

England,  591. 

Money  or  currency,  importance  of  ade- 
quate supply  of,  590. 
Montem,  the,  at  Eton,  369. 
Morgan,  General,  sketch  of,  163. 
Morgan,  Fort,  Mobile,  171. 
Moultrie,  John,  484. 
Murray,  provost  of  Eton,  219. 
Murray  the   publisher,    origin    of    his 

connection  with  Canning,  482. 
Naples,  the  Bay  of,  72. 
Nassau,  sketches  at,  174. 


National  debt,  Gladstone  on  the  reduc- 
tion of  the,  758. 

Navigation  laws,  relaxation  of  the,  by 
the  Tories,  512. 

Neapolitan  Deputies,  the,  662. 

Negroes,  the  American,  34 — position  of, 
in  the  Southern  States,  152. 

Negro  rations  in  the  Confederate 
States,  158. 

Nelson,  the  settlement  of,  in  New  Zea- 
land, 746. 

New  career,  a,  419. 

Newborough,  John,  head-master  of  Eton, 
224. 

Newcastle,  the  Duke  of,  his  character 
and  influence,  635. 

Newspapers,  necessity  of,  423. 

NEW  ZEALAND,  THIRTY  YEARS'  POLICY 
IN,  739. 

New  Zealand  Company,  the,  its  pro- 
ceedings, &c. ,  744,  745. 

NILE  BASINS  AND  NILE  EXPLORERS, 
100. 

Norris,  W.,  head-master  of  Eton,  220. 

North,  Lord,  Earl  Russell  on,  506. 

NOTES  AND  NOTIONS  FROM  ITALY,  659. 

Observer,  the,  an  Eton  magazine,  484. 

O'Dowo  UPON  MEN  AND  AVOMEN,  &c., 
Part  XII.,  the  fight  over  the  way, 
57 — travesties,  60 — about  doctors,  62 
• — on  certain  droll  people,  65 — a  hint 
to  postage-stamp  collectors,  67 — the 
people  who  come  late,  69 — Part  XIII., 
going  into  Parliament,  228 — Contin- 
ental excursionists,  230 — Italian  fin- 
ancial policy,  233 — a  word  for  an  ill- 
used  class,  236 — Part  XIV.,  chang- 
ing house,  410 — the  rope  trick,  414 — 
rain,  rain,  much  rain,  416 — a  new 
career,  419 — an  immoral  considera- 
tion, 422— Part  XV.,  the  English  in- 
quisition, 556 — thrift,  558  —  a  per- 
sonal parliamentary,  561 — a  dream, 
564. 

Oppidan,  the,  an  Eton  magazine,  484. 

Oppidans  of  Eton,  211,  218,  et  seq. 

Otago,  N.Z.,  prosperity  of,  753. 

Paine,  intimacy  of  Blake  with,  299. 

Palmer,  Sir  Roundell,  756. 

Palmerston,  position  and  prestige  of, 
631 — his  Ministry,  634— his  supre- 
macy in  the  Ministry,  754. 

Paper-duty,  Gladstone  on  the  abolition 
of,  and  its  effects,  759  et  seq. 

Paper  trade,  depressed  state  of  the, 
759  et  seq. 

Parker,  Archbishop,  visitation  of  Eton 
by,  214. 

Parliament,  going  into,  O'Dowd  on, 
228. 

Parliamentary  reform,  advocacy  of,  by 
Pitt,  507. 

PARTIES,  THE  STATE  AND  PROSPECTS 
OF,  627. 


Indtf. 


Ill 


Passagio  Verde,  the,  at  Capri,  77,  83. 

PEDKIKEK.     IIO\V     TO     MAKE     A,     !l     HOW 

song,  7-1. 

Peel,  Sir  II.,  conduct  of,  as  regards 
Catholic  emancipation,  518  -and  the 
Reform  Bill,  519— conduct  of  theCon- 
servatives  toward,  627  —  influence, 
Ac.,  of  his  adherents,  and  his  death, 
62S. 

Peclites,  influence  and  j«>licy  of  the,  628. 

People  who  come  late,  the,  09. 

Persano.  Admiral,  sketch  of,  603. 

Personal  parliamentary,  a,  5(51. 

Phienix,  the,  an  Eton  magazine,  484. 

PKVAUILI.Y:  AN  EHSOIIK  OK  COXTEM- 

HOKAXEors  At'TOHIoUltAI'HY,  Parti., 

374  — Part  II.,  489— Part  111.,  009  — 
—  Part  IV.,  043. 
Piedinoiite.se,  the,  their  character,  &e., 

059. 

Pilgiim  of  the  Desert,  the,  338. 
Pitt,    misrepresentations    of,    by    Earl 

Russell,  .r)(»G. 

Plague,  the,  at  Eton,  223. 
Poerio,  Carlo,  sketch  of,  002. 
"  Pop  "  at  Eton,  484. 
Pope's  Iliad,  defects  of,  43!). 
Porson,  Richard,  his  character  at  Eton, 

357. 

Porticus  Etonensis,  the,  484. 
Postage-Stamp  Collectors,    a   Hint    to, 

G7. 

Powell,  Fort  (Mobile),  171,  172. 
Pr.ied,  Winthn.p  Mack  worth,  483. 
Precious  metals,  relations  of  increase  of 

trade  to  ex|H>rt  of,  707. 
Preston,  General,  42. 
Principalities,  state  of  the,  130. 
Prussia,  position  and  policy  of,  119. 
Radical  party,  present  position  of,  638. 
Railways,  &e. ,  the  so-called  fixing  of 

capital  in,  592. 

"  Rain,  rain,  much  rain,"  410. 
Ram,  hunting  the,  at  Eton,  471. 
Rand,  the  biographer  of  the  Davenports, 

194,  195  i-tseii.  }>(i«*. 
RATE  OF  INTEKEST,  TIIK,  589— Part  II., 

706. 

Rechberg,  Count,  jiosition,  &c.,  of,  125. 
Reciprocity  system,  the,  introduced  by 

the  Tories,  512. 
Reform,  former  opposition  of  the  Whigs 

to,  507. 
Reform  Hill,  Earl  Russell's  connection 

with  the,  513. 
Registration  of  Arms  Bill,  conduct  of 

the  Conservatives  on,  627. 
Reynolds,  attack  by  Blake  on,  302. 
Richmond,    sketches  at,  28     a   second 

visit  to,  156. 
Ridley,  Thomas,  head-master  of  Eton, 

213. 
Robinson,  Crabb,  account  of  Blake  by, 

302. 


Roderick,  C.,  head-master  of  Eton,  221. 
Rope  trick,  the,  414. 
Rosewill,  head-master  of  Eton,  222,  223. 
Ross,  the  Cherokee  chief,  44. 
Rouse,  Francis,  provost  of  Eton,  221. 
RCSSKLI,  EAKI.,  5(15. 
Russell,  Earl,  his  Essay  on  the  English 
Constitution,  &c.,  54)5 — overthrow  of 
Peel    by,    and    his    Ministry,    628-- 
second  Ministry,  029. 
Ryland  the  engraver  and  Blake,  297. 
Salt  bearer,  the,  an  Eton  magazine,  482. 
Savannah,  a  visit  to,  108. 
Savile,  Sir,  Henry,  provost  of  Eton,  219. 
Schleswig-Holstein  question,  the,  118. 
Scouts,  the  Confederate,  102. 
Sherwood,  Reuben,  head-master  of  Eton, 

213. 

SHORT  WHIST,  TIIK  LAWS  OK,  401. 
Shortland,    Mr,   governor  of  New  Zea- 
land, his  proceedings,  &c.,  745. 
Signal    corps,    the,    in   the  Confederate 

army,  28. 
Simeon,  Charles,  his  character  at  Eton, 

358. 

SIK  BKOOK  FOSSUKOOKE,  Part  I.,  Chap. 
I.,  after  mess,  523 — Chap.  II.,  the 
Swan's  Nest,  527  —  Chap.  111.,  a 
ditlicult  patient,  531 — Chap.  IV., 
home  diplomacies,  534 — Part  II., 
Chap.  V.,  the  picnic  on  Holy  Island, 
723— Chap.  VI.,  waiting  on,  729— 
Chap.  VII.,  the  fountain  of  honour, 
733 — Chap.  VIII.,  a  puzzling  com- 
mission, 736. 

"  Sitting  a  boat"  at  Eton,  475. 
Slavery  in  the  Southern  States,  on,  34. 
Small-arms,  the  Confederate,  43. 
Smith,  Miss,  a  sketch,  177  t-t  seq. 
Smollett,   comparison  of  .Sterne    with, 

542. 
Smyth,  Clement,  head-master  of  Eton, 

212. 

Snapc,  Dr,  head-master  of  Eton,  225. 
Solaro,  Monte,  77. 

Soldier's  Home,  the,  at  Charleston,  168. 
Sothern,  Colonel,  159. 
Sj>ekc,    Captain,    the    attacks   on,    by 

Burton  and  others,  101  et  tte^. 
Spirits,  Gladstone  on  the  consumption 

of,  767. 
Stansfeld,  Mr,  his  speech  on  the  Union 

Rating  Bill,  754. 
STATKAXD  PKOSI-KCTSOK  PARTIES, THE, 

627. 

STF.KXK,  LIFE  op,  540. 
Stevenson,  Hall,  Sterne's  intimacy  with, 

548. 

Stuart,  General,  sketches  of,  160. 
Summerville,  a  visit  to,  152. 
Sumner,  Dr.  head-master  of  Eton,  22t>. 
Sumter,  Fort,  30— visit  to,  during  the 

bombardment,  151. 
Swimming,  school  for,  at  Eton,  472. 


778 


Index. 


Taranaki  war,   the,  in  New   Zealand, 
750. 

Tauranga  war,  the,    in  New  Zealand, 
745. 

Tea,  Gladstone  on  the  reduction  of  the 
duties  on,  700  et  seq. 

Thackeray,     character    of    Sterne    by, 
541. 

Theatricals  at  Eton,  478. 

THIUTY  YEARS'  POLICY  IN  NEW  ZEA- 
LAND, 739. 

Thrift,  558. 

Tiberius,  remains  of  the  palace  of,  at 
Capri,  78 — scene  of  his  cruelties,  80. 

Tom  Noddy,  Leech's  illustrations  of,  467. 

TONY  BUTLER,  Conclusion,  1. 

Tories,  the,  Earl  Russell  on,  507 — liberal 
measures  of,  from  1819  to  1829,  512. 

Trade,  relations  of  increase  of,  to  rate 
of  interest,  707. 

Travesties,  60. 

Treclegar  iron-works,  the,  159. 

Tristram  Shandy,  publication  and  re- 
ception of,  550. 

True  joy-giver,  the,  340. 

Tuft-hunter,  the,  373. 

Tuft-hunters,  O'Dowd  on,  236. 

Turin,  transference  of  the  Italian  capi- 
tal from,  659  et  seq. 

Tuscan  deputies,  the,  663. 

Udall,  Nicholas,  head-master  of  Eton, 
212. 

Union  Rating  Bill,  the  debate  on  the, 
754. 

Venosta,  Visconti,  sketch  of,  664. 

Villiers,  Mr  Charles,  as  a  leader  of  the 
Radicals,  639. 

Wagner,  Fort,  capture  of,  35. 

Wairau,  the  massacre  of,  746. 

Waitangi,  the  treaty  of,  744. 

Walker,  W.  Sydney,  483. 

Walpole,  Horace,  an  Etonian,  356 — on 
Sterne,  543. 


Waynflete,  William  of,  first  provost  of 

Eton,  209. 

Weather  chroniclers,  O'Dowd  on,  416. 
Wellesley,  Marquis,  at  Eton,  357. 
Wellington,  educated  at  Eton,  357. 
Wellington  Administration,  the,  516 — • 

his  assent  to  Catholic  emancipation, 

518. 
Wellington,    settlement    of,     in    New 

Zealand,  745,  748. 
Westbury,  provost  of  Eton,  211. 
Westbury,     Lord,    and    the   Edmunds 

scandal,  755. 

West  Indies,  our  policy  toward  the,  739. 
Westminster,  boating  matches  between, 

and  Eton,  472 — cricket  matches  be- 
tween, and  Eton,  476. 
Whigs,  the,  their  early  opposition  to 

Reform,  507 — their  first  measures  on 

acceding  to  power,  513. 
WHIST,  SHORT,  THE  LAWS  OF,  461. 
Whiting,  General,  153,  167. 
WILLIAM  BLAKE,  291. 
Wilmington,  sketches  at,  153,  167. 
Winchester,  cricket  matches  between, 

and  Eton,  476. 

Windham,  William,  an  Etonian,  357. 
Windsor  fair,  the  Etonians  at,  478. 
Wingate,   David,  To  a  lark  singing  in 

February,  by,  625. 

Witchcraft,  the  old  laws  against,  193. 
Witnesses,  the  examinations  of,  556. 
Woman,  relations  of  dress  to,  428  et  seq. 

pass. 

Women,  Italian,  character  of,  666. 
Wood,  Sir  Charles,  as  a  member  of  the 

Ministry,  636. 
Wolton,  Sir  Henry,  provost  of  Eton, 

219. 
Wynyard,    Colonel,    governor  of  New 

Zealand,  751. 

Yankee,  dislike   in  the  North  to   the 
name,  62. 


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